It had been a day and a night since the river's cliff and the long climb up frozen stone. Now, the group moved like ghosts through the forest, bruised and silent. A bitter dawn light filtered through the snow-laden pines, each breath a cloud of frost. The sky was a dark greyish purple, and light snow was beginning to fall once more, with the promise of something bigger on the way. The road stayed in view above them- sometimes seen, sometimes just felt, like the presence of something dangerous too close to name. The anticipation of riders from Ereny or bounty hunters had weighted on everyone's mind since their flight north.
Grey walked with a stiff gait, leaning on the walking stick made from a freshly stripped sapling, nursing ribs sore from sleeping on the cold ground.
Cairvish muttered bitterly to himself about the chill in his sword hand. Having been the only one to retain a weapon since leaving the Baron's hall, his thin blade seemed very insignificant in their battle against the cold.
Krashina, unreadable as ever, watched the treeline with eyes that missed nothing.
Nixor walked apart. His thoughts were on meat, warm blankets, and coin. He said little as they moved, and when a half buried cart trail appeared in the snow, it's mostly overgrown path churned up with hoof prints, he was the one to speak.
"Might be a farmstead," he said, squinting down the narrow track. "Or a lodge. Could be game, food… shelter. One of us should make sure it's safe."
"You're volunteering?" Cairvish asked, voice skeptical.
Nixor grinned thinly. "I can move quieter than the rest of you clankers. I'll scout ahead."
Krashina nodded. "Go."
Nixor slipped off without another word, heart pounding not from danger, but opportunity. If there was food ahead, or shelter, he meant to claim it first.
The path led him to a squat timber lodge, nestled in a clearing and nearly hidden by the frost covered trees. A soft trail of smoke rose from the chimney. He crept closer, eyes sharp, the hidden blade he had pocketed in the underbelly loose in its sheath. The absence of dogs and people confirmed his hopes.
The place was empty, even if recently so.
The lodge was built from seasoned timber, solid and warm looking against the creeping frost, with a small set of steps leading out of the muddied snow to a thick timber door.
Inside, the air still held the ghost of firewood and roasted meat. The hearth was cooling but intact with a black iron pot suspended above old coals. A rack of dried meat hung beside it, along with hard bread, root vegetables, and jars of preserves on a shelf made from repurposed crates.
Three rooms divided the space. The main chamber doubled as kitchen and common room with a heavy table, two benches, and a weapon rack along the wall sporting two crossbows, a few spears, a short sword, and a woodsman's axe. A brace of throwing knives hung beside a worn winter cloak.
One bedroom held two bedrolls and packs, likely for companions on the hunt. The other room was neater, with a single bunk and a stack of books on a low table. Nixor spied journals, a field bestiary, and an old tome of Calondran history with pressed flowers peeking from where there were tucked inside.
Whoever had been here had left recently, but not for long considered what had been left behind.
Nixor wasted no time. He tore into the root stew, found a heel of bread, and pocketed a wedge of hard cheese. In a back room, he found warmer clothes, fitted high-quality wool and leathers with someone's insignia stitched into the lining. He snatched up a set of throwing knives and pair of thick gloves before wrapping himself in a traveling cloak.
He considered his options. Destiny's Gate isn't far, he thought. With this gear, I could make it on my own. The others… they'll slow me down. I have no real ties to them or the Baron's hostages. That beautiful priestess? Probably more trouble than she's worth. Besides, it looks like she might already have a man fawning for her.
Crunching snow directly outside was the only warning he received before the door burst open. Cairvish stood in the doorway, face red with cold and anger. Behind him came Krashina and Grey.
"You picked the place clean, didn't you?" Cairvish said.
"I found it," Nixor shot back. "And I was going to return."
Krashina's expression didn't shift, but her eyes fixed on the throwing knives at Nixor's waist.
"You were going to leave," Grey said, shaking his walking stick like an old man scolding a child. "With food. With weapons. Without us."
"You want to die in the snow? Be my guest." Nixor's distainful sneer said plenty.
The argument swelled, voices rising. But then-
A crunch of snow outside and voices from the trees halted the exchange. They turned.
Three figures appeared out of the trees. Two men bore a bloodied boar between them, slung on a pole across their shoulders. A woman walked ahead of them, clad in ivory furs, her hair red as spilled wine beneath a white cap.
The short man with the thick beard scowled at the strangers on his doorstep, and the two quickly dropped the boar between them. The men reached for the crossbows on his backs loading them with practiced speed.
The red haired woman lifted her hand and spoke a word. One that was not of this age. A word that had no echo in the Bathel Stone, that had never been sung in the cathedrals of Erathmus.
The wind howled.
A wall of force struck the group like a giant's fist. They slammed into the lodge wall, knocking Grey's staff loose, tumbling Cairvish and Krashina down to the snowy ground. Inside the lodge, Nixor was unfased, and began rapidly looking for an exit. Krashina stood quickly, shaken but unbowed. She raised her empty hands and approached.
"We're lost," she said. "We didn't mean-?"
"Get back!" the bearded man shouted, raising his crossbow. The wiry man followed suit.
It happened too fast. A twitch. A yelp. A bolt shot wide of Krashina's head and hissed into the lodge wall where Grey was struggling to his feet. The knight lunged and another bolt zipped passed her into the door frame of the lodge.
Before they could reload, Cairvish burst from the lodge steps with slender sword in hand, charging. Krashina closed the distance and smashed her fist into the red haired woman's face, knocking her hat askew and sending her stumbling. The knight was on top instantly, fists flying.
The bearded man raised his crossbow again, then stopped. Grey stood in the doorway, eyes distant, whispering words the others couldn't hear. A silent wind seemed to swirl around him, lifting the tails of his blue coat.
Both men dropped their weapons.
Then, they dropped themselves, crumpling like rag dolls to the snowy earth.
Krashina didn't stop. Her fists found the red haired woman again and again, until Cairvish grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
"She's down," he said. "That's enough."
Krashina relented, breathing hard. Her blood was pounding. Something inside of her had snapped. Gone was the overwhelming feeling of loss. It has been replaced by fury, pure and unrestricted. She turned on Cairvish, seeing him back away slowly.
"We are all friends here," he said, returning his skinny sword to its sheath.
Krashina shook her head, as if clearing away a fog. Tears streaked her face, flushed red from the excitement.
Grey bounded over, cautiously poking the three hunters with his stick. "Now what?" He asked. "We might have been able to avoid this."
Cairvish shook his head. "The witch attacked first. I don't know if we could have talked our way out of a fight here."
"At least, we should get them inside." Grey replied, looking at the damage Krashina's fists had done. "Maybe when they come to, we can have a civilized conversation."
They bound the three unconscious hunters, gagged them, and dragged them inside.
Inside, tension flared among the four companions. Although they were warm and could ride out the coming storm, they were trespassers and thieves.
Outside, snow began to fall again, accompanied by a wind that began to speak in harsh biting warning. The day was young but the night would be long and cold.
And northward… the Black Spore still waited.