A terrified scream escaped from Tia's mouth, which was then swallowed by the raging wind.

The snow moved slowly, rippling throughout, almost like a very viscous, fluffy wave.  Its appearance was very deceiving. Tia could almost convince herself that the tumbling white mass would do nothing more than give her a cold and worsen her vision by turning into mist, but all her senses were screaming for her to run. She could sense the extraordinary power crashing down the incline.

"Come on!" begged Tia, tugging as hard as she could at the child. She dug her heel into the snow, but she could find little resistance and her foot kept slipping. It was one step backward with every two steps forward. Painfully slowly, Ninlil slid out, motionless. Tia panted, slipping her arm under the crooks of the child's legs and snaking her other arm beneath the shoulder blades and heaving her off the ground, hurrying back up the hill.

All that filled her ears was the bellow of nature, and each step she took made her feel like the avalanche was just behind her, forcing her to move ahead. Her heart raced beyond recognition. She could see nothing; she could hear nothing. All she had to guide her was the steady incline telling her she was moving uphill and the insatiable, relentless torrent of energy was behind her.

Ninlil was getting heavier by the second. Tia had gone numb and cold all over and the weakness was spreading down her limbs. Her legs began to drag across the snow. She knew she would not escape at this rate. She gritted her teeth.

I will not give up here! she thought fiercely. She slipped the girl to the ground stiffly and shuffled around, keeping her eyes closed and pinpointing the distance between them and the tumbling snow. No, there was no way they could have escaped at their pace. They were but seconds away from being buried.

She slid the staff from her back with frozen, gloved fingers and planted it in front of her. With a quick, smooth blast of Wind, she temporarily dispersed the whirling, blinding mass, returning her some sight at last. One look told her enough. The speed was quite incredible; it had seemed so slow and groggy from far away, but standing merely metres from it, Tia knew she stood no chance of fleeing.

She glanced at the unconscious, skinny child lying on her side in the snow, her heart palpitating. Neither of them stood a chance. If it was up to the Tia from a year ago, she would have fled, even if the chances are bleak. Now as a previous apprentice of hard-hearted Master Marduk and one of the last Windcasters of Dernexes, she knew her responsibilities stretched beyond just her own welfare. She had obligations. The people of Abaddon relied upon this path for water. They relied upon her. She needed to stay.

The whirls returned, clouding her vision once more.

Her knees shook. This was madness. She quivered as the terrible force rushed closer and closer. She had no means of stopping an avalanche!

Her only weapon was the Wind. Her panicking mind went blank. What could she do? What did she know? Nothing. Nothing! There was nothing she could Cast that could help them run faster.

No. Her mind clicked. There was nothing that could help them run, but there was something she could try to stop the avalanche.

She calmed her breathing, forcing her pulse to slow and her thoughts to become coherent. She recalled the translated text from the Book of Wind: the first and only spell she had managed to decode. She steadied her nerves, aligning her energy with the Wind.

She could do it, she told herself. She had never had trouble learning Casting skills. If she kept calm enough, she would be in control. She breathed, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Her right hand gripped her staff tight and she kept her green eyes upon the flurry of snow, now only feet away.

Finding the right flow in energy, she seized her chance. The roaring Wind all around her bent to her will, concentrating down towards her and followed her direction straight at the oncoming avalanche. She recognised the surge of energy; it was exactly the same flow as when Master Anu had Cast the spell when she and the boys were attacked by bandits not long after setting off from Mooncliffe. She gasped, barely holding onto her staff; the summoned strength was phenomenal, greater than anything she had created. An electric tingle spread from her chest to her extremities, making her hair stand on end and her fingers and toes go numb. It was all she could do to keep the energy flowing through her and the staff; otherwise it would all spiral out of control and end in catastrophe.

Tia managed to direct the Wind straight at the oncoming snow. The sheer strength forced the avalanche to a standstill, flattened against the hill. The tumble that followed was also halted. Tia gritted her teeth, feeling the strain, tears spilling out of her eyes from the torrent.

A sharp crack ripped through the air, and all was still. Suddenly, her right hand gripped nothing.

Tia was dimly aware of a voice shouting her name from not too far away. She eased the Wind out again, allowing the energy to ebb back into nature. It pulsed out, hesitant, as though unsure of her commands. Voices bounced everywhere, confusing her senses.

A pair of strong arms scooped her up and before she knew it, a healer was fussing over her. Rough hands brushed her face, dried her hair, rubbed life back into her frozen limbs, removed her sodden clothing and replaced them with a simple thin gown, and forced hot soup down her throat. A thick blanket was flung over her head and around her shoulders. A fire blazed in the corner. Dazed, Tia glanced around, recognising the Gwentian flag hung over the wall and the simple décor. She was in the Old Palace again.

"Open your mouth," ordered the healer. She obliged and was rewarded with a mouthful of bitter medicine. She coughed, gagging.

When the healer was satisfied he had done as much as he could, he shoved a big mug of hot Mentha water at her and bustled out. Tia's nose tingled at the sharp smell but she inhaled it, grateful. The fire was warming her whole body. Feeling was flooding back into her legs and fingers. Her eyelids were heavy, her body feeling drained. Outside, it was quiet. It sounded like the snowstorm had blown itself away.

The door eased open with a squeak.

"Tiamat?"

"Sarpanit!"

Sarpanit threw herself across the room, nearly sending Tia's cup flying. The air was knocked out of her lungs.

"Oh, Tiamat!" Tears spilled out of Sarpanit's blue eyes. "I was so worried!"

"Is Ninlil all right?"

"Yes – oh heavens, yes. Thanks to you! Her temperature is very low. Several of my seniors are working with her right now, but they reckon she'll pull through. Oh, Tiamat!" Tia's ribs were crushed again.

When the princess let go at last and Tia sucked in her first breath, she was fidgeting with something in her hands.

"What is it, Sarpanit?"

"This... this is yours."

She deposited something small and hard on Tia's lap. It was an oval-shaped stone, the colour of sapphire, and the colours within it swirled as though responding to the ebb and flow of the Wind outside. The light from the flickering fire glinted on the smooth surface. It felt oddly warm as Tia cupped the Wind gem with both hands.

"My staff..." she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Tiamat."

Tia shook her head. "No, it was my fault. I was careless. The spell from the Book of Wind was far too powerful for a beginner's staff. It was bound to break."

"But still... you can't Cast without a staff, though."

She bit her lip. Her free style Casting was too weak and fickle to be contemplated as true Casting.

"Is there no way to repair it?"

"I think someone can."

Tia's heart lifted.

"Don't put too much hope in it; he might not be able to. Rest now; Papa is calling for a meeting tomorrow. I think he and the advisors are planning to fight against Mawlin very soon."

Her heart sank again. War... during her days at Gwent, she had grown to live with the guilt and resentment. She wanted, no, needed, revenge against Mawlin.

Would that make her as bad as they, to desire violence and death also?

But with all the Windcasters dead, who would avenge them? Would she just let the Mawlinese get away with mass murder?

Could she be the one to deliver the punishment, though?

And she couldn't help but hate how she was dragging the Gwentians into it also...

"It will happen sooner or later, Tiamat." It was as though Sarpanit had read her thoughts. "Rest. I'll take you to a wood smith tomorrow, after the meeting, and perhaps he can make you a new staff. I'll see you later."

"Yes." Tia's voice was quiet. "I shall see you on the morrow."

Tia cradled the gem in her palms. She felt so powerless all of a sudden, without her staff by her side.