The princess of Gwent snapped into action.

"Nabu, go warn the other advisors. Call all the able-bodied people you can and prepare against the storm at once." The middle-aged advisor nodded curtly and swept into the dining hall. "Tiamat, come with me."

"What are we to do?" Tia said, half-running to keep up with the stocky girl as she marched with her strong legs in the opposite direction to Nabu, her staff bumping on her back along the way.

"What we can." Sarpanit grimaced. The girls sprinted down the broad corridor. The oil lamp in the princess's hand swung precariously with each step, throwing violent shadows onto the stone walls.

The cold air numbed Tia's nose, clogging it up, and her lungs started burning. It was lucky that her companion knew the Old Palace well. In the dark, the geography of the buildings seemed foreign and the flickering shadows ominous. The sounds of their panting echoed. Tia's heart thumped at the same tempo as the thud-thud-thud of their boots. She mentally kicked herself again. What a failure of a Windcaster she was, to have missed several days' warnings of a snowstorm!

She sneaked a look at the other girl. Sarpanit's features were grim. Her deep blue eyes were fixed ahead; the flailing lamp bathed her eye sockets in shadows. Her head scarf had fallen off in their rush and her red-brown hair had begun to fall out of the neat bun. Despite her short stature and thickset limbs, her endurance far outstripped Tia's, who was soon gasping for breath.

Beyond the wide corridors and past the herb garden, they emerged at the top of the hill. The stone archways bent in opposite directions on either side of them, swallowed by the darkness of the night. Stars were nowhere to be seen, enveloped by the thick black clouds overhead. Without the insulation of the high walls, Tia could hear the tinkling noises, like shattering glass, within the pulsing power in the Wind.

The thick white snow stretched into the night; the light did very little to illuminate their path. The wind picked up as they descended.

"Papa!" yelled Sarpanit. She turned her head left and right. "Papa!"

"Sarpanit!" Lahar's voice came from an undeterminable direction. The Wind was altering its path every second, scattering the sounds. Tia could feel the increasing power and her panic heightened. She tugged at the other girl's sleeve, her heart thumping.

"Hurry!" Tia whispered.

Lahar came running up the hill, panting. His face slowly came into sight, the dim light emphasising the deep wrinkles on his face and his cheeks, which were red with the cold. His daughter quickly relayed the message from Colchain and Tia's forecasting. She saw the king's features darken and his mouth set in a straight line.

"Is Nabu coming with help?"

"Yes. He's on his way!"

"Good." The king's sharp and serious demeanour was a far cry from the jolly, affectionate old man Tia had first met. He barked out orders in rapid succession. "Sarpanit: start gathering men to bring the snow guards out. You know where they need to be. Tiamat: I need you to pass the message onto everybody along the path. They all know what to do. Be sure to come back and help Nabu and the others when you're done."

"Should we not be gathering everyone and hide from the storm?" Tia said, taken aback as Sarpanit raced ahead.

"If that path is compromised, we're all going to die from thirst."

She bit back further questions as the man turned, shouting out further orders to the others. Taking the oil lamp proffered, she set off. The lamp gave her little advantage in the night; white blobs darted in and out of her visual field and the increasing velocity of the wind kept threatening to blow the flame out. She wobbled, the thick snow sucking out most of the energy she put into her strides. Most of the effort she put in making progress was wasted in her slipping and sliding.

The effects of her words were quite remarkable. At the sound of the word "snowstorm", the Gwentians tensed up and all chatter ceased, even from the children. It seemed almost like they were born to work as a team. Without another word, the children stepped back and the adults in the group went into the hillside and began to shovel at the sharp incline.

By the time she had made her way to the bottommost group, passed on the message, and trudged her way back up the hill, her oil lamp had burned low. Each gust of wind, growing stronger by the minute, threatened to extinguish the flickering flame. She squinted; the falling snow had intensified to the point where she could see nothing more than fuzzy shapes moving in the dark.

Another gust blew, nearly taking her thick headscarf off. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly and gasped; the sound was whipped away by the wind. The Gwentians shivered and wobbled, but carried on tugging and digging out fences made of reinforced metal, which was shaped in an 'L'. The adults positioned it with the leg pointing away from the slope and the body of it standing perpendicular to the ground. As soon as they dropped it with a heavy thump onto the snow, the children moved forward with the shovels, piling snow on the fence's leg to keep it in place.

The cold was getting worse and several younger, frailer ones had begun to succumb to the temperature. Nabu and a few others were carrying those who had steadfastly refused to retreat in their arms back up the hill to the Old Palace. Spotting a child who was swaying precariously on his legs, she moved forward and swept him up, surprised by how spindly and thin he felt beneath his thick clothing. His cheeks were pale and his lips were tinged blue. Long eyelashes fluttered up at her, looking disorientated. Two children took over and dragged him back in the direction of the shelter.

The quality and extent of the teamwork and dedication were something Tia had never witnessed during her life in Dernexes. The Gwentians were selfless; each was putting in their best and communicating with each other with efficiency. The adults would tug hard, once, at the snow fence buried in the hill and the children would step in each time to shovel the fallen snow out of the way, enabling another pull of the metal framework.  Tia marvelled at how deft they were, despite being ill-equipped and ill-prepared. Dernexes never had this severity of snowstorm, and even with the worst of the weather they were always forewarned by the other Casters and had endless numbers of slaves at their disposal.

The storm grew more and more vicious, if that was possible. The people worked quickly. When all the fences had slid in place and been secured, Lahar shouted for them to all retreat back to the Old Palace. His voice was barely audible over the roar. The oil lamps had burned low, plunging the group almost into complete darkness. Tia's ears were half-deaf from the constant barrage by nature and she had lost feeling in her fingers. Despite the thick gloves, all the shovelling had soaked the material and they had gone from cold and numb to burning to without feeling. She couldn't even feel where her fingers were.

She followed the group as they retreated, at the back. With only the dim light in the distance, if she had gotten separated, there was no way of returning to the Old Palace without guidance.

There was a quiet cry under the roaring wind. Tia stopped.

Her sensitive ears caught just the end of the scream before it was swallowed up. It came from the downhill direction, shrill and weak.

Tia listened, but there was no further sound, just the soft footsteps of the Gwentians moving back uphill for shelter. She was tempted to put her senses down as a trick of her mind, but her gut feeling was telling her otherwise. Something didn't feel right.

The storm howled, chilling her to the bone. Her heavy cloak and hood had withstood the snow so she was dry inside, but she hadn't much time left before she needed warmth. Each blow of the wind was like knives slicing across her cheeks and freezing her eyes, forcing her to move several steps in the wind's direction. The snow had gotten even thicker by then, nearly reaching her knees. She squinted; she could barely see for the white flurry and lack of light.

Spurred by the gut feeling, Tia stepped gingerly down the incline, using the side of the snow fence as guidance. The sound of the other footsteps died away.

This is a terrible idea, thought Tia, realising too late she would have no means of returning to the Old Palace without help. She grimaced, steadying herself as the wind buffeted again. She had never felt such ferocity in the Wind. The raw power in its undulating tone was incredible. The raging energy thrashing in the air all around her was impossible to tame. During all this, snow fell, thick and unrelenting, to the point where everywhere around her looked exactly the same: thick and white. If it wasn't for the slight dip in her path as she descended the hill, she wouldn't have known she was heading in the right direction.

The fences are all in the right place. There should not be any children left. And yet Tia carried on, her head bowed, clinging to the metal framework and her ears straining for another sound. The Wind was deafening; its power was magnificent. Tia had never experienced anything as exhilarating. The Wind was alive.

She frowned as she descended for another few minutes. She must have reached the bottom by that point, and yet she had heard no more sounds. She kept her eyes closed, turning her head slowly in an attempt to listen beyond the roars.

There was a tiny whimper, muffled, but not too far away. Tia traced the source, going onto all fours and patting her hands in an area in front of her. She had to stop and tense herself against the buffet, but she persevered. All that came into contact with her frozen, wet, gloved hands were snow, snow, and more snow. Had she misheard? No, she couldn't have misheard twice. There was someone here.

Her heart skipped a beat as her hands swept past something stringy and tangled. She localised the sound to one of the fences.

Her breath was caught in her throat as she spotted a pale, almost lifeless hand as soon as she opened her eyes. A tiny, pathetic mop of tangled dark hair was barely visible against the darkness and a small outstretched hand was lying half-buried by the snow like the rest of her body. Tia dived towards the little person, digging furiously. She didn't stir. Tia could hear the faint, barely audible gasps of breath. This little girl was running out of time.

Tia could see how the little one got trapped. One of the fences hadn't been secured properly and had slid; the small break in the defence had allowed a tiny avalanche to form, which had then buried the girl, catching her unawares. She shovelled her fingers deep into the snow pile, freeing the child's upper body. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognised the shape of the face and the dark hair.

It was Ninlil, Sarpanit's little sister, her body soaked and her skin turning blue.

The timbre in the air changed. Tia stopped, ears tuned in. It had fallen quiet too quickly. The Wind hadn't died down; its roar had been replaced by something deeper, rumbling from not too far above them. She shook her head, quickly freeing the child's midriff, and then tried to drag the floppy body out of the pile. She had to get out of there quickly. The situation was dire, and every second could cost Ninlil her life. Tia snivelled; the discharge from her nose had frozen to her skin. She pawed at the little girl's limbs, but the snow had good suction and would not release her.

The ground rumbled this time. Tia squinted up the sharp incline that the snow fences stood against. Was something moving up there?

She resumed digging around the body and then glanced back up again, blinded by the snow. She fumbled with the staff on her back and stuck it into the ground, giving a quick blast of Wind magic to blow the snow out of the way temporarily, clearing her surroundings. She could see the faint orange glow of the oil lamps in the Old Palace. She wasn't far off and she knew where to go. Good. She just needed to get Ninlil out.

Another rumble. She glanced to her left, above and beyond the fences.

Was something moving on top of the hill?

No, the hill wasn't moving. Tia squinted, seeing moving shapes at the top, dark against the pinkish sky.

It wasn't the hill. It was the snow on top of the hill.

Her heart stopped.

The vicious Wind had caused the snow to shift and tumble. A much bigger avalanche had formed – and it was hurtling straight towards them!