This was Zantheus’s least favourite training exercise.

About once a week, Euzoius took the novices up to the lower slopes, just where the snow started to settle on the mountains.

He then looked for the places where if you broke a thin layer of ice you found little pools about as close to freezing temperature as you could get.

The novices would then take turns to submerge themselves in the freezing water, wearing only their undergarments, as Euzoius measured how long they were able to keep themselves under.

The explanation they were given was that this was a way of disciplining their bodies to withstand the kind of temperatures they would be forced to endure when they one day made their attempt to climb Mount Awmeer.

Of all the gruelling physical trials he was made to undertake, this was the one Zantheus found the most difficult.

Of course, as with all the other exercises, Zantheus far exceeded all the other novices, his time on the chart being vastly superior to those of his peers, but it was still his least favourite exercise.

It was the only one he did not genuinely enjoy, the only one he did not look forward to.

His body had just about learned how to handle all the other methods the Order had thus far devised to beat it into peak condition, but nothing quite compared to the submergence exercise.

No matter how hard he trained, he could never get rid of the sudden shock that came when he entered the water, the brief moment of fear, of feeling powerless.

“Ok Zantheus, it’s you turn,” said Euzoius.

He stripped off his robes and stood with his back to the pool, preferring not to look at it before he jumped.

The rest of the novices gathered round. They always watched Zantheus’s exercise runs with interest, marvelling at the things he was capable of forcing his body to do.

“Well then, Zantheus,” said Euzoius, “show us how it is done.”

He jumped.

There it was. His whole body bristled with pain and shock. He gathered himself and held his ground against this first onslaught.

The pain began to dull. He concentrated on holding his breath.

His chest started trying to convulse in order to breathe in faster air that was not available to it. But he regulated it as he had been taught and kept his diaphragm still.

Then came the ‘first wall’: the point where his body complained that it could no longer continue and cried out with a still greater pain.

This wall was encountered in some way or another in every training exercise, though it arrived most quickly during this one.

Zantheus knew from experience that his body was lying, that it could continue if he willed it to do so, that the pain would eventually dull again.

Learning to overcome the first wall was a very elementary lesson for the knights of Aythia. He forced himself to stay submerged in the freezing water, always mindful that he was adding to his time on the chart.

He had probably beaten his previous record already.

Now came the ‘second wall’.

This was not attended by such an intense pain, but rather an odd stillness came over his body, and it started to shut down.

Zantheus had been taught that this was the moment to halt the training exercise.

When he recognised the second wall, that meant it was time to stop.

Up until now he had always done so.

But, on this occasion, he began to think, what did his teachers really know?

He was the most advanced novice there had been for centuries, he had smashed all the training records, why should they be able to tell him what he was and was not capable of?

He decided to see if there was anything beyond the second wall, fighting his instinct to come up for air.

He regretted this decision at once.

The stillness started to spread from his body to his mind, and his thought became very... slow...

He found himself confronted by a terrible kind of... weight... a thick darkness that was threatening to swallow him up...

For all his strength of will and body, he could not face it.

Panic consumed him.

He tried to thrash around in desperation, but his limbs would not obey him.

The light at the top of the pool was fading fast.

How he longed for that light. He would give anything, anything in the world, just to have that light, just to be in that light again.

It was getting further and further away.

He had the strange sensation of falling, or perhaps it was flying. Or floating. He was sure the darkness was going to swallow him up.

He called out, unable to free himself.

A hand reached down and grasped his.

It wrenched him back up, back up into the light.

What was he thinking? He wasn't on the lower slopes!

Where was he then? The shore.

He must be on the shore because his legs had hit something.

In his confusion he let go of the chunk of mast. Everything tasted salty for a moment.

He forced his head out of the water and gasped for air.

Tromo still clung to his neck and to life. Zantheus tried to remember how to walk.

He spluttered forwards, tripping over several times, begging his body to obey him.

The world was dark and blurry and contorted with every step, but the water seemed to be getting shallower.

One of his falls brought him to his knees, fortunately by now it was shallow enough for him to crawl.

Tromo slipped off his back and began to crawl alongside him, at least that was what he hoped was happening next to him.

Inhale, exhale. His own breath and the sound of another, weaker and quaking, were all he knew.

The night air caressed his soaking wet body and he started to shake with freezing cold.

As this deathly chill spread down his arms and legs he realised he was nearly out of the water.

They had arrived in Dahma!

His hands felt soft sand. Without thinking about what he was doing he scooped some into his mouth and rejoiced at its disgusting earthy taste.

Then he collapsed face down in it, too exhausted to go any further.

A small shape did the same thing next to him.

This was no way to die. They had come this far. He would not die like this.

Zantheus could not even muster the energy to check if Tromo was still breathing, but he managed to edge a little closer to him, trying to share as much of his dwindling body warmth with the boy as possible.

Then he passed out.