Ramson stopped breathing as all other thoughts fell away. He knew, instinctively, who would have left those footprints.
Specifically, whose army.
Ana.
—
The footprints were covered in a layer of snowfall a ways beyond the copse of conifers that shielded Ramson’s hideout from view. It was snowing lightly, the sky still dark in the early hours of the morning.
Ramson knelt. His patrol had spoken true. These prints were not left behind by a lone traveler or even a squad of soldiers. This was a legion—at least over a hundred in numbers. Beneath the fresh layers of snow, the prints were packed hard as ice, ridges upon ridges etched in a familiar pattern that Ramson would recognize anywhere: the grooves of a Bregonian Navy boot, complete with the pointed metal tip that left a smooth mark at the front.
He steadied his breathing, his thoughts threatening to careen out of control.
“The tracks are leading southeast,” his patrol added. “I followed them for a bit, but they’re days old.”
“Get Narron,” Ramson said, “and five more of our men, with supplies. Leave Olyusha and the rest with the scholar and tell them to guard him with their lives.” He straightened and turned in the direction of the tracks.
“Yes, Captain Farrald, sir.” The patrol saluted, and hesitated. “Will you…not wait for us?”
Ramson was already striding away, hand on the hilt of his misericord. “Try and catch up,” he called over his shoulder.
By the time Narron and his men caught up, Ramson’s thoughts were clear, his gait as steady as the compass in his hands. This was, without a doubt, Ana’s army. If he followed these tracks, he would find her. He’d tell her about the core, that there was a way to return her Affinity.
They’d find it, together.
His small team kept up a rapid pace, the boreal forest waking around them as gold rays of early-morning light began to filter in. Yet even the warmth of the sun felt different somehow,wrong,the cold deeper than he’d known it throughout the eight years he’d spent in this empire. It was the same feeling he’d had as they’d approached the coast just one day ago, when the ice had pierced his lungs with renewed ferocity, and the eerie song of ruselkya had accompanied the unsettled movement of the Deities’ Lights in the night sky. Ardonn had spoken of the world’s balance unraveling as humans found ways to manipulate magek to serve their own greed: With blackstone, the Cyrilian Empire had plunged Affinites into decades of oppression and servitude; with searock, Kerlan and his scholars had created siphons that would cause devastating effects if in the wrong hands.
The very existence of those siphons,Scholar Hestanna had said,is a poison to this world.
Ramson wondered whether the bone-chilling cold, the uneasy stirs of creatures in the forest, and the agitated paths of the Deities’ Lights were a part of the consequences.
It was midday when they happened upon a deserted campsite in a clearing between trees. The snow here was flattened and trampled, and a stack of logs sat in the center, ash fallen around it. Ana and Daya must have rested here with their Navy.
“Do you smell that?” Ramson asked.
“Smoke, sir,” Narron replied. “They can’t be long gone.”
Adrenaline coursed through Ramson as he stalked around the campsite, taking in every detail and hoping to find more. On theother end, the footprints continued—only this time, they were fresher.
“They must’ve stayed here a few days,” Narron said, crouching by the logs and swiping a finger through the soot. He hurried over to the tracks leading away. “These are fresh, sir—I’d say from less than a day ago. And they’re leading…” He looked up, to the long trail that wound steadily away through the pines.
“Southeast.” Ramson gripped his compass tightly, the arrow pointing resolutely the same way. “They’re going to Salskoff.”
By his estimations, Salskoff was over three days’ travel away—two, if they traveled overnight.
“Gird your loins, team,” Ramson announced. “We’re on a light sleep schedule until we catch up.”
“Sir?” Narron said. “Can I ask…whose forces are they?”
Ramson looked to the sky, an indelible blue streaked with dusk-gold clouds. “We,” he said steadily, “are tracking the Red Tigress’s army.”
—
They kept on at a rapid pace throughout the day, at times breaking into a jog. By sundown, when the watery light seeping through the canopy had almost drained away, Ramson noticed the footprints were growing fresher and fresher.
They were drawing closer.
“Not long now. We move throughout the night,” he announced to his men. “Follow Narron’s globefire. Weapons out. And stay alert.”
