Niel knew it was beginning to look hopeless. There was too much ground left to cover, all of it difficult and prone to storms. Supplies were dwindling, and game was scarce. He paused and turned, studying the troops behind him. The men were strung out through the forested slope, some barely visible, a dusting of snow covering their clothes. The remaining messenger birds huddled in their travel cage on the pack pony’s back, feathers puffed up.
Seeing their lord commander stop, two soldiers carrying a stretcher with their injured comrade hurriedly set down theweight to rest their arms. Another soldier paused to lean against a naked oak.
He could see the exhaustion in their eyes. It mirrored his own. How long until they had no choice but to abandon their wounded and eat their few remaining animals? The messengers birds were the only way he still had of getting in touch with his father and with the armies of Aronthia, the northern kingdom Niel’s father had traitorously allied with against their own kingdom of Enar.
Only three months had passed since Niel’s family split in half. Niel’s father, the Duke of Mount Eyron, had declared war on his own sister, the Queen of Enar. Niel’s brother, Corin, had renounced Mount Eyron to side with the Queen.
Niel did not mind being on opposite sides of a war from his brother and his aunt. He hated them both.
His father had sent Niel west, against Niel’s protests, to break the city of Ironcliff. If Niel captured the city, his father’s northern allies could send soldiers down through the coastal path that Ironcliff guarded, and into the kingdom of Enar.
They needed that pass to win the war. A dense mountain range divided the two countries, making it impossible to cross an army over the border in most places. Bringing soldiers down by ship wasn’t an option, not so long as Niel’s cousin Hark was at sea, using his old blood magic to spin brutal storm after brutal storm north.
But Niel had failed at his task. Ironcliff was too well guarded, and the soldiers his father gave him were in poor condition, half-fed and barely trained. It was a disgrace, the way his father treated the men. But no matter how bad a hand he’d been dealt, the defeat would fall on Niel’s shoulders, and Niel would take the whipping. So he had taken too long to accept defeat. He’d remained camped outside of Ironcliff city in a bitter standoff against his brother Corin, who now led the Queen’s armies.
Brother against brother. Like it had always been. And Corin had won. Like he always fucking did.
The delay might have been fine, in an ordinary year.
Only, it was not an ordinary year. All of cousin Hark’s weather-working had ruined Niel’s odds of retreat. Instead of the usual early fall drifts that came in the mountains, the first winter blizzard arrived a month early. With Corin the asshole blocking their retreat along the coastal path from both the northandthe south, Niel’s men had no choice but to fight their way up into the mountains through snow and ice and cold to reach one of the more treacherous passes.
A mile away from it, they’d found the path choked by snows so heavy the only way through was to tunnel—an endeavor they didn’t have the time or strength to attempt. The high peaks were unreachable, the passes snowed in. It was too late. They had no choice but to turn back.
It was typical of an encounter with his brother. Nielneverhad the fucking strong position.
So here they were. A forced march through an endless winter storm, on slopes so rocky and dangerous they’d lost fifteen men to the mountains already, praying they could cut a path to Mount Eyron before another blizzard buried them entirely or before his brother’s army caught up to them. At this point he didn’t even know if Corin was still pursuing them or if his brother had turned back. Niel was tempted to throw himself off one of the cliffs and put an end to the shame that dragged like a stone in his heart, but that would leave his men in even worse shape than they were already in. He would not abandon them until they were safe. He’d lost too many already.
Kerr paused beside Niel, but the captain didn’t say another word. He only gazed blandly at the soldiers, betraying no thought, making no further request of his commander. Niel sighed heavily. He already knew Kerr’s advice: call a rest for themen. Kerr was a better commander than him, even if the captain was too loyal to admit it.
Niel had been trained to fight alone. And he’d made one bad decision after another in the past three months, expecting the poor, half-starved soldiers to keep up with his endurance and match his skill.
“Half hour rest,” Niel called gruffly, pitching his voice to carry. He let his heavy pack fall off his back. It thudded into the snow. Niel watched as the men slumped down; one fell to his knees. The hollow in Niel’s gut widened as he watched them. “I’m going to scout ahead, find the easiest path,” Niel informed the captain. They’d reached such a point of exhaustion that they didn’t bother with scouts anymore normally. What was the point? Death surrounded them on all sides.
“I’ll watch your back,” Kerr offered.
“Someone ought to make sure they don’t mutiny,” Niel joked grimly. Kerr only shrugged.
“Think they’re too tired for that, my lord. You shouldn’t go alone.”
Niel snorted. He turned back east, the way they were heading, and began to trudge. At least he didn’t have to worry about getting lost, with the snow keeping a tally of their every move that made them horribly easy to track, if his brother Corinwasstill following them.
He heard Kerr following behind him, the snow crunching beneath each step of their boots.
The forest here was savage and wild. It didn’t belong to the immortal Hulder, but it was full of monstrous folk all the same. In that way it was familiar to Niel. He’d grown up in the Kettalist, after all, higher up on the slopes than he dared lead his men now, where the air was thin.
“In all truth, Kerr,” Niel said, once they were out of earshot of the soldiers. “The men. Do they have it in them to make it to Eyron?”
Kerr sighed.
“Not all of them,” the captain admitted quietly. “Not if these storms keep up.”
“And how many days until they try to kill me in my sleep?” he joked.
“Well…” Kerr started awkwardly. Niel paused in a small clearing to peer up the slope, wondering if they could cut a course higher. “They like you, my lord. You are kinder to them than your father. I doubt any of them wish for your head.”
Kinder than Niel’s father was a meaningless statement. A blizzard was kinder than the Duke of Eyron. So was a knife. So was an irate dragon or a hungry nix.
“But?” Niel asked, as he turned back east and kept trudging.
