“Magus,” I asked carefully as the purple light in his hand flickered and faded out, “Could you explain quite why we should be so relieved to discover goblins?”

I couldn’t see his face in the sudden gloom, but I imagined he was frowning. “It is in your scriptures as well, no? Goblins creatures of order are, eh, more than of chaos.”

“That’s so,” I agreed, still nervous, “But they’re also scavengers and carrion feeders known to prey on anything they judge weak enough, and rarely able or willing to negotiate.”

“We do not look weak,” he pointed out. “And kobolds will not go into goblin territory. That already means we are much safer than before, no?”

“If you say so, magus,” I agreed dubiously, still staring up at the faint silhouette of the skull-bedecked gate against the sky. “I shouldn’t hold out much hope these will speak Satern, though. Saint Morgan had a double handful of the Heavens’ favour.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Kaczmarek said darkly as she led the way across the threshold. “Everyone and everything speaks gun.” I glimpsed the wet sheen of her flintlock’s barrel as she shook it for emphasis. My own scimitar was still in my hand, knuckles locked tight around its grip.

I halfway expected some grand shift in the world as we crossed the goblin gate, but the other side offered only more of the same wet scree and grass as we had been trudging over all day. I had to suppress a shudder as I passed; not for some supernatural reason, but because a shimmer of the dying light limned the features of a leering kobold skull hanging a hand’s breadth away from my face. The wind had it set to swaying while droplets from the arch above splashed from its crown. I grimaced and wiped my face, as though trying to scrub away the sight. No such luck.

Trying to allow myself to be buoyed by the Afamacian’s confidence, I set my eyes forward—for what little good it did—and followed after Kaczmarek, who was forging ahead as quickly as she dared. As long minutes passed without the reappearance of the kobolds or of fresh assailants, I allowed my sword to dangle from my wrist by its lanyard, reclaiming Munter’s reins from the prince.

“Thank you, your Highness,” I murmured to him. “Not long before we stop now, I hope. Not if we have any choice.” The boy said nothing, teeth clenched against the chatter, but nodded resolutely. At least, his cloaked silhouette moved in a way I assumed was nodding.

To my surprise, the Heavens smiled on us enough that I was correct in my reassurances. A few minutes later, Kaczmarek stopped to stare up the mountain side, shielding her eyes from the rain with one hand.

“That’s either a building or a very square boulder up there,” she called back. “I’m going to check it out.” Carelessly dropping the reins, she took off at a jog up the slope, arquebus held halfway to the ready.

“Jäger!” I hissed after her. “You’ve no idea what’s out there!” I myself couldn’t make out much more than smudges in the direction she was pointing.

“Well, we’re all half bleeding dead already, aren’t we?” She shot back. “I’ll only be a moment.”

I couldn’t argue with that. For agonising minutes, there was only the wet crunching noise of boots on gravel fading away, then silence. I chewed my lip, eyes flicking this way and that, ears pricked for any new sound. At last I heard the sound of returning feet, and the shadow of the small woman slowly resolved itself.

“It’s a low ruined building,” she reported, breathless from either excitement or jogging—or both. “It’s not much, but it’s enough for the night. Let’s go.”

My frozen eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t that too convenient?”

“Who cares?” She shot back. “It’s not like we have any choice.”

Despite my immediate response, I’d been halfway to that decision myself. Each time I glanced at His Highness the prince seemed the worse for wear, and our time was running out before the cold took him completely. I shook my head.

“As you say. Lead on. Magus Alemayehu, can you produce that light again?” I was not eager to stumble up the slope in the dark with a string of horses.

“No, I am sorry. The crystal is an old artefact, eh, made for times of crisis. It cannot work now.” The Afamacian’s voice was strained, his usual smooth tones cracking at the edges.

“We’ll make do, sir,” I absently reassured him, already picking my way up the rocky slope and cajoling Munter to follow. The bay snorted and tossed his head, only reluctantly leaving the relatively easy flat route. “Easy, lad,” I murmured. “No kobolds in the dark here, not in goblin territory.” I hope.

Kaczmarek had already wrangled her string of horses into turning up, perhaps by main force on the reins. Begrudgingly, Munter began to pick his way up, the other horses following his lead.

The ruin was closer than I thought, emerging startlingly quickly out of the dark. Rough stone walls rose to near the height of my shoulders, ragged ends stepping up and down here and there. No signs of a roof or habitation remained, opportunistic shrubs taking shelter from the wind clustered around the base of the walls. Their tops ended at the top of the walls as neatly as if trimmed with shears. Only trickling dark rust stains on the sides of the crumbled doorway, barely visible in the dark, hinted at the previous existence of a door, or indeed any other fittings at all.

Our hotheaded explorer must have checked the area around it carefully as well; it wouldn’t take that long to get here and back. A moment later, she confirmed as much.

“I didn’t see anything wrong around this place,” she said, “But you can’t see for toffee in this place so I dunno that it helps. It’s the best we’re gonna get, though.”

With no choice but to agree, I set to unburdening our horses as quickly as I could so we could improvise a shelter.

***

With a shelter erected—draped, really, nothing projecting above the walls—against the wind and rain, I sat near its edge and allowed myself a moment of calm. At the rear of the shelter the jäger and the prince were huddled under one blanket, cold overruling rank. I closed my eyes briefly to offer a silent prayer of thanks to the Heavens.

When I opened them again, Alemayehu was seated next to me.

“Cloak off,” he instructed me.

“Pardon, sir?”

“Take off your cloak,” he repeated.

“It’s still quite nearly freezing here, sir,” I tried, gesturing at the weather beyond the close confines of our tarpaulin.

“But you have pulled out your stitches, no? I could see in the way you fought.” I winced. I hadn’t thought it that obvious.

“I’ve suffered worse, sir,” I assured him, still hoping to cling on to my cloak against the chill. All I got in response was a raised eyebrow, dimly visible in the weak light of the oil lamp the magus had lit as soon as there was shelter.

“I have seen you without your shirt, gefreiter,” he gently chided me. “Unless you are very well healing without scars, I think you have not. Now, cloak off.” His tone brooked no argument and I hung my head, reluctantly shedding the water-heavy garment and unbuttoning my coat to let the magus pull it away. He clucked in disapproval at whatever he saw. I stared out into the dark instead, feeling plenty familiar with the injury without looking at it.

“I didn’t know you fought, sir,” I said after a while, looking for a distraction from the feeling of the magus fussing about my side.

“Mmmm,” he replied noncommittally. “I do not like to. I do not do it well either. Rather would I words use than violence.”

“You acquitted yourself well enough tonight, though, magus. Immer!” I swore as he prodded something.

“Mm,” he repeated. I hissed again as his shears clicked. “Try not to move your chest so much.”

I acquiesced, the night falling silent except for the gusting of the wind, the click and snip of Alemayehu’s tools, and my occasional bitten-off curses.

***

The sky lightened grey and cold the next morning but blessedly drier, the worst of the rain perhaps swept away by the still-blowing winds. I had though the ravine would look blasted little different by day than by night, expecting only the brush and scree of which I’d more than had my fill, but instead the lifted veil of the mists revealed that our resting place was not alone.

Broken down ruins in varying states of decay dotted the slopes where they were shallow enough to build on, most torn down lower than the one we occupied. Looking back, I realised we had even hiked over the top of one square that had either collapsed or been razed to its foundations. Further ahead on our path one smaller shed even retained some fragments of roofing.

“Could’ve slept a lot better, eh?” Kaczmarek cracked as she tightened a girth. I shrugged.

“No use crying over spilt milk. Stopping where we did was the right choice, even if we could have found somewhere better. We could just as well have stumbled upon whatever tribe of goblins calls this territory their own.”

“Who’s to say we haven’t? Maybe they live in the ruins up ahead, eh?”

I glanced away from the bridle I was fastening long enough to give her an unimpressed look. “Don’t even joke about such things, jäger. If I never see another creature out of legend again it’ll be too soon.” Visions of long-armed creatures with clubs had haunted my night long after we had stopped.

“You can’t take away my right to gallows humour,” she complained, patting the horse on the neck. “Next thing you’ll be taking away my right to complain and that’d be downright inhuman. You’re not even an officer, man! They must get to you early in that school.”

I shook my head and smiled despite myself. “If we run into any goblins, then, I propose we give you to them in exchange for free passage. You’ll fit right in, jäger, don’t worry.”

“My diplomatic skill is legendary,” she acknowledged with something that looked like the bastard child of a curtsey and falling down the stairs, “But I’ll have to decline. My people in Szekerya need me.”

“They’re ‘your people’ now?” I asked, shooting her another look. “What happened to ‘the last sight of civilisation’? Heavens, I didn’t know they let you be a jäger if you couldn’t remember the events of at least a week.”

“Oh, not civilised. Where do you think I learned goblin diplomacy?” She grinned savagely, and then we both subsided into laughter.

“Careful, Kaczmarek,” I warned her after recovering. “I’m halfway Szekeryan myself. At least pretend to mind your manners, supposing you have any.”

“Ah, well, gefreiter, the great thing is that my goblin social skills should work for you too, then.”

“Enjoying libelling our neighbours?” The prince asked drily behind us. I jumped slightly and both of us turned on our heels; I, flushing, and the small woman grinning cheekily. She threw the crispest salute I’d ever seen from her, before undercutting it with the kind of remark I expected.

“It’s not libel if it’s true, your Highness!” She chirped, irrepressible.

I ran a hand over my hair in exasperation with her. “Pardon us, your Highness, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.”

“It’s no matter.” The prince smiled wryly. “I’ve never been there, myself,” he added. “I certainly couldn’t say one way or the other, though Mother is often terribly upset with the Szekeryan ambassador.” His smile slipped for a fraction of a second before he fixed it back on, but it was long enough for me to notice and try to deflect the conversation back to the future.

“Well, sir, I’m sure your visit won’t disappoint. The people aren’t half so bad as the stories make them out to be, and it’s a lovely place, sir.”

“...as long as you’re a horse,” Kaczmarek added under her breath, earning her a flat stare from me while I considered swatting her with my hat.

“We’re about ready to leave, here, sir,” I continued, ignoring the jäger’s comment. “If the magus and yourself are prepared, we should make off as soon as we can.” The levity had briefly distracted me from eying every bush for a threat, but the gnawing unease of being lost in a quite literally trackless region would not be put off long.

***

Half a day’s walk led us to what I considered at best a dead end. The terrain had been no different on this side of the goblin territory marker, aside from the ruined foundations we’d left behind us in the morning. Only what I was watching for had changed, bands of goblins, and the weather. Though the wind hadn’t ceased and high clouds still covered the sky, for the most part, the low cloud and mist that had plagued us before stayed gone as the day wore on.

A turn at the end of the last ravine, where it terminated abruptly in a cliff face taller than the walls of Nachberg, had sent us down this adjoining ravine. Unfortunately, it had grown deeper and narrower as we walked, a steady stream of water building up down its centre, until it ended here, where we found ourselves.

The ravine ended as abruptly as the last, as though we were at the end of a channel cut by the gouge of a titan and carefully ended with a chisel to give a flat butt.

Unlike the last, the cliff here was split with a narrow crack into which the water flowed, ankle-deep and perhaps two metres wide. For the first few metres I could see down it, but then its sheer height overcame the anaemic winter sun and darkness reclaimed it.

“This is it,” Kaczmarek repeated. “It feels right. It’s got to be on the other side.” I stood with crossed arms, alternating staring at the jäger and the slot. The tarisule looked as imperturbable as ever, raising no objection. His Highness was chewing his lip, but also made no complaint.

I unfolded my arms so I could raise my good hand to count off on my fingers.

“It’s pitch dark in there,” I began. “It’s underwater, the footing will be bad, the horses will baulk, and we have no guarantee it even goes anywhere.”

“We have lights,” Kaczmarek countered. “So’s half the path been for the last two weeks anyway, same again, we can drag the horses if we need to, and the water has to go somewhere.” I winced at “drag the horses”. I had no desire to try to make Munter go somewhere he truly did not wish to.

“What if the water goes underground?”

Our increasingly-unconvincing guide shrugged. “Doesn’t smell like it does.”

“Immer.” I rubbed my face. “Your Highness, Magus, do you have any comments on this lu—this plan?”

“It is a passage,” the Afamacian said, not doing much to convince me.

“I trust the jäger,” the prince said simply. “She hasn’t led us wrong yet.”

Kaczmarek smiled smugly at me. “See? It’s just you that doesn’t want to.”

“Heavens, Mountain, and Immer,” I muttered. “Well, you’d better go ahead and check it goes all the way through to… wherever it goes, then. I’m not getting the horses into there only to have to get them out again backwards. I’d go myself, but I can’t hold a lantern and my sword like this.” I gestured at the arm I couldn’t un-cross in its sling.

“Your sword?” She looked at me askance. “What are you expecting to find?”

It was my turn to shrug unhelpfully. “Bandits. Kobolds. Goblins. Cave sharks. I don’t know; I’m just an infantryman, jäger.”

“Cave sharks,” she repeated dubiously, then sighed. “You’re not wrong. I’ll go check it out. You’ll probably hear if I scream.” She passed off her lead rein to the magus, then freed a lantern from her horse’s saddle and fussed about to get it lit.

At last, lantern in one hand and sabre in the other, she strode off across the last few metres to the dark cave entrance, every inch the bold explorer. Or at least, every inch she has available, I thought for a moment.

Another nerve-racking interval passed while we waited for Kaczmarek to return. As far as habits went, I could do without developing one of waiting for a single scout to return and tell us whether we were stranded. At least here there was good visibility. In fact, the sides of the ravine ultimately gave way to cliff faces on three sides, which made this maybe the safest place we’d been since entering the ravines, at least unless a wyvern attacked us. The thought was cold comfort, listening to the splashing of the stream and wondering if that was the sound of the jäger’s footsteps or something else.

I’d taken to pacing up and down the banks of the stream when a light finally flickered in the depths of the crevice. It was followed by sloshing footsteps, and then the emergence of Kaczmarek, soaked to mid-thigh but grinning from ear to ear.

“It goes through!” She called, sheathing her sabre. “Gets a bit deep and it’s bleeding cold, but it doesn’t get any narrower. And you can see for kilometres out the other side! There are villages, even. We’ve made it. Well, almost.”

I said a begrudging prayer of thanks to the Heavens, wishing our way out could be less miserable, but made no delay in taking up the reins again and trudging into the water to start the process of trying to coax a train of horses into a dark cave. I didn’t know if it would be possible, but I certainly didn’t want to walk the rest of the way.