Her skin was so cold it felt hot. The gusts of icy snow stung as she pushed through the trudged-up, knee-high snow; Emalia knew they were making poor time. Based on her conversations with the locals and the relatively crude map she’d procured, they were supposed to make it to a barebones lumber hut meant for trappers and explorers before sundown. But it was already dark. And getting darker. The moon above was smothered by clouds, and the snow, so bright in the day, seemed to drape everything in an oppressive shadow. Svakas, burn away the ice upon my bones. Rotaal, light the way with your illuminating presence. Raizak, do not let this guided quest die here in this wasteland. The thought was followed by a shudder of guilt, for making askings of her patron god was an arrogant endeavor when she’d disobeyed him. Even if such free-thinking rebelliousness was in his nature. Forgive your lowly servant, oh Martyr of Humankind. Forgive me and empower me so I may deliver your word. The wind howled, cutting through her clothing in a rush of violent cold. The breath of the gods? Was it a blessing or a curse? What would old Smychnik say here? What advice in such harship? He always had the words for such moments.

  She shuttered and pushed forward, following the path the others carved out ahead. In the front, Protis and the two other Soulborne plowed through the snow, clearing the way for Stanilo, Oskar, and a few others. In the cold, the Dead moved more slowly, but they were still far stronger than any human, Daecinus guaranteed. Emalia felt a twinge of satisfaction at all the assistance he’d been providing them. If she had went against her instincts weeks ago, he’d be dead, heart cut out and prepared for the necessary rituals back in Nova. It was a grisly promise and one she reflected on with further distaste the more days put between her and her previous intentions. Raizak will understand, she thought, glancing back to Daecinus’s tall form behind them, Feia next to him.

  She didn’t know what to make of… that. But in the end, it wasn’t her business, so she tried not to study their interactions and worry about how it would all complicate things. Still, she found little success in the effort. The closer they became, the more difficult things might become if she ever had to…

  “You okay?” Sovina shouted over the roaring wind.

  Emalia blinked and looked at her guardian, positioned just behind her in the line. “Yes.” She turned back and focused on her steps. I have to be careful. If anything goes wrong… She decided not to finish that thought. Yes, it was all on her. Any deaths would be pointedly her fault and responsibility. And all for what? Raizak? How could she claim that it was for him when he hadn’t even sent her any visions since Rotaalan right before Daecinus? I said I won’t think about that! she nearly screamed at herself, lips curled in, eyes narrowed into thin, angry slits. Follow the path. Do my duty.

  Up ahead was a small copse of trees. Oskar seemed to be pointing to it, shouting something at Stanilo. They two exchanged some wind-muddled words, then a message was passed down the line, “Stopping ahead.” She continued the chain, tucking her chin into the thick cloak secured high up on her neck.

  Was there a copse on the map? Surely. Along the route? She tried to remember, but it was tucked away, and she didn’t wish to fish it out amidst all the heavy wind.

  After a moment, the Soulborne changed paths towards the copse, cutting a route in the snow. Without them, they’d be marching through snow up to the waist. She didn’t even wish to think about how horrendous that might be.

  After a few minutes, they made it. The snow banks were more volatile, so they had to find a spot amidst a cluster of firs where it only came to the shins and crouched in a tight cluster, wind howling overhead. Emalia took the opportunity to take off her woolen mittens and search out the map. With careful, tightly clenched fingers, she held it low to the ground and frowned down at it. It was too dark to see much of anything, and she was about to try and find a place in less cover when Feia huddled in close, opened a dented, soot-stained metal contraption, and unscrewed the lid, lighting a wick with a few practiced strokes from a flint and steel on a char cloth. It burned with a smoky, acrid scent that was quickly whisked away in the gusts. Feia huddled over the lamp and grunted to her as the light spread just enough to read by.

  Emalia scanned the parchment, locating their supposed trail. She tried estimating where they were and searching for a designated copse but found nothing. There was no marking of trees on the map at all, which hopefully meant it was just unmarked. But if this bend is right, she thought, running a finger over a small curve in the trail that they followed along the mountainside, then we are close.

  “Well?” Oskar asked, huddled in with his hands shoved in his armpits.

  “I believe we can make it.”

  “Good. About time. It’s bloody freezing up here. Not sure how much longer the men can take it, you see.”

  “We have to keep going.”

  “Oh, I’m convinced, priestess,” he muttered, shouting for the party to get ready to move again. If there were any complaints, she didn’t hear them over the wind.

  Emalia went to stand, but someone caught her arm. She glanced over and found Sovina’s hand there, pale and nearly blue. A spike of worry shot through her body, seizing up her throat. “Are you warm enough?” she asked, bending down to inspect her skin for frostbite.

  “Yes.” Sovina withdrew the hand and placed it back in the long folds of her cloak. “The cabin is far. This might be our best alternative.”

  “People will die if we sleep out here. We need to keep going.”

  “Better a few here than all of us in the blizzard.”

  “Please,” she said, feeling for the other woman’s hand shoved away in the woolen fabric, “trust me.” Her hand was cold and stiff. Not frostbite, not yet, but she wasn’t far.

  “I do. I just wanted to make sure.” She offered a shaky smile, teeth clattering incessantly.

  “You seem frozen to the bone, Sovina! We can stop, make a fire—”

  “No. I’m just cold. Let’s reach this cabin.”

  Emalia nodded, letting her guardian and old friend go ahead of her to join the others. When she was off, Emalia half-jogged, half-hobbled over to Feia, who was putting away her lamp and whispering things to Daecinus. He smiled, which was an odd look on the serious, grave man, but it seemed right on him. Emalia felt something hot and angry indignation flash up through her at the sight of them. Jealousy? But why? For whom? Before it could grow into anything more, she came closer and cleared her throat.

  “Um, Feia, do you have something for the cold? Sovina is close to frostbite, but she won’t admit it.”

  The odd woman narrowed her eyes and scowled. “The arts of concoctions are but a vague interest, yet all wish to beg things of me. I have no magic or alchemical warmth for Sovina, Priestess of the Column.”

  “I just figured with how you’ve saved us before with your alchemy…” Emalia trailed off, then said, “Sovina’s always kept me safe. I’m sure her abilities would be appreciated by a friend who saved her sword fingers.”

  “Hm.” Feia squinted at her as they all trudged forward to join the departing mercenaries. “Fine, but this was meant to sustain my flesh, not hers. I expect all gratitude and protections.” She shoved a small round glass bottle in Emalia’s arms and nodded forward. “Go before I decide to rightfully prioritize myself.”

  Emalia thanked her, smiling wide, and ran ahead to Sovina. The bottle was filled with a thick liquid and was warm to the touch. But to reach her companion, now within the line departing the copse, glancing back for her, Emalia had to move around the others in her way. So she shuffled through the high snow, taking an arcing path. Each step was a sort of hop and a push just to get anywhere, and she was almost instantly exhausted, but Sovina was just a bit further. There was something expressed in her features. Amusement? Perhaps. Sovina smiled and shook her head, as if the sight of Emalia flailing in the snow, gasping and huffing, was something other than pathetic. A lightness in her eyes. What did that mean? What was that?

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Emalia’s foot came down, but there was nothing solid beneath it. She gasped as the ground disappeared and the hardpacked snow broke apart all around her. A shrill, horrified scream lurched out of her throat and was cut short as she hit something hard, all air fleeing her lungs. Her vision went white. Snow all around her. Her feet connected with something and were swept out, and her body crashed into icy rock as she slid, the world a thing of white. She tumbled once, twice, arms coming in and protecting her body and head. Then she smashed something solid. Snow fell around her, painting the world black. Pain sprouted from her ankle, radiating up, reverberating off the sharp stabbing sensation in her back and forehead.

  Emalia whimpered, not risking moving, just taking ragged, wheezing quick breaths. It sounded like her lungs were partially broken. At least her hands were warm. She blinked, wondering why that was, then had a horrid feeling of something wet through her mittens and imagined blood pouring out open wounds. She tried her fingers, but they worked fine. There was something in her hands. She felt it and realized it was just the bottle. With a silent, tremoring laugh, she tried pulling the bottle close to her chest but found she could scarcely move. Everything was black, cold, and tight. Buried under snow. A surge of panic went through her. Raw fear making her limbs thrash and strain to no avail. Calm down. Her breath was quick, sudden, desperate. Calm down!

  …

  Everyone stared at the spot where the priestess had just been, a moment of frozen stillness and silence between them as the wind howled. Oskar felt his skin prickle and legs wobble. He squinted against the flurry and darkness towards the edge, hoping to see the priestess to climb back up with an easy smile, but that was a thing of fantasies. She was gone.

  “Emalia!” Sovina screamed, broken from her trance, sprinting toward the edge with little regard for the potential dangers underfoot.

  “Hey!” he shouted after her. “Slow down!” He looked to the two men closest to her in line. “Grab her.”

  They ran off in pursuit, but though they were both hard warriors, the guardian of the Column outpaced them, reaching the edge and stumbling to a stop, screaming over it, scanning whatever lay beneath. The men grabbed her arms and pulled her back. She swore at them and tried throwing them off, yet they managed to haul her away. Oskar watched the chaotic wrestling match between the three of them and found himself thinking about their payment. The priestess had the coin for food on her, and only she knew where to go and what to do in Drazivaska so they might gather all the treasure there. They were fucked.

  “It’s not far down!” Sovina shouted to him. “Put a rope over the side. I can find her.”

  Oskar looked from her to the men beside her. Miras was next to her and said, “It’s too far for a rope. We don’t have anything past ten strides.”

  Oskar squeezed his eyes shut, the inevitable defeat sinking in. “There a path down?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “Me neither,” the other man said. “Maybe if we backtrack?”

  The suggestion was made half-heartedly, for they all knew the risks of spending more time out in the dark cold. Another hour outside would see lost fingers, toes, maybe even more.

  “Then leash the ropes together!” Sovina shouted. “We have to go find her here! Any other route will take too long—”

  Oskar wasn’t listening. He was staring at the edge. The precipice where the priestess had fallen, and with her, all his hopes and bloody dreams. Gold and fame and all the things he deserved. All the things taken from him. It was a new life that went down with the snow and the cold and broke its legs in some lower valley, swallowed up by the frigid damn mountains in one unlucky stumble and drop.

  “Fuck!” he grunted, hands coming up to his head, fingers digging into his scalp. “Fucking fuck!”

  “Chief?” Stanilo asked, leaning in close. “We going after her?”

  Nifont was nearby as well. “It’s a risk in the cold.”

  “We have to try. She’s one of us.”

  “Hardly.” Nifont scowled and squinted up at Stanilo, a nasty look in his eye. “Need to remind you what they all did to us? All the promises made and abandoned, sides switched?”

  “She’s left them,” he insisted. “She’s not a servant of the Column anymore.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s above their schemes. The Column’s in her blood.”

  “But—”

  “Enough.” Oskar shook his head and looked out over everyone. The mercenaries were gathered close, huddled up, and watching him for the orders. Daecinus was trying to get closer to the edge to look, but Feia was in his way, hissing something that was swallowed up by the wind. The Dead monstrosities nearby were going forward, cutting through the snow like they were born in it. Sovina was glaring at them, hands out and squeezed into tight, pale fists. He knew for all her threats and bluffs she was just scared. When you’ve got nothing but violence at your disposal, it’s a tool for every problem, no matter how much worse it makes things in the end.

  “Stanilo, take the others ahead,” Oskar found himself saying, glancing at Sovina, whose shoulders relaxed in relief. He looked away quickly. “I’ll stay here with Daecinus and Sovina. We’ll get her and follow your trail.”

  “Chief,” the man responded, giving him a nod and a small, satisfied smile.

  Nifont sighed. “If you’re staying, you’ll need me to find the way. None of you can navigate for shit.”

  Oskar nodded. “Fine. Everyone else, get moving!”

  Feia waded through the snow towards him. “Oskar Koyzlov, death will follow you should you stay here!”

  “Is this something you’ve seen in your bones?”

  She bared her teeth. “It is a warning of practical origin.”

  “Then consider your opinion heard. Now move.”

  She said nothing, stalking away and thumbing a bone ring around her pinky. She’s too callous for her own good, he thought, watching her go. Then Oskar caught her trying to sneak a look at Daecinus, and he understood. Still, duty was to be before everything else, even if she was a woman with her feelings and… all that. He shook his head. And with Daecinus? Gods above.

  “Can we tie the ropes together?” Sovina asked. “Are there enough?”

  Oskar huffed a sigh. “No. We’ll backtrack if Daecinus’s Soulborne can’t find a way down.”

  “They cannot,” the man in question replied, standing tall and still amidst the rushing wind as if the cold hardly touched his flesh. “They will scout in search for a route. But we must be cautious. There are Dead here.”

  “Shit. How many?”

  “Protis is uncertain. But the scent of unbound Soul Sorcery is in the air. The Soulborne are attuned to it, though it is but a vague sense.”

  “Now you mention Dead,” he muttered, nodding ahead, or rather, behind. “Let’s get moving then.”

  The Soulborne dashed off back the way they came, spreading out with the one called Protis in the center on their old trail, heads turning this way and that to scan. Sovina went to run after, but Oskar called out, “Don’t exhaust yourself. We’re going to be careful about this.”

  “We need to find her!”

  “And we also don’t need to sweat our way to a frozen death. Go slow.”

  “It’s as he says,” Nifont said.

  She did with no small amount of glaring and huffing, so they pushed back the way they came at as quick of a walk the snow would allow. As they went, Oskar had his hands shoved up under his armpits, head lowed and shoulders hunched, already regretting his decision. He found Daecinus close by and bumped him with his shoulder. “Think you could just order your Dead ones to find her and bring her back?”

  “I could, but there are dangers in such an action,” he replied, staring ahead. “They weaken when distant from me—compounded by difficult terrain and conditions. The effect is worse in this time than it was in mine, so I am not used to it yet. As such, I am worried about unforeseen variables.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not know the limits of my Soulborne yet. Their minds are different than I am used to… It makes them unpredictable in a certain sense.”

  “Does it make them dangerous?” Nifont asked, exchanging glances with Oskar.

  “They are always dangerous. To us, less so. But if there were another Sorcerer out here, or a plethora of Shells, or a sudden influx or lack of Spirit to fuel them… they may respond differently. Besides, they lack the knowledge to heal an injured person, so we are still necessary.”

  “As long as they don’t pose a threat to us,” Oskar said, trying to catch Daecinus’s eye in a serious, steady look, to little avail, for the man just stared ahead, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

  “Of course. Naturally.”

  Oskar sighed, then coughed and spit to the side, his lungs aching something fierce and whole body burning from the exhausting march and stinging cold. I’ve lost my damn mind, he thought, smirking out into the night. Lost it for good this time. Never to be found again. On he went, aching and frozen, with something warm and distantly familiar deep in his chest, keeping his legs pumping, his eyes forward and scanning. He didn’t quite know the feeling, but it was nice. By the old gods and the new, it was more than nice. Oskar took in a deep breath and felt its freezing itch in his lungs, but instead of just the bitter sting of cold, it was rejuvenating, reinvigorating. Like he was almost a new man.