Smoke from the pyres in Tellwater followed Neal and his men as they rode along the river basin. The cultivated fields ended where wild clover began. As the elevation lowered, signs of winter lessened, and the terrain leveled to a shallow bank that led to the river. Known to be a flood plain when the snow melted, their departure proved timely. Another month and this entire area could be under water. When they reached the junction where Prince Barin had disappeared, Neal stopped the company and took his men aside. He appointed as lead a man named Terrance, a strong and able-bodied scout with excellent tracking skills.

“There’s no sense taking the entire company up that trail. Enough snow has melted on this side of the mountain that you might find signs of the prince. Tracks, perchance. Perhaps there are… remains.” It hurt him to think of Barin as deceased, but he had a duty, and a passion to discover what happened to the prince.

“We’ll leave immediately,” Terrance agreed.

“The company will camp along the river. You’ll see our fires. Bring word if you find any sign of him. Tomorrow we’ll ride into Fairmistle and check on the men there. We’ll be back here in three days. That should give you time to uncover any leads.”

“Yes, sir.”

The five men, their horses heavily packed, rode up the hilly trail. Terrance was as good a scout as any, and his dedication to Barin was as passionate as the commander’s. Neil trusted him to follow whatever lead he came across. No one wanted to lose hope. Neal would go himself if he didn’t have the company to command. Even now, as he watched them disappear among the rocks, he imagined turning over every stone and following every broken branch. He didn’t want to lose his prince. Barin had been his best friend ever since they were small lads.

He watched the men until they receded into the hills, vowing to return after his troops were home safe. He would search these hills for the rest of his days if he had to.

When Neal could no longer see the scouts, he gave his men the order to make camp. The soldiers dismounted and filled their canteens. The river here flowed as a vast watercourse, no longer confined by the bluffs of the majestic mountains and icy boulders. Neal stood at the bank of the river and let the sound of rushing water soothe his weariness. This had not been the best of mutations. They had fulfilled the mission of bringing troops, supplies, and settlers into the valley. They would build new homes and a fort that will secure Tellwater for the kingdom. Lord Garion and Felix had the labor force and new weapons now to hold off further skura attacks. But unless matters changed, and by some miracle they found Barin, Neal considered all was in vain. For this, he grieved.

Kairos walked up to him and stood by his side, perhaps wanting to talk, but the wizard kept his thoughts to himself.

“We will follow the river into the plains, toward Fairmistle before we come back this way and meet our scouts. Then we’ll head home to Prasa Potama.” His voice was low and melancholy. “We’ll trade for fresh horses in Fairmistle. I’ll be riding to the villages along the river to see how our troops fared, if there were any attacks during their stay and if they need more men. You may remain in Fairmistle and rest if you wish.”

Kairos nodded. He was no soldier, and he knew nothing about scouting. Neal smiled to himself. Of all the people to be telling his plans to, Kairos should be the last.

“How are you holding up, Wizard?” Neal knew Kairos, but not personally before this trip. Now, because of what they’d experienced together, Kairos seemed like family. “I have never been in battle, but I’ve grown because of all of this, and maybe I’ve stepped into my father’s shoes. A little. But…” he shook his head and gazed at the river. “But I am a friend of the king. I am close to his daughters, and I know his son. I know that the darkness in those halls will be great.” He sighed. “It will be good to be home. But the palace will not be an auspicious place to return to.”

“No. You’re right. And it will be up to us to hold it together.” Neal placed his hand on Kairos’ shoulder. “They need us more than ever.”

Warm air turned to cool as the sun fell below the horizon, though the temperature lacked the icy cold they experienced on the mountain. The vast landscape of blue grasslands stretched as far as the distant hills, and beyond a dark ribbon against the night sky which marked the greenbelt. The men’s spirits picked up as they unsaddled their mounts and made their beds. They would sleep well with a measure of comfort here in the warmer climate under the stars. Some men made lean-tos with their blankets, others, like Neal, made their beds in the open air. They must take turns keeping vigil through the night.

Neal—tired yet his mind too restless to sleep—stared at the heavens. His thoughts wandered to the day Talos stumbled into camp muttering he had lost the prince to the mountain giants. Those thoughts kept him awake.

Legends told of the giants guarding Mount Ream and even that there lived a dragon deep in the mountain’s cave. Neal was skeptical of folklore, so he paid it little mind, but not even in the ballads sung by bards did mountain giants venture off the pinnacle. Yet they were in Canyon Gia, and now Talos swore they captured Barin on the trail into the valley. How? Are the giants really leaving the highlands? If so, why?

Months ago, when Neal and Barin were attacked by mountain giants, he hadn’t seen their physical form until after Erika and Rory chased them away with fire. And then, only fleetingly, as they vanished. That experience was so different from the story Talos gave. He drilled the soldier, asking him if the giants were as mist and if they were, how was it that they took Barin? That the giant could talk left him critical of the confrontation. And why wasn’t Barin killed? Clearly, Talos had a horrible experience, but Neal made little sense out of his story.

When Neal spied movement in the distance coming from the mountain—long shadows in the moonlight—he jumped up, grabbed his bow, and rustled Kairos awake.

“Wizard, wake. Grab your potion. We have visitors.”

Kairos sat up, as did other men who heard him, each with their weapons in hand.

“Stand guard. Don’t shoot but stoke the fires,” Neal commanded.

Soldiers woke, quietly rustling to action. They gathered dry grass and driftwood from the riverbank, placing them on the hot coals in their fire pits, fanning the embers until they burst into flame. Neal lit a torch from one fire and clinched it, a cold sweat creeping down his temple as the shapes slowly approached. Kairos took a vial from his pouch.

While Barin led the men down the mountain, the stronger of them foraged for huckleberries, chanterelles, and wild spinach buried under the snow. These provisions gave the travelers enough nutrition to keep them moving. They quenched their thirst from pools of melting snow but once in the foothills, those pools were not as abundant. The men were so worn and fatigued that Barin pushed them on. Had they fallen asleep as dehydrated as they were, they might have died. Barin was exhausted, lips parched, and his body numb stumbled on. His shoes were worn thin and rocks bit through the leather, scraping the soles of his feet, now bruised and bloody. Those who were able carried the weakest, supporting more than half the weight of men who were not able to walk. When Effie fell in the grassland, Barin pulled him to his feet. “Just a little longer. Listen. You can hear the river now. You can make it.” The young man shook his head and leaned on the prince.

“Fire, Vasil,” one man said, his voice raspy, his body shaking in excitement. “There are people over there. At the river.”

Barin blinked, his eyes still watery from pain. He lit up at the soldier’s announcement. Those weren’t just reflections of stars in the river. They were campfires. He smelled the smoke. He wanted to run to them, but his body wouldn’t let him. His legs were too heavy to lift, and the men too weary to follow. “Keep walking, men. There is hope in sight.” He saw a horse, and as he neared, he saw the king’s banner on a pole near the river.

And then he heard someone yell out. “Hold your fire!”

Barin recognized that voice. Neal! His pulse quickened. He laughed and cried a flood of joy and relief poured out as tears.

“Vasil!” came the call and Neal ran toward him.

Neil’s men escorted Barin, and the freed captives to the camp. Neal’s soldiers carried those too weak to walk and gave them blankets and coats once they arrived at the camp. Their feet were bandaged, their bodies nurtured. Barin enjoyed a warm bowl of stew, and soft grass to lie on. Fires burned throughout the night and so with the countless stars and Neal’s army watching over him, Barin, for the first time in a long while, slept like a baby.

Barin woke at dawn, earlier than Stormy and the other Fairmistle boys. The river sparkled with the colors of sunrise—golds and pinks and soft valley fog. So tempting was the water that Barin stripped naked and dove in. The cold shocked him awake. He scrubbed his face when he came up for air and swam back to shore, shaking droplets out of his hair. He dried with a cloth, which Neal tossed him.

“Well, that was refreshing!” Barin remarked, slipping into his stockings and trousers. While still shirtless, he eyed the camp, the horses, and the sleeping soldiers. “Your men aren’t up yet?” he asked.

Neal simply shook his head. “Tell me, Vasil, what’s it like to be imprisoned by a mountain giant.” Neal poured him a mug of hot wine.

Barin accepted the cup, took a drink, and then set it down.

“Completely senseless and horrific, Neal. The giant’s fist bore a resemblance to a tomb in which he carted me to the top of a mountain.” Barin nodded toward the distant peak of Casda de Moor. “He then threw me into a cave with an iron gate and left me alone to freeze, starve and dehydrate. After Skotádi decided he had tortured me enough, he took me into his cave, and then released me with these men to find our way back.”

Neal stared at him as Barin dried his hair by the fire. Barin tossed Neal the towel and slipped on his shirt, and then his doublet. He slung his cloak over his shoulders, wondering why Neal hadn’t shaken his soldiers awake.

“Your men will be ready to ride soon? What are you staring at?”

“Talos told the truth, then?”

“Good man, if he told you the mountain giants had me, you’d best believe him. Talos is an honest man. He wouldn’t lie about his prince. Where is he?”

“He stayed with Lord Garion, too weak for the trip home. Why, in the king’s name, were you tortured if only to be released?”

“I don’t know, Neal”

“Did you see him?”

“Who?”

“The phantom. Skotádi? The one who they say controls these demons.”

Barin paused for a moment, trying to remember. All that came to mind were the icy caves, the giant, and a dark night inside a different cavern. “No. I thought maybe… no, I didn’t. Only the giant named Sol, and a slimy sort of monster who brought food into my cage in the morning and took it out at night. And then these good men who had also been taken captive from Fairmistle.” He looked around, anxiously. “Neal, we shouldn’t delay. We need to return to the castle.”

Neal shook his head, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

“Vasil, may I?” Stormy asked, nodding toward a cup of wine. Neal handed the cup to him. “A good biddin’ to you. Everything is well with you?”

“I’m fine, Stormy,” Barin snickered slightly, wondering why the boy still worried about his health. Bothered by Neal’s stare, Barin waved the comment off. “Stormy thinks I should be ill, or out of my mind, perhaps.”

Neal glanced at the boy who looked away, blushing.

“Why?” Neal asked.

“It’s nothing.” Barin answered. Don’t start a panic in the camp, he thought as he glared at Stormy. The young man didn’t see his expression though or paid no attention to it if he did.

“Sir, His Highness Prince Barin and the men—they ate food prepared by the demon. Folks in Fairmistle say Lord Skotádi controls his beasts with tainted food.”

“And yet we’re fine. No one is ill. It’s a fable, Stormy. A folktale. Pay it no mind.”

Stormy bowed. “My apologies, meanin’ no harm to you.”

“Of course, you didn’t mean any harm. Just don’t worry so much over me. Please.” Barin said and turned his back to the young man who glanced at Neal and then stepped back to his bedroll.

“So, you’re ready to ride on, Vasil?” Neal asked.

“Immediately. You and your men are headed for Prasa Potama?”

“Our plans have changed since you’re here. We were going to take a side trip to Fairmistle to get fresh horses and check on your men in the river towns. I also have a search party in the hills looking for you. But yes, we were riding to Prasa Potama after that.”

“I will ride there directly.”

“Your father will be euphoric to see you, Barin. We sent word that you had disappeared. I can only imagine the suffering he’s been going through.”

“If my father still lives.” Barin said as he laced his boots. Not a minute could be spared. If Barte indeed invaded his father’s land, Barin would have to drive him out. His stomach sickened at the thought of what he might find. If indeed his family had been slain, Barin would retaliate. He pulled tight the knot of his laces with a quick yank, wishing it were a rope around Barte’s neck he was constricting instead. He leapt to his feet.

“Pardon?”

“My men tell me that my father’s castle has been invaded,” Barin met Neal’s surprise. “They presented proof. If that’s so, we can’t waste time. I fear for my sisters.”

“I didn’t hear any such rumor.”

Barin glanced at Stormy. “Tell him, Stormy.”

Stormy hesitated, so Effie interjected. “We overheard the skura talking,”

“What exactly did they say?” Neal asked.

“They said they had it easy now that Barte son of Moshere has invaded our kingdom. They were laughing about it.”

“And the proof?”

Effie shuffled nervously.

Barin stood, dressed, and paced around the fire. “Stormy, wake the men, let’s get them moving.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned to Neal, his temper flaring as he repeated what his men told him.

“The skura possessed something that belonged to Erika. Something… personal. The men saw it.”

Neal shot Barin a concerned grimace. The soldiers woke, shuffling out of their blankets, getting ready for the day. They gathered around Barin, telling Neal their side of the story.

“We thought they were tricking us, but they didn’t know we were listening.”

“Said that Barte is sitting on the throne and securing the palace with his own guards. Said he’s dressing them like Potamian guards so if Prince Barin returns, he’ll be lured into the castle.”

“They’re fixing on killing you, Vasil. And any men you bring with you.”

“And the King?” Neal asked.

“Said he died, sir. Said Barte son of Moshere drove a sword right through his heart. We don’t know if that’s true, but that’s what they said.”

“You believe this, Barin?”

“Yes, Neal.” The remnant became too personal for Barin to mention. He fingered the kerchief in his pocket. “With the illness of my father, think of how easy it would be for Barte to come and invade us. Even more so if he knew I was gone. You have a horse for me?”

“Yours,” Neal nodded toward his destrier in the field with the others. “The men led Beau all the way to the valley and back, hoping we’d find you. He’s fresh and ready to go.”

Barin’s spirits lifted when he saw his horse. He picked up his blanket and threw it over his shoulder.

“Good. We have no time to dally. Take what men would go to Fairmistle with you, Neal, and assemble our men who are there. Recruit others if you can. Gather weapons in the village, horses. We’ll need a large army to defeat Moshere.”

Neal bowed cordially. “Of course, Vasil.”

“That’s an order!” The look on Neal’s face expressed doubt, but this was not the time for his commander to balk, nor could he waste these moments explaining. The men Barin rescued on the mountain were energetic this morning, and instead of riding with Neal to their homes in Fairmistle, they chose to rally around him.

“We’re with you, Vasil,” they agreed. “God Save the King.”

Barin nodded and gathered the things that Neal salvaged and saddled and packed his horse. He mounted, rode to the banner that sailed in the breeze near the river, and pulled it out of the sand. Holding the standard high, he circled the camp.

“You who are loyal to King Tobias take heed. When we left the king to aid Lord Garion and fight against the devil, to our ignorance we left the Crown city Prasa Potama vulnerable to the wiles of a foreign invader. Barte son of Moshere has assaulted the throne of King Tobias. Our enemies have conspired against us. Who is there to join me and drive this trespasser from our kingdom?”

Barin pointed to Kairos. “Wizard! Come with me.”

The wizard bowed low and then mounted a horse.

Soldiers raised their fists and saddled their mounts, leaving Neal with but a few weary men desiring to return to Fairmistle. Stormy included. It was just as well. Barin’s men believed in him. Proud of his new militia, he led his soldiers, fully armed now, refreshed from their quiet sleep by the river, canteens filled, and a day’s ride to Prasa Potama.

The once-imprisoned men rode by his side in solidarity. They suffered together and overcame adversity as a unit. They were of one mind now invigorated by overcoming inconceivable obstacles. Barin eyed them with a steaming pride. His body flamed with anger as he visualized a skura in possession of a lock of his sister’s hair. He will kill whoever is responsible. If Barte son of Moshere is working with the devil, he will put an end to the man. He prodded his horse faster.