The two hands that had grabbed him belonged to the General. With a rough smack, the man dropped him to the rock-hard, frozen ground. "Did you not hear Captain Frank about what she did—what she is?" he sneered.

Nick scrambled up, looking past the General to catch another glimpse of the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. His body yearned to see her. "But, General, she's..."

"... dangerous." The man crouched in front of him, now fully blocking his view. "She has you under her spell."

Nick squirmed and jerked his head, all to no avail. The General's ugly horse-like face was all he got to see. As he sighed in defeat, the singing began anew; the mountains repeating her mournful cry in an almost simultaneous reply.

Tell me, child with curious eyes I see
when will these wounds...

"Block it out, Nicolas. Don't let her spell get to you." The General stretched his hand, pulling him to his feet. He nudged him forwards, refraining him from looking back. "Let's get out of here."

In the solitude of their cabin, Nick briefed the General of what he had learnt. The news of their arrival was travelling fast, and—as expected—Captain Frank had informed his men to lie low while they were there.

The General gave a quick nod, then gestured at the bed. "Get some sleep, Nicolas."

Sleep. Nick turned his head towards the window, a thin layer of frost blurring the outside world. It was for the best; he would have spent the whole night staring at the outside world. He changed into his pyjamas and laid down on the bed. As he closed his eyes, he could still hear her mesmerising melody in the wind.

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

Though it had all the makings of a lullaby, the son of Sloth found himself unable to catch the slightest of winks. The Holy Fourteen had entered his mind, squabbling about Bee's fate. The Goddess of Temperance kept on repeating that Bee was a human too, but The Goddess of Chasity joined her sinful sister, Lust, into arguing that all magicians were evil; that nothing good could ever come from worshipping her.

Greed wanted her all to Himself, and as did Nick.

Not that he got much of a chance. The following morning, the General went straight from their cabin to that of Captain Frank. Nick had no choice but to follow.  

Over a breakfast of lumpy porridge and tasteless tea, the two men discussed budgets needed to build new compartments as well as bring in extra troops up north to guard a wider area. Apart from yawns too strong to stifle, Nick mostly kept quiet. With amazement, he watched how the General steered the topic back to the deportation of magicians to Burnfirth, and then to Ice.

This was not to the liking of Captain Frank. He was nervously tapping his fingers against his cup. "What I don't understand is how the crown finds gold for such a fool's errand when it can't spare a thousand gold pieces to give me and my men the raise they deserve."

"You will get it, once the road to Ice has been established," the General suggested.

"Which the Icians haven't agreed to yet—you have said so yourself."

"But you know how the world turns. Our northern allies make no secret that they don't approve of the way we deal with magicians. It will be a win-win for the Greenlands. We strengthen our political ties and send good labourers North, to a country in dire need of a bigger workforce. His and Her Majesty are confident the Icians will accept the deal."

"Her Majesty?" Captain Frank's jaw clacked. "It's her, isn't? She's making him do this."

Nick refrained from taking another bite of porridge (hunger was the best sauce, after all) and looked at the General, who remained his stoic self and responded with silence.

The Captain chuckled. "Pardon Pride and Wrath for entering this conversation, but I think His Majesty should grow a pair. Tell his wife that this is The Greenlands, that we have been dealing with magicians like this for hundreds of years and that we will keep treating them like the vermin they are."

"It's simple, Frank. You either start cooperating with me, or I'll make notes that will turn your life into the Seven Hells."

"I've been stuck there for the past twenty years, George," He spoke as though they were old friends. Nobody, aside from the royal family, addressed the General without his title.

"You did that to yourself. It was either Whitepeak or a foot. It's not because of me you picked the mountains."

"A cripple ain't a real man," the Captain spat.

The General sniffed. "For old times' sake, I'll pretend I didn't hear that, but if I were you I would leave the past in the past and look ahead. If not..." He gave a shrug. "... there are other fools that can man this base."

"You think managing this place is so easy, don't you?" The Captain glanced at the roof, shaking his head. "Everything you take for granted in that precious Sundale of yours is a chore, a battle. Supplies only come once every week—if at all during winter. The women from down the valley won't sleep with any of us, oh no. They're afraid to come up here. And when we go down to Lowdale, they shy away—afraid they'll turn into magicians themselves. The Goddess of Lust is strong and the mortal flesh is weak."

"Is that why your men turn to prisoners, then?" Nick barged in. Captain Frank cocked his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. His mouth opened, but he didn't speak. "I heard you talking last night. What did you mean when you told your men they need to keep their manhood to themselves?"

"We don't break the law, military or civilian," the man said without blinking. "These women, they practically throw themselves at us. They think it'll help their cause. And who am I to step between a woman offering and a man yearning for some touch?"

Nick raised his eyebrow. "And does it help their cause?"

The Captain scratched his freshly shaved chin, averting his gaze from him. 

"Well... does it?" the General asked.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous. They're either given a choice to return to Silvermark or they're sentenced to die."

The General crossed his arms. "So then, on average, how long do the prisoners remain in their cells?"

"It depends," the Captain said wearily. "The weather needs to allow it. I need to be able to assure the security of my men. Part of the punishment is in the waiting. They don't know when their last sun rises—gives them time to reflect on their sins."

"How long?"

"A few weeks, maybe a couple of moons. Winter has been rough. We had hardly any wood to burn the dead, the ground was too frozen to bury them. We might bend the rules a little, but this place is a nightmare, George. I—"

"It's a nightmare because you've let it become one. I'm taking over daily management for as long as I'm here." The General rose from his chair. He stood before the Captain's desk with his hands clasped behind his back. "First of all, I'm gonna remove that Neck-girl of yours before I lose my apprentice. Tonight at seven, she dies. And after that, we talk real business."

The Captain's face turned pale with a dash of green. Whether that was due to the lumpy porridge or Envy taking hold of him, Nick couldn't tell.

For the rest of the day, Nick remained in the cabin, a book about the Greenlander Kings of old on his lap. Yet, he didn't care much about the accusations that Prince Lucian, youngest son of King Richard the First, killed his older brother, Adrian, to be a step closer to the throne. Not when crossbows the size of canons were rolled to the heart of Whitepeak Base and placed around a thick trunk that bore the blood of many beheadings. Too many beheadings.

Nick wished there was a way to change the General's mind, to convince him that Bee didn't need to die, but the man was too busy pacing back and forth the mountain cells. Occasionally, he halted to shout more instructions to the Serjeants and Lieutenants Michael and Wallace. Captain Frank was nowhere to be seen.

The sun was slowly sinking below the peak when the General entered the cabin. He sat down on his bed and drew his sword from the dark green scabbard. Grabbing a piece of cloth from his nightstand, he started cleaning it meticulously.

Three times, Nick looked up from his book, his mind wanting to talk but his lips refusing. He turned back to the same paragraph about the hardships in the later years of King Richard, but none of the sentences stuck. 

"What is it, Nicolas. You seem... unlike yourself," the General broke the silence.

"Do I have permission to criticise you?" Nick asked carefully.

The General ran his thumb over the hilt of his sword, blowing some specks of dust off. "I don't see why you should get my permission. It has never stopped you before."

"This is different." He closed his book. "I understand why Bee's dangerous, General. Don't get me wrong. She does things to me I can't quite understand, but I believed the purpose of our trip was to stop the killings instead of doing new ones. Why can't she be the first to go to Ice? It would prove a better point."

"Nicolas. I never took you for being this naive." The General shook his head. "For one, I don't think we'll be deporting magicians to Ice for moons or years to come. Secondly, Necks are despised by regular magicians too. No Ician is waiting for a worker who can and will rile everyone. And last but not least, Frank needs to be put in his place. The years up here have made him far too bold. He doesn't follow procedures and blames the climate. I won't get him to cooperate unless I do what he claims to be undoable."

"But you've heard the men—she can't be killed. It's impossible. I think you're more likely to become the Muttonhead of the day, General," Nick said.

"I haven't got pudding in my brain, boy. I know what I'm doing."

"But then what will you do? How will you be able to resist her?"

"I can't, but I will apply the stories I've read as a young man into practice," he said cryptically. "When I'm back in Sundale, remind me to add more literature to the Academy's curriculum. Cadets don't read enough—important lore is forgotten."

"Right..." Nick allowed the thought to settle in. "I still won't return to the army, you know. I'm quite happy reading books without there being a test or an essay to write."

"Get a grip of Pride, Nicolas. Not everything is about you."

Half an hour before Bee would have her appointment with the Gods, Lieutenant Michael brought two sets of armour. Nick first assisted the General to put on his, then the man turned to him to help him fasten every iron buckle. The weight pounded on his shoulders, crushing his muscles. It was heavier than the one he had worn in the royal forest; larger too.

His hands floated somewhere in the vambrace, not quite touching the gauntlets. His feet were already sliding in the sabatons, his toes turning more black and blue with every step. He pushed the visor up, afraid he would trip and not get up again on his own.

The men saluted as he and the General walked towards the execution square, or whatever it was called. Above, the sky bathed in an eerie red glow, emphasising the horror that would soon take place. 

Nick had never had any trouble with stomaching execution scenes. Humans bled just like animals; it wasn't anything special. Blood wasn't terrifying, and neither was death.

In death, she and the rest of the world would be at peace.

That thought didn't stop the quarrel of the Gods from raging through his mind. She didn't deserve this. Nobody understood her. Hoping to silence them, he gave his helmet a good whack.

"Keep that one on, Nicolas," Lieutenant Michael murmured as he joined Nick's side and readjusted the helmet. "It's uncomfortable, but dying is so much more inconvenient."

Tell that to her. From the mountainside came ten heavily armoured soldiers, three of them carrying Bee on separate chains attached to her arms, legs, and the biggest one around her neck. Her uttering and wailing sent the God of Wrath on the path of war. 

The General laid his hand on Nick's shoulder. "Resist her. It's a trick—that's all."

"I know." Nick clenched his teeth and tightened every muscle in his bones. It wasn't his fault; the iron wasn't strong enough to protect him from her charms.

The soldier on the right dropped the chain, one of his comrades kicking him away from her and another picking up the chain. She was brought to the tree trunk, four new men attaching the iron chains to large clasps around the trunk.

Twenty heartbeats. That was the longest any soldier managed to stay near her before they either turned against their comrades or steered clear from her.

Captain Frank lurked from behind the safety of the crossbows. If there were safe at all. Since Bee didn't allow any man to aim one of the giant arrows at her, Nick suspected the weapons to be a means to intimidate her. Not that she looked at them. Her face was hidden behind the veil of her silver hair.

"Show me how it's done, General!" the Captain shouted in disdain. "Teach me and my men how to kill a Neck."

A few wrinkles appeared around the General's eyes. He stepped out the line and approached the girl. Like an eagle, he circled around the girl, seemingly unfazed by her harrowing cries and the shaking of her bony limbs in the clattering chains. He crouched down, his hand ready to smack her. 

Instead, he hit his own face. He shot up and hurried away, his fingers pointing at the four men closest to the mountain cells. "You lot, bring me the two women who live in the cells next to her."

"Yes, General."

"Of course, General."

Not long after, they returned with two more magicians in iron chains. The tallest one had dirty red hair with patches of blonde and a very sharp nose. She had more muscles to her bones than the dark-skinned Scorian woman with enormous front teeth and a raggedy braid that revealed a strand of white hair.

The General pointed his sword at the tall woman's throat. "Name."

"Cricket," she said as though she hadn't spoken in moons.

"Speciality?"

She coughed, turning her head away from Bee and her continuous howling. "Earth."

"What were your plans before you were arrested?"

"I got lost... I never meant to cross the border."

Cautiously yet effectively, the General brushed his sword along her throat, drawing enough blood for the wound to hurt, yet not enough to kill her. "Lie and you die. Speak the truth, and we can make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" She whimpered.

"First answer my question."

"I was creating a road for me and my children to pass. I wanted to try our luck, get out of the poverty of Silvermark. I wish I had never left."

"I apologise for my men. You could say I'm here to set a few wrongs right, but then I want you to help me."

"You're all lying, deceiving brutes. I'll never help a Greenlander." She spat, the earth rumbling as she spat on the ground.

With a quick stroke, the General slashed the woman's throat. With blood pouring out her like a waterfall, she still tried to say something but all that could be heard were choking noises and more screaming. Seconds later, she hung motionlessly in her chains. The men dropped her to the ground.

"Please." Her Scorian neighbour squealed, "I will. Please, General, you have to get me out of here. I'll do anything... anything. I'll be your private courtesan."

"I'm in no need of a whore," he said dryly. "But I do want you to listen to what I have to say."

The woman attempted to bring her hands together, as if to plead, but the soldiers yanked her arms apart. Nick still had no idea what the General's plan was, nor did he recall any story involving the death of a Neck.

"I'll do it, General. I can't keep living in this place. This is worse than Silvermark, worse than getting chased from Al Harrah to Jabal Yar and back."

"What's your speciality...?"

"Lamia. My name is Lamia," she said, breathing heavily. "I control fire, General, as do most of my people."

The General gave a light chuckle. "The Scorian fire tribe. According to my sources, there's not a whole lot of you left. Didn't find what you were looking for in Silvermark?"

"The place is a depressing sinkhole. I had to get out. A gazelle would rather throw herself into the heart of the volcano than wait for the coyotes to steal every last drop of dignity."

"Consider this your lucky day. Kill the Neck and I might be able to pull a few strings to keep the coyotes at bay."

The bronze coin in Nick's head dropped. General George wasn't going to execute Bee himself. The Scorian Fire Magician was going to do it for him. "No!" he yelled, not realising he had just done that for all of Whitepeak base to hear.

"Do you raise any objections, Cadet Nicolas?" the General asked.

Feeling the sting of a dozen stares on his back, Nick stared at the sabatons on his feet, the metal glistening red. "No, of course, General. It's just the Neck. Please proceed."

The General proceeded by explaining to Lamia that she would get a free passage to Ice and a job at the Ician court in return for her service, killing Bee. "But betray me," he added. "And my men will shoot one of their arrows. Your corpse will fly back to Silvermark soil and rot there forever."

"You have my word. Her damned wailing has kept me up for countless nights. She has sung her last song."

Emotions stirred inside of Nick as the General gave the order to remove the chain around her. He couldn't allow this. Bee couldn't die. She was so frail and vulnerable, only a child. Only like Abby.

Abby had died, but Bee wouldn't. Not under his watch.

Abandoning all reason, Nick left his position. He plucked his short sword from his sheath and raised it. "No! I won't let you murder her!"

Two soldiers, coming from opposite sides, threw themselves at him. He was agile enough to dodge both of them, yet a third man yanked at his sword-free arm, pulling him away right before he would have been able to cut Bee's chains and free her.

In a reflex, he did the only thing he could still do and hurled his sword with all his might. Instead of hitting the tree trunk, it landed straight in Lamia's side.

Crying out in pain, the Scorian Fire Magician turned to him, a light emerald flame dancing in her hand turning with her. 

It was like a snake attacking his face, its venom sprinkling into his eyes. For a moment there was no pain, only the realisation of the mistake he had made. Pride dethroned by Humility.

Then came the searing, blinding pain that burned beyond speech.

Nick screamed.