By the time the sun slipped behind the distant hills, the forest had turned to iron and shadow.
The trees, thick with frost and silence, stood like petrified giants, their limbs clawing toward the purple sky. A bitter wind whipped through the underbrush, rattling dead branches and biting at exposed skin. The companions moved quietly beneath the trees, parallel to the old North Road above them—a crumbling ribbon of stone and snow tracing the edge of a low ridge.
Cairvish limped slightly, a muscle in his leg stiff from cold. Nixor's lips were blue, his eyes constantly scanning. Grey clutched his cloak close, breath coming in fogged gasps. Krashina, stoic as ever, led without complaint, though her steps had slowed.
Above them, the thunder of hooves broke the evening stillness.
The group froze.
A dozen riders galloped north across the ridge, cloaks snapping behind them. Their horses steamed in the cold air, snorting with effort. Leather armor, hunting spears, and thick furs—these were no patrol. They rode with purpose and speed, and none bore the colors of the Grand Duchy.
"Bounty hunters," Nixor muttered. "Or worse."
"Bandits?" Grey whispered.
"No. Paid blades. You can smell the gold behind them."
Cairvish's brow furrowed. "Tracking us?"
"Or chasing the same quarry." Krashina's voice was soft but firm. "Either way, we need shelter. Soon."
The forest thickened as they descended, the trees tighter, the ground uneven and root-choked. The wind cut deeper with each minute. Frost crusted their boots and gloves. Grey's teeth chattered, and Cairvish began rubbing his fingers constantly, concern flickering in his eyes.
"If we don't stop soon," Grey said, "we'll lose more than time."
"I'd prefer to keep my fingers," Cairvish added, half-joking, half-desperate.
They found a hollow beneath an overhang of tangled roots and fallen branches. A stand of brush helped block the wind. It wasn't much, but it was something. Krashina and Cairvish began dragging over dead limbs to create a lean-to while Nixor cleared the frozen ground. Grey knelt by a small pile of damp sticks, cupping his hands.
"Don't suppose you've got another housewife's secret?" Nixor asked with a smirk, voice cracking from cold.
Grey didn't answer. His eyes narrowed, focusing inward. He muttered something under his breath, a whisper of ancient syllables, a forgotten charm. He tapped the wood once.
A spark flared.
The tiny fire sputtered to life, barely brighter than a candle. But it was enough. Warmth crept into the shelter, thin as a thread but welcome. They all leaned toward it, too weary to speak for a long moment.
Cairvish broke the silence. "How long until someone sees the smoke?"
"No wind," Krashina said. "And the fire is low. We're not building a bonfire."
"But we're still exposed," Nixor added. "If they have dogs... or inquisitors..."
"You can believe that no inquisitor is riding in this weather," Grey muttered. "Not unless the coin was very good." They laughed, but softly. The trees still listened.
Krashina pulled her cloak tighter. "We should take watches."
Nixor nodded. "I'll go first."
"I'll take last," Grey said. "I don't sleep much."
"I'll do second," Cairvish said, rubbing his hands again. "My blood still works. Mostly."
Krashina didn't volunteer, but they all assumed she would be awake regardless.
As they huddled into the lean-to, sleep came slowly. The wind howled through the trees, distant wolves gave voice to the rising moon, and far above, on the road, unseen riders passed like ghosts. The fire crackled, hidden, but defiant and small in the wilderness.
And somewhere north, the Black Spore stirred, unaware that he even being discussed.