Rodrigo Antan followed the trail like a fine hound whose instinct senses what has escaped sight and hearing. He became all movement, hurrying the soldiers during halts, breaking ahead of the search party, seeking the tracks of the goblins he hated with all his heart. Anger at himself—for the delay, for letting the wind and blizzard give the enemy a head start— drove him on, and now he was ready to go without food or sleep so as not to lose a single minute of the time allotted to him.

  None of the Guild of Warriors’ arguments could touch him. He was only troubled with Demetra’s fate. Only twenty men pursued the goblins, and that angered Rodrigo, too. But now, when he was on the trail, chasing the killers who had kidnapped the girl who was like a daughter to the stern monk, he was worth ten men. In this pursuit, Rodrigo could match strength with a giant arct.

  He could have gone alone into the icy wasteland, found the kidnappers in its vastness, and strangled Janus’s squad in their sleep, and only some shred of common sense kept the mighty Kald in check. He felt neither pain, nor cold, nor hunger, nor thirst, and the freezing Vaimaran sentries looked upon his motionless figure, watching the horizon in the night, with a kind of reverent dread. In peacetime, he was silent and calm, but in the moments when rage seized him, enemies trembled at the mere mention of his name: Rodrigo Antan!

  ***

  Blood froze into tiny ruby crystals as it dripped from scratched palms. The exhausted prisoners lay under the trees, wrapped in furs, silently watching the goblins bustling over the preparation of food. The worn-out Atgard marveled at Demetra’s endurance. Not once had the girl shown weakness during the hard marches and overnights in hastily built snow forts. Yet it could not go on much longer: both Atgard and Anzerrat saw that Norton’s and Demetra’s strength was nearly gone.

  Atgard had no idea where they were going: from the rare and brief appearances of the sun through the clouds, he could guess the goblins were heading north in the country, but he had never been in this part of Vaimar and only vaguely remembered the map. Sometimes, far on the horizon, one could glimpse a strip of mountains, but soon the squad entered a forest where visibility was no more than a few dozen feet. The goblins cursed loudly and hoarsely in their own tongue, and Atgard could not tell whether they were following a precise trail or had long been wandering without knowing the terrain. He could only guess they were somewhere a little east of Regerlim, in a region full of wild, desolate mountains, wastelands, and thickets where human feet rarely trod.

  Atgard often thought of Anzerrat’s thieving skills, but there was no point in trying to slip away unnoticed when they were guarded by such a large goblin detachment. Even in the forest, they would have been easily hunted down one by one and shot; the captives themselves did not know the area, were unarmed, and were too worn out from the march. For all their seeming clumsiness, the goblins were excellent marksmen, runners, and trackers.

  So they would have to wait, try to learn the location of the nearest settlement, and carefully work out a plan before taking any risky measures. Over the days of marching, from the goblins’ occasional conversations in the common tongue, they had learned only one thing: it was Saelin who had ordered their abduction. And the other half of the squad, separated from them a couple of days after the battle at Folkar Pass, was at that moment hunting Kairu and his group. Where they were being taken, no one knew.

  Atgard stirred, moving to try and warm himself. His palms, scratched from clinging to rough ice and prickly snow, were bleeding, but the Kald felt no pain. The fire around which the goblins sat flickered slightly, and sparks flew dangerously close to the prisoners. Perhaps Atgard’s eyes gleamed ominously in the orange light, because the brute with a pig’s snout and boar’s tusks sitting opposite him suddenly laughed:

  "What are you staring at? Hungry? Sorry, we’ve got to make it to the station ourselves. I wouldn’t mind a treat either—I’m dying for something fatty and sweet… you, for example!"

  Another goblin, methodically sharpening his sword nearby, suddenly snatched a burning log from the fire and thrust it under the first one’s nose:

  "Shut it! Staunt, you’re getting too full of yourself! If you don’t want your head decorating the palisade around the camp, hold your tongue! You got a taste for human flesh while living in Tepei-Kuon. Don’t forget you were dragged out of a pile of filth in Diobar, given food, clothes, and weapons, allowed to serve as a mercenary—and now you’d better be licking the Master’s boots and doing as you’re told!"

  "Well, let that Master not give so many orders either!" a third goblin butted in belligerently. Lately, they often argued among themselves in the common tongue, adding only their own curses. "No way I’ll take orders from someone who pushes us around, sends us into this icy hell, and won’t even let us eat people! Since when are goblins the errand boys of a wizard you could knock over with a sneeze? Goblins for goblins! To hell with the Empire’s soldiers in Diobar—better to have Diobar’s soldiers in the Empire… Then we’ll be strutting around in pearls and doing whatever we please! I could’ve been a minister—yet here I am wandering this godforsaken land!"

  "A minister’s chair is the last thing you’ll get, you blockhead," their leader cut him off. "I’m Urkrait, and I know what I’m saying! Goblins now have a chance to rise from the mud to the heights, and we’ll take it… when the time comes. The Master gives us new models of weapons, gold, and diamonds. All this will come in handy when we declare war on all humans! And that professor will get what’s coming to him too, you can be sure."

  "Which brings us back to the point that we should just eat these four," Staunt smirked sourly. "They’d be the first victims of the war… So what?" he added quickly, seeing Urkrait bare his teeth. "What’s the difference—a couple more people, a couple less!"

  "You’re as dumb as a cork, Staunt." The leader shook his head. "The Master will decide for himself who among them lives and who ends up on our spit. But if I see you hanging around the captives—I’ll skin you alive. Don’t forget, Janus will punish both of us if he finds out something’s happened to the girl. And you owe it only to him and his friends that you’re still in this squad!"

  "Janus is strong," someone among the goblins agreed. "I wouldn’t want to meet him in open battle!"

  "I wouldn’t want to see the one who does meet him in open battle," Urkrait muttered.

  The goblins fell silent, shoving spoons into the pot hanging over the fire and chewing some steaming brew.

  "Well, what are you sitting for—finish up and get moving, we need to find a place to sleep," Urkrait suddenly snapped, standing up heavily and kicking Atgard viciously with his iron boot.

  Atgard, suddenly feeling cold fury boil inside, twisted sharply and kicked the goblin in the groin. The mercenaries burst out laughing. Urkrait jerked back, bellowing in pain, then stepped forward, grabbed Atgard in a single armful, and hauled him up to his hate-twisted face. Atgard squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the stinking breath as the goblin bared his fangs:

  "I swear, you’ll dance for me, human filth! I’ll wind your guts around a spear, orders be damned!"

  With that, he hurled Atgard into a snowdrift like a rag doll.

  The Kald only groaned in pain, trying to spit out the snow and roll onto his back. One of the escorts roughly yanked him upright, and he barely managed to stand, leaning on Norton’s shoulder. A shove came from behind, and the prisoners began to move slowly forward along a path bathed in moonlight. Demetra was first, right behind her was Anzerrat, Norton walked close to him, shielding his back with his own body. Anzerrat hid in his sleeve the knife he had stolen during the commotion, his frostbitten palms clutching it. During rest stops, they were untied so they could eat their rations, so quietly snatching the weapon while Atgard distracted the goblins had been no great difficulty.

  The darkness seemed to grow even denser, pierced only by the faint glow of a moon hidden behind clouds. Somewhere high above came the shrill cries of birds, or perhaps the dreadful denizens of these lands that had survived in the Vaimaran wilderness since the dawn of time.

  The path led them to a forest’s edge. Lifting his head, Norton was amazed to see ahead of them the dark slopes of high, steep, snow-covered hills, and to the left, a huge crevasse descended. A gorge stretched to the horizon like a blue scar cut into the boundless whiteness of the icy desert. The goblins moved forward through unbroken snow toward the hills, breaking through the hard, crusty surface that had formed at the start of winter.

  Snow stung their eyes, burning their faces and scattering like coarse grains. The goblins dragged sledges laden with their belongings; the prisoners followed in a stumbling line. They crossed the snowy field toward hills clothed in fir and cedar, and collapsed without strength beneath a gigantic tree, among its roots where the wind could not reach. The goblins halted their sledges, lit a fire, and began arguing over which way to go.

  They shouted over the howling wind. The prisoners, huddled together for warmth, began to doze. Atgard caught Urkrait’s voice:

  "…we’ll have to be more careful and cover our tracks. We’ll take a route farther east; it’ll be easier to hide in the rocks. If those really are hounds from Vairad, we’ll have the better position…"

  "Do you think it’s Rodrigo and Kairu?" Norton asked quietly.

  "Why aren’t you asleep?" Atgard asked in surprise.

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

  "I’d like to see you try sleeping in my place," the young man replied grimly. "Honestly, I’m almost used to being tied up and driven somewhere like a sheep, but I can’t get used to the cold."

  "We have to wait," Atgard sighed. "I’m sure that even if Kairu has to go on with his journey, Rodrigo will certainly try to get us out. But you have to understand, our chances of surviving in this place without knowing the way are next to nothing if we try to run on our own."

  "If our friends find us and try to free us, it’d be better to have our hands untied," Anzerrat grumbled. "My fingers are freezing… I’m afraid I might drop the knife."

  "Then we wait," Atgard said. "I’ll give the signal… you’ll do it at night, untie us, and then we’ll try to run… the main thing is to find some kind of landmark in these forests. And when we’ve worked everything out—they won’t stop us."

  ***

  The landscape was changing rapidly. The group climbed higher onto the plateau, then the goblins moved through a forest riddled with steep ravines, hills, and fissures. By midday, when the sun had risen above the horizon and shone through a thin veil of overcast sky, they crossed a well-worn road marked with deep, fresh cart tracks. Urkrait cursed, crossed it, and led them deeper into the forest, but Atgard made sure to remember the direction, telling himself he would need to return there if they managed to escape, and follow it to reach some kind of settlement.

  That meant they could start carrying out their plan.

  By evening, they left the forest, passed between the hills, and approached the mountains. Far to the left, a stretch of icy desert could be seen, but the path to it across the wide plateau was cut by deep crevasses and gorges. The camp was set up in an open clearing among the rocks.

  The goblins, unfamiliar with Vaimar, suspected nothing. They cooked food, gave the prisoners a meager ration and some water to help them regain a bit of strength, and began arguing again. But Atgard noticed something familiar high above them in the rock face: dozens of narrow, dark caves.

  ***

  Amid the ice hummocks scattered like meteorite shards southeast of the plateau, in a small snow-covered hollow sheltered from the wind, Rodrigo Antan stood wrapped in a light silver cloak already crusted with frost. He breathed in the freezing air and watched the faint thread of smoke above the hills. The wind could tell him much. He smelled dried meat, the scent of pine burning on coals; he knew the goblins were carrying powder and that their muskets were oiled. Turning away from the Vaimar soldiers, he looked at the sky, but in his mind saw only Demetra, again and again, stolen by those from whom he had sworn to protect her.

  "They’re here," he muttered to no one in particular.

  "We should head there immediately," remarked the captain behind him. "At night we’ll have a better chance of taking them by surprise…"

  "Yes," the Kald nodded faintly.

  "Master Antan, the goblins are surely armed, and if you take a sword…"

  "I have no need of weapons."

  "But…"

  Rodrigo turned and measured him with a cold gaze:

  "Let’s end this discussion. Don’t you think it’s time we set out?"

  The captain bowed and stepped away to give the first orders to his soldiers. Rodrigo stood, frowned as he studied the smoke above the hills, then bound his knuckles with rope, straightened, and closed his eyes, gathering his will and summoning all his strength. He was a good bodyguard, and he knew his abilities perfectly. He knew he could deal with a squad of goblins… and he pushed that thought from his mind into his fists.

  The soldiers were already climbing the slope when Rodrigo came out of his meditation. His body was shaking from the chill, hot sweat running down his back. He felt the urge to howl like a wolf and run, and he hurled himself forward, his bare feet pounding the snow. In a few leaps, he caught up to the fighters, charging uphill in a spray of snow. The smoke at the top called to him, and he tore toward it, seized by a berserker’s frenzy. The squad hurried after him in total silence; they could already hear voices from the nearby fire.

  Taking cover behind the ice hummocks, the archers raised their bows, and the swordsmen crept among the rocks, spreading out for the attack, when suddenly a goblin sentry at the camp shouted something. The fire flared up and went out, dark figures sprang to their feet and raised their muskets, peering into the darkness and shouting loudly…

  The moon bathed the plain in cold light, and in the blue, glittering twilight, the first gunshots crashed like thunder.

  ***

  Atgard was the first to leap up. Almost simultaneously, Anzerrat was on his feet, shaking off the last scraps of rope and shifting his knife to his right hand. Norton stumbled, managed to rise, and helped Demetra up just as the men were already standing, ready for battle. But the goblins shook off their stupor within seconds, and it took them no more than a moment to reach for their muskets and sabers.

  "Stop!" Urkrait barked, sharply raising his weapon. "Or I’ll kill you like dogs!.."

  Anzerrat didn’t wait to hear the rest. He lunged at Urkrait, managing to knock the barrel aside with a swipe before the goblin could pull the trigger. The shot shattered the silence, echoing again and again through the rocks above the captives’ heads. Urkrait gave a startled hiccup as Anzerrat drove his knife straight through his hand, then snatched the saber from his sheath with his other hand. Demetra gave a piercing scream, for from behind the boulders surrounding the camp, dark helmeted figures suddenly appeared…

  Urkrait recovered, swung his massive arm, and Anzerrat had to throw himself sideways to avoid the blow. The goblin roared as he ripped the knife from his hand. Scarlet spurted onto the snow. The other goblins milled about, sweeping their barrels from side to side. On one hand, they had orders not to kill the prisoners and were caught in a tight spot; on the other, danger was closing in from behind, and that danger now made itself known. Vaimar’s fighters had entered the battlefield.

  "Norton!" Atgard shouted, eyes darting as he tried to avoid the blades of the goblins closing in on him. "Demetra!"

  "I’m here!" It was Norton Kenai, suddenly at the old Kald’s side.

  "Atgard! This way!" Anzerrat’s voice rang out. Lifting his head, Atgard saw the Nocturn and Demetra scrambling upward, climbing a steep rocky hill toward a jumble of boulders. The goblins paused in indecision, choosing their prey.

  "Not there!" Atgard rasped, grabbing Norton’s arm. "Not into the rocks!.. We need to go down!.."

  "Down there, they’ll shoot us like puppies!" Anzerrat shouted, swinging his saber and locking blades with a goblin. Steel clanged; the blades rebounded. The goblin snarled and stepped back.

  "And up there—harpies!.."

  Anzerrat froze, gripping Demetra’s arm. The goblins between them and Atgard had already launched their attack. Several shots rang out, the clash of steel filled the plateau, which was hemmed in by hills on one side and a steep drop into a gorge on the other. Norton leaped back, dodging a goblin who lunged at him with a whirling saber. Then Atgard bellowed at the top of his lungs, rushed the goblin, shoved him into a snowdrift, and kicked the blade from his hands. These creatures had never fought on soft snow. Atgard had plenty of such experience.

  "No!.." Anzerrat’s voice sounded as if it came from another world, beyond a veil of smoke and the dreadful beating of wings… Something slammed into Atgard, and he fell right onto the goblin, who was awkwardly flailing, trying to get out of the snow. Together they rolled down the steep slope, carried by a rush of snow toward the gaping edge of the gorge.

  The mountains shook with gunfire, rocks trembled, shedding massive caps of snow. Anzerrat cried out, shielding Demetra and climbing higher. And suddenly he saw them.

  Just above them, dark winged creatures swept past in the air at terrifying speed, missing the fugitives by mere chance with their massive taloned feet.

  Rodrigo Antan burst onto the plateau. The fight had turned to hand-to-hand combat, the shooters now drawing swords, surrounding the Desert Lands mercenaries. But the plans of both attackers and defenders were instantly shattered by the creatures that poured from cave mouths in the hillsides, filling the sky over the goblin camp. Rodrigo didn’t waste time figuring things out—he struck down anything that looked even slightly nonhuman. Spotting a wounded goblin retreating toward the rocks, he clapped him sharply on the back of the head, punched him in the stomach, grabbed his collar, dragged him out of the fight, and flung him to the edge of the plateau. The goblin was injured but still monstrously strong; holding him down, pinning his arms and legs, cost Rodrigo enormous effort. And even then, the goblin still resisted until the fighter smashed his face into a pulp with several blows.

  "Where are the prisoners?!"

  Urkrait’s hands were bound, but his mouth was free, and so the goblin spat in the Kald’s face instead of answering.

  Not a muscle twitched on Rodrigo’s face. The monk calmly wiped the foul, sticky spit away, brushed his hand off in the snow, and said with a crooked smile:

  "You like human flesh, don’t you? Ever tried the meat of your own kind? I could tell you how we butcher goblins in Vaimar… You know, you don’t even need metal tools for it…"

  With that, he grabbed the goblin’s musket and, without the slightest effort, bent its barrel into a knot.

  "I’m hungry," Rodrigo rasped, ducking suddenly as a winged beast whooshed past above him. Somewhere nearby, steel rang endlessly, goblins roared in pain, and human fighters screamed. "Where were we? Ah, yes—maybe I should start dinner right now? First, I’ll bite off your fingers one by one. Fingers have soft bones; you can chew them up nicely, but the skin you’d better spit out—it’s bitter…"

  The goblin’s face now showed poorly hidden disgust.

  "And then, filthy creature," Rodrigo said coldly, "I’ll tear off every other part of your body and make you share the meal with me. Understand?"

  "Try it… son of a bitch…" Urkrait rasped, looking at him with hatred—and with the faintest trace of fear.

  "For Aktos’ sake, who do you think you’re talking to?" Rodrigo seized two of his fingers in a sudden jerk and pulled.

  The goblin’s scream drowned out the clash of swords. Blood splattered the snow as he thrashed violently, nearly breaking free, but Rodrigo subdued him with a few more blows, then grabbed his jaw, forcing it open, and shoved the severed fingers into his mouth. The goblin’s eyes bulged, and he moaned like a madman, choking in the monk’s iron grip.

  "Shall we continue?" Rodrigo asked, seizing his other hand. "This time, the little finger and ring finger. Then the ones you hold your sword with…"

  "I don’t know, I swear!" the goblin screeched as soon as Rodrigo let go of his chin, spitting frantically. "They ran off just before you got here! Two went up into the rocks, two more fell into the gorge…"

  Rodrigo went cold.

  "Where’s the girl?!" he roared, leaning close to Urkrait’s face.

  "Up top… A-a-a!!!"

  Rodrigo dropped flat into the snow just on time. Only his lightning-fast reflexes saved him. Something huge and winged, screaming with a cry that froze the blood, swept past, snatched the goblin in its talons, and carried him into the night sky, tearing him apart in midair. Urkrait’s death scream broke into a mad shriek, and then abruptly cut off, as if a lute string had snapped. The remains of his body, entrails dangling, rained down to the bottom of the gorge. Black shadows whirled in a ghastly dance overhead. Then they split, some screeching as they returned to the caves, others darting toward the rift.

  Rodrigo jumped up, leaping over bodies toward the trail leading upward into the rocks. It was all over: the surviving fighters from the Fighters’ Guild wandered exhausted across the battlefield—now a bloody mire—trying to separate goblin corpses from the bodies of their comrades. Urkrait’s squad was no more.

  Up among the rocks, Rodrigo spotted bloody stains in the snow, the body of one mercenary, and Anzerrat supporting Demetra. Rodrigo rushed to her and lifted her in his arms. She was deeply unconscious.

  "Where are Atgard and Norton?" Rodrigo asked hoarsely.

  "They… they fell off the slope," Anzerrat replied. "Into the gorge… We ran the other way, the pursuit split, and we managed to get away… Almost all the goblins were torn apart by those birds." He nodded toward the crimson snow. "There are still plenty more of them up there…"

  "Those are no birds," the Kald said grimly. "Let’s go. We need to find them as soon as possible. If they are unarmed, they don’t have long when harpies are around."

  Anzerrat nodded, breathing heavily.