"Brumal is a death trap," said a voice from the crowd—a young woman with a child bundled against her chest."If the black waters follow rivers as he says, we'd be no safer there than in Elkhollow."
"Frostforge at least has walls," added another refugee."Weapons, soldiers."
The commander's face darkened with each word."You would trust a Southern stranger over your own people?Over soldiers who have protected the North for generations?"
"I trust whoever offers the best chance for my children," the woman replied steadily."If that's Frostforge, then that's where I'll go."
Others murmured agreement, the crowd shifting as small groups began to detach from the main column.The commander's soldiers looked to him uncertainly, awaiting orders as their charges began to divide.
"Anyone who turns south is no longer under my protection," the commander announced, his voice hard with anger and wounded pride."I won't spare men to guard those who reject Northern leadership."
"I'll go with them," offered a younger soldier, stepping forward despite the commander's glare."My sister lives in the Southern foothills.I know the way to Frostforge."
The commander's face contorted with fury, but before he could speak, a distant sound echoed through the forest behind them—a long, low moan that raised the hairs on Roran's neck.It wasn't human, wasn't animal—wasn't anything he could name.But every nerve in his body recognized the wrongness in that sound, the alien hunger it conveyed.
The refugees heard it too.Panic rippled through the column, parents clutching children closer, eyes wide with fresh terror.
"The black waters," someone whispered."They've followed us."
"Impossible," the commander insisted, though his face had paled beneath his weathered tan."We're miles from the river."
"The Deep Ones don't obey the laws of nature as we understand them," Roran said quietly."They follow their own patterns, their own rules."
The sound came again, closer now.The horses whinnied in distress, pulling at their tethers.Even the commander's mount sidled nervously, ears flat against its head.
"We need to move," the commander barked, his voice tight with suppressed fear."All of you—now!"He rounded on Roran."This is your doing, Southerner.Your talk of monsters drew them to us."
Roran ignored the accusation, turning to the group that had expressed interest in Frostforge."The academy lies southeast from here, three days' hard travel.Follow the Rimspire foothills—they'll guide you.The mountains will always be on your left."
The young soldier who had volunteered nodded."I know the way.We can make it before our supplies run out if we move quickly."
Roran swung down from his saddle, his legs protesting as they took his weight again.He held the reins out to the soldier.
"Take this horse," he said."You'll need him more than I will."
The soldier hesitated, clearly surprised by the offer."What about you?"
"I have to continue north," Roran replied, though every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to flee the advancing darkness."My mission isn't complete."
The soldier accepted the reins with a nod of thanks that contained more respect than any Northerner had shown Roran since he'd entered the Reaches.
Around them, the refugee column was already splitting—most continuing north with the commander, a smaller group gathering around the young soldier who would lead them to Frostforge.Families were making hurried decisions, some splitting apart as members chose different paths.
The moan came again, closer still, sending a fresh wave of urgency through the gathered people.
The commander wheeled his horse, ordering his troops to resume the march northward.He spared one last venomous glance for Roran."When this is over, Southerner, remember that you divided us in our hour of need.The North doesn't forget such things."
With that, he spurred his mount forward, leading the bulk of the refugees away across the snow-covered meadow, their pace quickened by fear.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sweat trickled between Thalia's shoulder blades as she drew the tongs from the forge's heart, molten glacenite glowing like a captured sunrise at their tips.The metal wept orange tears that sizzled against the stone floor, each droplet a small death that marked the hours she'd spent at this anvil.
Her arms trembled with the weight—not just of the heated metal but of days spent working through the night, of stolen moments snatched between her daily duties and these forbidden midnight labors.Sleep had become a luxury she could no longer afford, not with the black waters rising in the fjord, not with Frostforge's fate balanced on the edge of her hammer.
She wasn’t the only one who had gone too long without rest.Across the workstation, Kaine was bent over a glowing blade, hammering with a precision that bordered on obsession.His strikes were slower than hers, measured, but there was a brittleness to them, a fraction too much force held in check.The blade sang under each blow, a thin, strained note that set Thalia’s teeth on edge.
Even though they weren’t alone—Naj and Luna were here, and Ashe had left only an hour ago—Thalia was still keenly aware of his presence, of the movement of his shoulders.She wished their situation weren’t so dire.Late nights in the forge with Kaine were familiar, a reminder of simpler times when the most dangerous thing had been her attraction to him.She wanted those nights back, craved the solitude they’d taken for granted at the time.
