“Just remember this, my girl, when you look up in the sky, you can see the stars and still not see the light.”

- Jack Tempchin

Mireille returned with an armful of more or less suitable branches, and her eyes lit up as she saw the warmly glowing firelight. “Ah! You got a fire going. Fantastic! Did you make some soup or tea?”

“Yes, come over.” The wolf tribe woman grinned a toothy grin while reaching for a battered teapot kept warm at the side of the firepit. Eying the sodden and frozen bundle Mireille was carrying, she sighed. “Those will have to go to the edges of the fire to dry, and perhaps tomorrow they can be used. Never been out in the wilds, child?”

“I’m not a child!” Letting the wood clatter to the ground where indicated, the energetic redhead brandished a tin cup from somewhere inside her coat.

“Be careful, it's hot.”

Blowing on the scalding liquid, Mireille nodded, preoccupied with getting the tea to drinkable temperatures.

“I’m Hella, by the way.” Putting the pot back with practiced motions, the woman sat down again. She was clad in brown and green with some metal plates affixed to strategic locations, arms, chest, and upper legs. Her hair was pulled back in a dirty brown ponytail, her face was fair with a smattering of freckles and the beginning of crow's feet at the edges of her dark yellow eyes. Her teeth were much less pronounced than those of Mordrak and the other male wolfkin, who had a standoffish air.

“Mmmh.” Putting the cup on a small mound of snow, Mireille nodded back, “Mireille.”

“I know.” The ranger grinned.

“Only being polite here, you know.” Mireille groused, turning her attention back to the tea. “Oh no! The tea is nearly cold!”

“Don’t put it in the snow next time.” Hella grinned.

“Mpf. Alea?”

The so-addressed did not turn, but the spider moved with a ripple of metallic limbs to focus on Mireille.

“Are you alright? You are very close to the fire.”

“It’s very cold.” Came the flat answer. Alea shivered and pulled the coat more tightly.

“Is your magic suit malfunctioning?”

“It’s the coat and no. It's not. I simply try to preserve our mana dust.”

“But we had more than enough with Alyssa not needing any.”

“It will get worse.” The spider raised its body to look up at the sky. “I did some weather divinations. And to have enough to last us for the trip over the mountains and back, we will have to be prudent.” Shivering, she clamped her teeth together and huddled a smidge closer to the fire.

“I have some moonroot here,” Hella interjected. “That should make the cold more bearable. Simply chew one before going to bed.” She searched a bit and found a small pouch from which she extracted three small root slices. “Here you are. But be careful, it's bitter.”

“You could always ask Alyssa.” Mireille brightened. “She had those potions when we crossed the pass into Margrinar. They really helped.” She frowned a bit. “But I have not seen her do much alchemy outside school. And I don’t even know if she still carries her supplies. Ah! There she is.”

Alyssa stumbled into the firelight, two wolfkin went back to gazing into the forest having had their eyes on the not-so-stealthy girl.

Mireille patted the snow beside her. “Come, sit with me!”

Rubbing her still-smarting neck, Alyssa grimaced. “There is such a thing as too much cheer.”

“Naaah. That’s rumors.” Mireille grinned. “Just glad you seem to be doing alright.”

“What about me says I’m fine?”

“You are on your own two feet and not complaining...much.” Mireille grinned broadly; Hella laughed at that.

“Where is Mordrak, by the way?”

“He has gone to scout ahead. He is particular that way. He will be back before midnight.” Hella answered.

“And Iseret?”

“Probably with Vanessa.”

“Mh. What’s with those two anyway?” Mireille leaned back against the stump of a tree.

“I do think that is quite obvious,” Alea said between chattering teeth.

Mireille went quiet at that murmuring. “My teacher with a southern assassin…”

The time went by peacefully, and the night was uneventful.

The pale morning light found them on the road west again. The long shadows of the trees leaning ahead, pointing the way.

“Ma!”

The woman wiped the sweat from her brow and then continued to remove the snow from the hatch to the root cellar. She had ash blond hair streaked with grey a thin but robust figure and a plain face that might have been pretty some years before.

“Ma...a...aa!”

“Yes, dearie?” With a tired smile, she turned to the girl with hair as blond as hers.

“I’m hungry!”

“I know. And I think we might have some earthroot in the cellar. I will see if it's still edible.”

The girl pouted at her.

“Run back home, it's cold out here, and you will freeze.” With a patient mien, she patted the girl's head and pushed her back toward the small house. It was sturdily built, and a thread of smoke hung over the chimney.

The clapping and neighing of horses came from the road. The house was situated in a small dell, protected from the worst of the weather. A brook meandered across a snowed-in meadow, the water now buried under a thick layer of ice. Trees lined the hilltops, and only the large kilns for burning charcoal showed along the treeline. There were no other signs of habitation.

“Hurry! Get inside!” The woman urged, suddenly very serious. Grabbing an old crossbow, she labored to draw back the string, inserting a rusted quarrel last.

“Now, now. Don’t you go shooting some harmless travelers!” A giant fur-clad hand pushed the crossbow down, and with a yelp, the woman discharged the bolt into the snow. Turning, she fell back into a snowdrift. Looking up at a veritable giant of a man with overlarge canines and yellow eyes. A surprised scream tore from her throat as she scrabbled back over the ground.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“MAMA!” The girl ran from the house and came to a staggering halt between the woman and the wolfkin.

“Maria!”

“Sorry to startle you.” The wolfkin made a calming gesture. “But crossbows have a tendency to ignore polite manners.”

The woman grabbed the girl, pulling her protectively into her arms.

The group of people came closer, and the woman was startled to see three teenage girls riding on some horses among the group of hardened-looking tribal warriors on foot. An older woman with the hood of her cloak drawn deep over her features accompanied them.

Among the girls, one had white hair rivaling the snow in brilliance and eyes of a startling dark purple. Another girl was a redhead who looked quite cheerful, easily the tallest of the three who carried herself with an easy grace. The smallest among them had dark, ebony hair and a blindfold across her eyes. A mechanical spider moved on her shoulder, turning this way and that. The light seemed to gather on her and illuminate her more clearly than the others so that the eye was drawn before one realized it.

“Hello!” The redhead waved before a look of chagrin appeared on her face. “Ah. We did not mean to scare you. Mordrak! What are you doing with them?”

“I only meant to keep them from doing something ill-advised.” The man shrugged. “No harm done, I hope?” He turned to the incredulous woman.

“Who are you? What do you want from us?”

“We are travelers. And we are bound for the mountains and Fernhome before that. We come from Sevenpeaks. I’m Mireille by the way.”

“Sevenpeaks?” Cautiously, without taking her eyes from Mordrak, the woman rose while still protecting the little girl. “I’m Nelle. And this is Maria. My husband went to Sevenpeaks, two weeks it is now, and he should have been back after a few days.”

“Oh, that is…” Mireille stuttered.

“Sevenpeaks was recently liberated from the old duke,” Alyssa said.

Nelle shrank back from the young girl as something colder than mere temperature brushed over her face, bringing a depressed and hollow feeling. For a moment, the eyes were no longer brilliant purple but pitch-black orbs gazing at her unblinkingly.

Shaking her head, she repeated again, “Liberated? You mean the duke...is dead?”

“Yes. We killed him.” Mireille looked smug.

“Don’t put it so crassly.” Alea sighed.

The woman looked a bit overwhelmed.

“We would like to ask about the state of the roads and the surrounding country,” Mordrak interjected, startling her. How could she have forgotten the giant standing silently beside her? Even with his stature he could simply fade into the background as if part of the scenery.

Putting aside the issue with the duke, she answered seriously, “Oh. There is nothing much to tell. Winter brings with it Frostwraith and other elementals. They come from the peaks and hunt for warmth in the woods. We have the charms from the town mage.” She pointed a some small crystal tablets hanging from the eaves above the door. “They have so far kept us safe. They also don’t like to enter a lived-in dwelling. Bandits were a big problem in the summer, but the duke sent some companies to capture them. They took a lot of the menfolk, too.” The last was nearly a murmur.

“What about Fernhome?”

“The taxes have risen again. And just before harvest, too. Many are starving, and more are enlisting in the army to get away from it all. To have some food to put on the table. My man, Josef, was on his way to sell charcoal. We are charcoal burners, see?” She pointed at the kilns.

Alyssa thought of the twisted undead roaming the streets of the tangled limbs in the butcher's yard and turned away. Saying nothing.

The bare branches waved in the wind, shadows dancing on the ice of the brook beside them. The small dirt road led alongside the water. Further into the woods, the snowy ground rose sharply. The trees nearly met far above, coming from both sides, forming a corridor of black, brown, and white.

The horse swayed beneath her, and Alyssa thought of the days past. “What were the students doing? Were they alright? Had Calvin gotten what he wanted? Was Lieseleta coping with being queen?”

“Copper for your thoughts?” Mireille leaned over.

“You would only lose money with that.” She chuckled a bit melancholy. “There is not much to tell. I’m thinking of our friends back in Kronenburg. Hopefully. Do you think the students escaped?”

“They should. They had much better support than we did.”

“Don’t underestimate Iseret and Vanessa.”

“Wouldn’t dare.” Mireille grinned.

“What do you think is behind those Mountains?” Alyssa stared at the misty peaks glimpsed between the trees, here and there.

“More snow, I think,” Mireille grumbled.

The night saw them camping outside again. A few Snow-Wraith attacked the sentry but were handily beaten back by Mordrak and Vanessa, who had simply appeared as usual after nightfall.

And the next day, with the rising sun still shining over their shoulders, they got their first sight of Fernhome.

Standing on the top of a small hill, the road a few dozen meters to the side, they got a good look at the surrounding country. There was a lot of forest still but the hunger of even a small town had eaten a big circle in the otherwise unbroken expanse of trees dotted with farms and homesteads.

Many smaller columns of smoke rose from charcoal-burner huts like the one they had left behind them with Nelle and Maria but also from some farmsteads nestled against rocky hills that gave them a bit of shelter from the harsh winds blowing from the north along the mountain range.

“It’s small.” Mireille looked at the town a bit curiously. “I thought it would be larger.”

“Saintscrossing is only a bit bigger, you know?” Alyssa shook her head at her friend.

“It’s the last stop before the mountains.” Alea looked worried.

“We will make sure to be well prepared. Don’t worry.” Mordrak stretched his back before gesturing at his warriors to form up. “Let’s see, we get there before night falls.”

“Distances in these hills can be deceptive.” The calm voice of Iseret disrupted their musings.

“Another night outside would not be so bad.” Mordrak grinned widely at the distress on Mireille’s face. “But let's hurry. I can see the disappointment when you are thinking about missing that soft inn-bed.”

“Yes! Let’s hurry up!” Mireille ushered all of them back to the narrow road.

Alyssa gave a silent command to the skeletal riders and Calmund the wight to skirt the outer edges of the settled region. And to wait for them in the foothills.

Nearing Fernhome, they saw the rugged walls made of broken fieldstone cunningly piled and perhaps assisted by a little magic to twice the height of a man. But the impression, all in all, was somewhat disappointing.

“I can jump over that without even trying,” Mireille mentioned disdainfully.

“It’s enough for some raiders or wildlife. The town was never meant to resist a siege.” Iseret shrugged.

“How come you know about that?” Mireille grumbled.

“I read some travelogues before setting out.” Iseret gave a small grin.

“Who writes about sieges that never happened in a travelogue.” Alea shook her head.

“A retired officer living here.”

“Figures.” Alea grinned a bit. The small girl had been getting comfortable with Iseret in the months she had been her ‘maid.’

A cold wind made the flags snap and flutter on the towers adjoining the gate.

As they came closer, several guards poked their heads over the battlements, and a male, gruff voice called out to them. “Wolfkin aren’t welcome around here. Go back to your woods before I add some feathers to your coat.” Raising his crossbow, the lieutenant made his point clear.

“Greetings to you too, little Southling. We come from Sevenpeaks. The war is ended and the duke is slain. You should have gotten notice already?” Mordrak called back.

Suppressed voices came from above before the officer shouted at his men. “We are not gossiping fishwives. Shut your traps, all of you. And you.” He turned to Mordrak. “You are feeling mighty fine, aren’t you? But we know your lot. Stealing, raiding. It’s all you ever do. Get lost!”

Mireille rolled her eyes. “Shall I demonstrate that those walls are not gonna stop us?”

The words were spoken too softly to reach the top of the wall, but the guards looked down on them suspiciously nonetheless.

“Let us in. We have the official recommendation of the new duchess Jamila, and if you delay us further, I will make your career as an officer a short one.” Alyssa could no longer stand the back and forth. Her left arm crackled with wisps of dark flame.

The atmosphere stagnated, and the men on the battlements were silent once more.

The side door was opened from the inside, and a hand waved at them. “Come on in then. Don’t mind a bit of posturing. We lost some good people in skirmishes with the wolfs.” An old soldier stood on the other side. “All those damned powerplays.” He murmured under his breath.

A muffled curse sounded from above. “Anselm! What the hell do you think you are doing.”

“Saving your bacon. If you had read the missives, you would have known about them. Ignorance is no excuse. Do you want to be an example that the new duchess does what she says?”

Waving them on the old soldier stomped up the stairs where an enraged Lieutenant awaited him already.

“Let us not pour oil on the fire.” Iseret shrugged, “A hot bath, a meal not half-burned from a flickering campfire, and a bed would be most welcome.”

Narrow houses huddled against each other, giving stability and shelter before the incessant winds. Narrow alleys wound between the stone dwellings, leading to little plazas ringed by a few shops and a deep well in the middle. The streets were paved with cobblestone, and what wood was used in the buildings was nearly all carved with vines and leaves.

“Irkonos must be popular around here.” Mireille guessed.

“There is much untapped wilderness to the north, and hunting for pelts is a relatively common profession.” Iseret leaned back to gaze at a carving set into a niche up on the third story of a wealthy-looking building.

“The retired officer again?” Mireille grinned.

Alyssa raised her arm and pointed at a sign proclaiming the ‘Wayfarer’s Rest.’ Grinning at Iseret, she called, “I think we found at least some of what you wished for.”