Stranded: Heart of Black Ice Bay - 10. Frozen

Brathay closed his eyes.

Despite an overwhelming disappointment to have ended his days so soon in such a pointless way, his mind had calmed. A sensation like warm tears bled through his eyelids into the chill water. Someone hummed to him, a pretty lullaby without words, a woman's voice. An ethereal face floated into his mind's view, smiling at him and soothing him, a finger placed over her lips. She looked to her right and, with the other hand, waved somebody over. A strange dream and yet, in his final moments, somehow familiar and comforting.

Bright flashes scorched an imprint into his retinas. Just as he could hold his breath no longer, as icy water began to invade his lungs, his feet found purchase on the bed of the lake, which seemed to rise. He had to be hallucinating, but the motion felt real, and the water on his skin appeared to get marginally warmer as he ascended.

Until someone or something grasped his lifeless body roughly by the shoulders. Violently pulling him around and wrestling him onto his back in the freezing air, the creature used Brathay's arms to drag his form along the frozen surface of the lake until he found himself coughing up water. All the while, he simply wanted to submit to sleep, give in to the enticing darkness of slumber.

But the shadow of the beast fell across his face for a few fleeting seconds, causing his eyes to flutter open. When the figure pushed him onto his side, more frigid water spilt out from his lungs and stomach, causing more spasms of coughing and retching. As soon as they had slowed, the figure hauled his body up from the ground and carried him away.

"Stay with me, Brathay. Do not sleep."

Overwhelming tiredness, along with uncontrollable shivering, had gripped him, but the urgency of the strangely familiar voice kept him focused. Despite the chill, Brathay could feel his cheek bouncing against rough cloth, felt his equally numb body draped across a solid shoulder, his arms dangling limply.

When he opened his eyes again, he had been propped on a stool against a solid wall. Someone was slapping his cheek. Hard. Through the cold numbness, he could still feel the sting. He pulled a hand up to his offended cheek and peered fearfully at the shadow hovering over him. The anxious face of Leonmarkh swam into focus, a hand gently pushing hair out of Brathay's eyes.

"Can you stand?"

"I th-think so," he croaked, barely audibly.

"Then stand and remove your wet clothes. All of them. Quickly."

Instead, Brathay bent double and threw up again, chill water leaving a dark stain on the wooden floorboard between his sodden boots. After another bout of coughing, he sat back up, remembering the command.

"Remove m-my what—?"

"Clothes," said Leonmarkh, one hand pressing into Brathay's chest, holding him in place, while another unpacked a roll of cloth from his backpack. "All of them. And make haste. Now is not the time to be coy. You are wearing clothing sodden in ice-cold water and, if you are not quick, you will suffer ice fever, and your heart may even fail. Are you not already shivering unstoppably?"

Brathay had not noticed that he had no control over the shivering. He began removing his clothes as asked, letting each sopping item drop to the dusty floor, all the while watching Leonmarkh unfold a roll of what appeared to be a blanket and place the material on top of the straw bunk. When Brathay struggled with the ties on his trousers, Leonmarkh turned and helped him.

"Done. I have untied your boots, too. Step out of both."

Brathay did as asked, even though the chill in the hut only served to accentuate his shivering. Standing naked with his fists clamped together beneath his chin, convulsive trembling rocked his body. Leonmarkh ignored him and reached into his bag again to draw out a hand towel.

"Before you get in, wipe dry your skin all over, and then your hair," he said, tossing the small item to Brathay. "This may not be the cleanest piece of cloth, but it remains dry. We need to get you warm as soon as possible. The sleeper sack is made from Cordatogan goat hide, thick and insulated and with woollen lining, which should help retain what little body heat you have left. What is that?"

Leonmarkh touched the stone disc hanging from a piece of string around Brathay's neck.

"D-d-do not ask me to remove this," said Brathay, his hand clutching the trinket. "It is all I have left of m-my m-mother."

"That was not my—" as Leonmarkh spoke, Brathay's body shivered violently. "Quickly. Finish drying yourself, then climb between the furs."

Despite the biting cold, Brathay did as asked, hampered by his body continuing to shake uncontrollably. Once finished and without waiting for more instructions, he launched himself at the opening of the sleeper sack and climbed inside. Even though the fleece felt cold at first, the fur felt good on his back, but he could still not stop his body from shivering. Curled into a ball, he realised he had lost all sensation in his feet and hands. When he turned his head, he saw Leonmarkh at the fireplace, raising sparks from a tiny flint and steel device. Within seconds, the kindling caught fire, and flames began to flicker between the newly piled logs. After arranging Brathay's clothes on a stool by the fire, he came over to sit on the side of the bunk and transferred his fur-lined hat onto Brathay's head as well as something that looked a little like carpeting across the covering.

"In these conditions, much of our heat is lost through the head. Wear this. And the cloth is an old tapestry that had fallen from the wall. The extra layer will help speed your recovery."

"W-what about you?"

"Let us get you warm first. How are you feeling?" asked Leonmarkh before taking one of Brathay's hands in his own. "You are colder than death. And your lips are turning blue. This is not good."

Without a second glance, Leonmarkh stood and began undressing. Brathay looked on, horrified as the lord began removing every item of clothing. Last of all, once his magnificent chest had been exposed, he came to his linen under-trousers which had managed to remain dry. After hesitating a moment, he left them on and went to the fireplace to arrange his damp items next to Brathay's drying clothes. When he returned to the bunk, he stood over Brathay, hands on hips.

"W-what are you d-doing?"

"Sharing my body heat with you. If you will allow me. Do not look so shocked. The last time you witnessed me in a state of undress, I was completely naked. Move over and let me assist."

In his final day at Aulderly, Brathay had read about surviving the intense cold, about finding somewhere dry, lighting a fire, getting out of damp clothes and sharing body heat with another. In the journal, the advice had mentioned both parties changing into dry clothing. Neither of them had brought a change of clothing. Wet or damp clothes could have the opposite effect and make things worse.

Brathay lifted the cover and moved his body to one side. Leonmark climbed into the centre of the bunk then quickly pulled Brathay on top of his muscled chest, skin to skin. In an act of remarkable tenderness, he rested Brathay's head against his shoulder and smoothed his hand along his back.

"Place your hands into my armpits," he whispered.

"But they're f-frozen."

"That's the point. The heat of my body will help to warm them. Help the blood flow."

Brathay's usual calm reasoning had escaped him, probably due to the close contact of their bodies. Instead, he surrendered to the sensation, closed his eyes and concentrated on getting warm. Within a matter of minutes, almost like a miracle, his trembling began to subside, his breathing to normalise. Leonmarkh's constant caressing down his back stopped short of his backside—enticingly so. Brathay anticipated every stroke and willed the large callused hand to venture lower. When at last Leonmarkh obliged, smoothing over his buttock and down to the upper thigh, Brathay sucked in a breath and held on tight. He had been so focused on the painful tingling as his own hands came back to him and Leonmarkh's hypnotic caress that he had not considered other parts of his body waking to life. A straining, unstoppable erection rose boldly and pressed into Leonmarkh's thigh, something Brathay could do absolutely nothing about. Sudden tension filled him, and he began to squirm.

"My apologies."

Leonmark's chest rumbled deep with laughter, his arms squeezing around Brathay's lower back and holding him in place.

"There is no cause to apologise. Take this as a positive sign. I can feel your heart beating stronger. Blood runs freely again in your veins and is rushing to your extremities, including that lively member between your legs. I, on the other hand, have no such excuse."

"What do you mean?"

"Although I was not submerged in frozen water, I find my body is responding in much the same way."

Brathay had been so focused on his own embarrassing reaction that he had not recognised the huge, hot manhood tenting from Leonmarkh's undergarment and pressing against Brathay's stomach.

"Fear not," Leonmarkh whispered hotly in Brathay's ear. "I would not take advantage of you in this state. To do so would be both unprincipled and ignoble."

This time Brathay chuckled with laughter and relaxed against Leonmarkh's body. How many minutes later, he had no idea, but he startled awake and snorted a breath. Something had changed. Not only had their joint warmth done its job, but he noticed the air in the room becoming warmer.

"Should we rise? I feel the room getting hotter."

"Can you feel sensation in your feet yet?"

"Not fully. Maybe a faint tingling."

"Then we stay beneath the covers until you can. We will also allow our clothes a chance to dry. And then I will make us some soup. I am sure you must be hungry by now."

At the mention of food, Brathay's stomach groaned involuntarily, causing Leonmarkh to chuckle.

"Why don't we make use of the time. Tell me about yourself, Brathay. Such as where you were born."

Brathay closed his eyes and considered his usual formal answer. But Leonmarkh had pulled him from the lake, had undoubtedly saved his life. He deserved to know more.

"Thiradon. The walled city. My father is the captain of the guard. If I leave my explanation there, most people are reasonably impressed." His cheek resting on Leonmarkh's chest, he issued a deep sigh. "The truth is I am his bastard son, born of one of the many whores he frequented in the town taverns. She was a descendent of the Noth from the Scorched Kingdom, I have been told. When I turned two, she dropped me off at the kitchen door of his barracks. I remember nothing, but they tell me she was deathly sick with consumption. If there had not been staff around to witness the resemblance between my father and myself, I am sure he would have turned us both away. Luckily for me, the steward's wife took pity on us. Although my mother did not last the night, I was taken in and raised by kitchen maids and my father's soldiers. Between them, they taught me to cook, sew and read, and to fight and work and ride—to stand on my own feet. Early on, I learnt to survive by working hard, listening and learning as much as possible, doing whatever people told me, keeping my head down and never causing trouble. The day my father told me I had been invited to attend Aulderly, I swear he breathed out the words with relief. He could finally wash his hands of me."

"That is harsh."

"Not all of us grow up with the luxury of a mother looking out for us."

Brathay felt Leonmarkh's body go still.

"Do not pretend to know my story, Brathay Stonearm. Just because you have told me yours."

"I apologise. I meant no offence. My remark was meant generally, not a reflection of your own circumstance."

No words passed between them, and Brathay hoped he had not ruined their tenuous connection.

"Sincerely, Lord Leonmarkh. I apologise. I owe my life to you, which puts me in your debt. I only meant that I wish my mother had lived longer, had been around to offer love and support and wisdom."

"The woman who left you the talisman? Around your neck?"

"Yes."

Leonmarkh's body had relaxed against him, something Brathay took as a good sign.

"Can I ask a private question, Brathay?"

"Of course."

"Do you practice thaumaturgy?"

"No," said Brathay, craning his head around, mildly offended. "I admit that I am not one to be offended by the mere mention of the art, but I respect that it is forbidden. Why would you ask?"

"Tell me what you remember about falling into the water?"

"Not much. The last thing I recall is being annoyed at you for suggesting we hike another half a league around the lake before crossing—"

"Pure pragmatism. Snow had fallen much deeper in that area which usually indicates ice frozen solid beneath, probably due to shallower water. This lake is vast, and my route would have provided a far safer crossing to the island. Your stubbornness proved to be your downfall."

Brathay closed his eyes. What Leonmarkh said made perfect sense. Why had he not listened?

"Stubbornness," said Leonmarkh, "Some consider it a favourable trait. I wish you had turned around and gone back to Aulderly when I first commanded you. I wish you were not still here."

In his weakened state and feeling they had begun to know each other, Brathay felt a wave of dismay at the comment.

"Forgive me if I am being obtuse, but I thought your cold dislike of me had begun to thaw."

"I never disliked you."

"But you wish me gone."

Leonmarkh's soft sigh warmed the side of Brathay's head.

"For your own protection."

"I do not understand."

"No, you do not. You have most likely been fed the usual tale that I am the troublesome youngest son of the late duke, who has been banished to Black Ice Keep to grow up. Or because my brother, the new duke, wants me out of the way while he rules. How does that sound so far?"

Brathay turned his head on Leonmarkh's shoulder and stared at him. If Brokerman had taught him anything, he knew to look beyond the surface of the narrative. Stories in history had often been modified to suit the conqueror and justify whatever means were employed to gain the victory. One thing he knew beyond doubt from his time at the keep was that Leonmarkh was neither stockpiling armaments nor building an army of mercenaries. What other lies had been spread about him?

"That is a fairly accurate recounting. What has been omitted?"

"Everything. And nothing. I have two brothers and one sister, all older. There is no animosity between any of us. In fact, the only time Charteris and I have ever exchanged heated words was when I volunteered for the role of Watchman."

"Charteris is the new duke?" Brathay already knew the answer from the letter Belynda had written but wanted to allow the duke to open up about his family.

"Yes. And he will make an excellent one if he is given the chance. Jacomine is the second eldest and next in line. Unfortunately, he has been poorly since childhood. A congenital sickness. And I had word today that his health had taken a turn for the worse. Charteris beseeched me to return, but I need to stay and finish what I have started."

"And what exactly is that?"

"Sometimes, Brathay, the best tactical ploy is to take the fight away from the arena."

"Again, you are talking in riddles."

"I—these are things that do not concern you."

Except that much of what Leonmarkh alluded to concerned Brathay greatly. Had Brokerman been misled? Was there more going on than either of them had been told? Brathay had witnessed no storing up armaments, no assemblage of a mighty army. On the contrary, Leonmarkh had been sent to Black Ice Bay with barely enough soldiers to run the keep adequately. He decided to bide his time and thought back to a remark Leonmarkh had made earlier.

"Why did you ask if I practise the outlawed science? Was it something I said?"

"It is not what you said. It is what happened when you fell in the lake. There was no way I could reach you in time at the point where you fell through the ice. I had to go around to the surer side. Honestly, Brathay, I thought you had drowned. Even from above the water, I could see your body struggling only briefly before you stopped moving. You made no effort to try and swim—

"I cannot swim."

"Nevertheless, anyone who falls into open water instinctively flounders and struggles to survive while they are still conscious, until their last breath, even if the person cannot swim. I could see the shadow of your body but no movement—as though you had already accepted and submitted to your end. And then what I can only describe as bursts of lightning flooded from around you, illuminating the lake beneath the ice. Truly remarkable and, at the same time, terrifying. Maybe I should explain when you are feeling more—"

"No. Tell me now. What happened?"

Leonmarkh paused for a few moments but then continued.

"I may be mistaken—everything happened so quickly—but as I reached the sturdier edge of the opening, a monstrous snakelike shadow swam towards you along the bottom of the lake. I cannot tell you the dismay I felt. I knew beyond all doubt that you were surely doomed. When the shape reached you, its body seemed to coil beneath your form, which is when you broke to the surface. For a few seconds, I froze, wondering what I had witnessed. Fortunately, I came to my senses, grabbed you by the shoulders and dragged you away."

Brathay thought he had been hallucinating. Leonmarkh's description made sense while also making none. An innate shiver ran through him, not dissimilar to the trembling of his ice fever.

"I did nothing, Leonmarkh. I promise. Whatever happened, I had no control—"

"Don't fret, Brathay. I know. How could you? When I brought you out of the water, you were barely conscious and struggling to breathe. Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"Never. Not in all of my nineteen years."

"Then I can only assume the lake holds a secret, something even our map creators knew nothing about, a resident lake serpent that does not like sharing its home with others."

Brathay raked his memory for something that might explain the phenomenon, but nothing came. During his ordeal in Thiradon, when he was stranded in a boat in a thunderstorm, had anything happened? Absolutely nothing. Eventually, he gave up trying to make reason of the experience.

"When we depart, I am happy to take the route you originally intended."

Leonmarkh snorted and then became quiet.

"On that note, we have already been here far longer than I intended. I would normally suggest we stay the night and explore the area as originally intended, but I do not want to leave the horses unattended overnight. Do you feel strong enough to travel?"

The thought of the return trek filled Brathay with nausea. Not that he would show weakness of any kind in front of Leonmarkh. Instead, he nodded.

"In which case, I will prepare food for us. Join me when you feel strong enough."

Leonmarkh shifted Brathay gently off his body, moved himself to the side of the bunk and stood. Brathay pulled the material back over himself. Even with the cloying heat of the room, he wanted to savour the warm comfort of the bedding a few moments longer.

Eventually, he swung his bare legs to the side of the bunk and remained there, letting his mind and body become centred. Messy bootprints had dried in the powdery dust coating the floorboards. Leonmarkh faced the fire but twisted his upper body to hold up an undershirt to the light from the single window of frosted glass panes, running his hands over the cloth and checking for dryness. Brathay allowed himself to drink in the sight. Flames from the fire illuminated one side of the lord's body, picking out solid muscle as well as the dark marks of old scars. Even in long underpants, hardly flattering on most men, he exuded strength and power and self-reliance. A lesser man may have had difficulty dragging Brathay's drenched, clothed body from the water. He realised he had a lot to be thankful for.

Already logs in the fire had lost their amber glow, and, as though hearing Brathay's assessment, Leonmarkh began to pile more into the centre, raising orange sparks and causing a crackling and snapping amid the flames. At a point in time, somebody had gone the trouble of trying to brighten the tiny hut. Tapestries had been hung on either side of the fireplace—even though one had collapsed and now sat on the bed. A large blackened stewpot sat on the hearth, the handle smiling at him. Earlier, Leonmarkh had moved the small round table of dark wood and the two matching stools before the fire and draped Brathay's clothes across them.

Leonmarkh's clothes must have dried sufficiently because he sat and pulled them on. Brathay hauled the covering around himself, stood gingerly, then went to join him.

"How are you feeling?" asked Leonmarkh, as Brathay perched beside him, cosseted by the aura of warmth from the flames.

"Good. Hungry."

"Hunger is a positive sign. Let me fill the pot with snow, and I'll make us soup. The kitchen provided a pack of ingredients in case—"

"I know. Mrs Sturridge told me. Dried chicken and diced vegetables. Would you like me to prepare—?"

"Calm yourself, Brathay. I am well used to fending for myself."

Leonmarkh stood and lifted the heavy pot with ease. When Brathay peered through the open door, watching Leonmarkh step outside and head for the lake's edge, he could see the snow from previous days backed up almost to the entrance of the hut. Left alone, Brathay leant across and checked his coat pocket. By a stroke of luck, the wax paper packet tied with string had managed to survive his immersion. He waited for Leonmarkh to return and hang the pot on the hook above the fire before revealing his find. But Leonmarkh had a surprise of his own. Resting on top of the cauldron filled with snow sat three silver trout.

"Before you ask, I found these scattered along the shoreline by the hut. And no, I did not catch them. They are fresh. How they got there, I do not know, as though they had jumped from the water. I feel this is something else we should not mention when we return to the keep."

Brathay nodded. A gift from the watcher of the lake? He had given up trying to make sense of what had happened to him. Without waiting for a response, Leonmarkh tossed one of the fish to Brathay.

"Did your kitchen skills back in Thiradon include gutting fish? Make yourself busy while I prepare the broth."

"They did indeed. Here," he said, passing the pack to Leonmarkh. "Add this to the ingredients. I put some herbs and spices together to help improve the flavour. Should also give us some much-needed energy."

While Brathay reached into his bag to find a knife, Leonmarkh stared at the pack and turned to smile.

"Did you train in this, in kitchenry?"

"Alas, no. I am simply borrowing the consummate skills of another. Back at Aulderly, some decent people went out of their way to help me prepare for my posting. This is a gift from one of those."

"You enjoyed your time there?" asked Leonmarkh, carefully unrolling a cloth on the floor while the snow in the pot melted. Dried meats, assorted chopped vegetables, wooden spoons and bowls had been packed inside. After separating each item, he scooped up and added the food and spice pack to the boiling water before wrapping up the remaining trout in one of the cloths.

"For the first time in my life, I felt as though I had a family. You would have excelled at Aulderly, I deem, had you been given the opportunity to attend."

Brathay made quick work of the trout and handed the filleted pieces to Leonmarkh.

"What makes you think I did not?" asked Leonmarkh, stirring them into the pot.

Brathay stared at his back. If he had been offered a place, why had he not attended? To be offered a position at one of the empire's learning institutes was a gift only a fool would refuse.

"I declined to go," said Leonmarkh, clearly anticipating Brathay's question. "My choice."

"Why would you—?"

"I did not say I did not want to go. But at the time, I had a more pressing reason to remain. That is all I will say on the subject."

Brathay had begun to sense when not to push. Nothing about Leonmarkh's stance hinted at annoyance, but Brathay could tell by his tone that the subject had been closed. He reached across and checked his thick leggings, which had dried sufficiently.

"Aulderly has helped me to make sense of the world," said Brathay, dropping the covering to the floor and pulling on his leggings. "Not just in terms of learning so much in each of the various disciplines. In Aulderly, we are fortunate to have students from all over the empire. I have learnt as much from them as I have from the many institute counsellors."

"Such as?"

"One student who became my good friend hailed from the west of Cordatoga. Did you know that in the vast mountain range is an old and sizeable settlement set amidst hundreds of waterfalls where the people cannot converse using spoken words due to the deafening roar of water? Over time, they have developed a sophisticated language unique to them, using only facial and head movements developed because their hands are often occupied with manual tasks."

"I did not know."

Brathay drew the shirt over his head and tucked the hem beneath his waistband.

"In other regions of Cordatoga, they refer to them as face people. In neighbouring Cormaland, they use a less polite term and call them twitchers."

When Brathay tested his outer coat, the inside felt damp still, so he turned the clothing inside out and placed the material back into a free stool by the fire.

"Fascinating," said Leonmarkh, stirring the pot, as a spicy and mouthwatering odour began to inhabit the hut. "And did you learn any of their language?"

Brathay chuckled, remembering the poor lad being cajoled into teaching them a few words and phrases and everyone laughing as he did.

"We urged him to teach us a couple of words and phrases. Things involving the words' desire',' kiss' and 'love', the way adolescent students do. Nothing I can remember. Actually, that is not true. He showed us how they teach children the common tongue using alphabetic, vowel, and numeric gestures. Which is easier because there are limited letters and numbers involved. In the actual mountain language, one gesture equals a unique word. Imagine how complicated that could be? It would take a lifetime to learn everything. You would need to learn from early childhood to master the vocabulary. But in the simple version, for example, the letter' a' is done by a single blink of the left eye."

"Teach me. The simple version."

Brathay breathed out and went through the alphabetic version, patiently showing a grinning Leonmarkh each of the letters by blinking and twisting his mouth or scrunching his eyebrows. In the end, Leonmarkh rewarded him by serving him a bowl of broth.

"The problem, as you can tell, is that to string a simple sentence together takes a long time. But to spell out basic words such as names could be quite efficient."

Both sat in companionable silence, blowing on the surface until the liquid had cooled. Brathay ate slowly, spoonful by flavoursome spoonful, savouring each mouthful, while Leonmarkh drank hungrily directly from the bowl. Warmth settled in Brathay's stomach, chasing the last of his deep chill away. After a second bowl, he felt his strength return and noticed Leonmarkh's mood had improved.

"Clorrice, my sister, is six years older than me. We were—still are—very close. Growing up, we had the same strict governess. Mother regularly accompanied our father, who spent a lot of time away from home on political business. Our brothers are over twenty years older than me. Having little in common with them and also having the same private tuition, my sister became my best friend growing up."

Brathay turned to see Leonmarkh smiling into the fire, lost in the happy memory. When he noticed Brathay observing him, he met his gaze and chuckled coyly, something Brathay found disarming.

"The point of my telling you this is that, from an early age, we developed a private language between us, an inconspicuous sign language, to converse with each other without the governess knowing. I still remember much of what we invented. We avoided obvious common gestures such as nodding or shaking the head. Pulling on the right earlobe meant meeting up inside. Pulling the left earlobe meant meeting somewhere out in the grounds."

Leonmarkh demonstrated each as he explained the function.

"With hands cupped together in the lap like this—palms up for morning and down for afternoon—we would tap a finger on one of five knuckles on the left hand for the hours of one to five, and on the right hand for six to ten. Thumbs tapped twice together meant eleven and small fingers tapped twice indicated midday. A hand double-tapping the left shoulder meant yes or I understand, while scratching the neck meant no. Our governess, who was otherwise a sharp woman, never suspected a thing. On the rare occasion, we were told to stop fidgeting, but do you think she ever clued into what we were doing?"

Brathay smiled before reaching a hand to scratch his neck, and Leonmarkh laughed instantly.

"I remember one time when we had arranged to meet up straight after lunch—the old governess usually napped for an hour—and my sister had volunteered to sneak out fruit for us to enjoy in the sunshine. Forbidden from talking at the lunch table, she kept looking anxiously at the fruit bowl, wondering how she would do the deed. Except I had already filched two apples from the kitchen before the bowl reached the table and stuffed them in my pockets. And then I remembered the sign. Once I got her attention, I tapped my left shoulder twice and then squeezed my chin, which meant 'already done'. I'll never forget the way her face lit up. But my favourite of all was whenever I was being punished, which was more often than her—being the youngest, I used to be fairly free-spirited. She would hold her hands together beneath her nose, as though in prayer, with her little fingers tapping three times. This meant 'calm down and don't worry, I still love you'. Had I been caught doing something wrong and told not to speak, she used the gesture to show her solidarity."

"Where is she now?"

"Married into the royal family of Cormaland. To Prince Stephan. Happily married, I hasten to add. Of all my family, we are still the closest. I would do anything for her."

Brathay said nothing. Since he had known Leonmarkh, those words had been the most candid and telling ones he had shared. Moreover, Brathay could barely reconcile the naughty young boy Leonmarkh spoke of with the highly controlled and ever cautious man who sat beside him.

"We should dress and depart soon. Even now, we will not arrive before darkness has fallen. How are you—?"

"Lord Leonmarkh. I need to say thank you. Not only for rescuing me but for being so candid. I hope you realise by now that I only want the best for you, and in the unlikely event you do need my help, you have only to ask, and I will be there for you."

With a sigh, Leonmark dropped his head forward and stared into the fire.

"If I tell you there is far more at play here than it is safe for you to know and that I do not want you involved, would you believe me and promise not to meddle?"

Brathay tilted his head and waited until Leonmarkh met his gaze.

"What do you think?"

Leonmarkh chuckled while shaking his head. Brathay bumped their shoulders together, allowing himself to enjoy the contact. Leonmarkh filled their bowls again and sat back down, allowing a companionable silence to fall between them.

"I expected to end up hating you, Leonmarkh. What I did not expect was to end up caring about you."

Leonmarkh lowered the bowl from his mouth and let out a pained groan.

"Brathay, you cannot. I do not see how this will end well. And I do not want you getting hurt."

"Too late, your lordship. You say that I do not know you well, but you also know little about me in fairness. Yes, I can be patient and pleasant and sway people to do my bidding. I can also be a fearsome foe if you attack me—Ligger, or the soldiers my father leads, will testify to that. Something few know, however, is that I will become even more lethal and terrifying and relentless, as fearsome as the worst of your Braggadachi warriors if ever you try to hurt a friend of mine."

"Brathay, you are still a child—"

Brathay began to stand then, to pull away from Leonmarkh.

"I swear, by the name of the traitorous Eleventh King, if you ever refer to me by that word again, I will take your sword and end you myself—"

Leonmarkh's arm tightened around Brathay's forearm and brought him back down.

"My turn to apologise. But I meant what I said earlier, Brathay. This is not your fight."

"And I, too, meant what I said," said Brathay before taking Leonmarkh's bowl from him and tossing the dregs into the fire. "You have heard my offer. And on the matter, I will say no more."

In silence, with an unspoken understanding reached between them, they began to work around each other, Brathay dressing while Leonmarkh packed a bag.

"Given that somebody had been kind enough to prepare the hut for errant travellers, we should return the gesture and do the same before we leave. Once we extinguish the fire, I will pile fresh logs to one side. Had we time, I would cut more, but our journey is long, and we need to hurry. Fortunately, the weather appears to have remained unchanged."

While Brathay tidied the bunk, Leonmarkh took the bowls and cooking pot outside to clean with snow. When Leonmarkh returned, Brathay had been staring at the tapestry covering the bed.

"Did you recognise what was portrayed on these tapestries?"

Leonmarkh appeared baffled and looked at the wall.

"I know the one still hanging. The port at Koplatius with the giant arch that used to span the harbour and welcome ships into the inner dock. No longer standing, I am saddened to say. According to journals, the bridge was a sight to lift the heavy heart of many a weary sailor. Why? What does that one contain?"

Brathay rolled the material out and held the tapestry out so that Leonmarkh could see the scene of a vast mountainous scenery.

"A mountain landscape."

He barely acknowledged Leonmarkh's intake of breath from in front of him.

"Not any mountain, Brathay. That is Eagle Mountain, the one I told you about, set within the Trepideaian Ridge. Beneath Eagle Mountain. Is there anything sewn into the bottom of the material, perhaps?"

Brathay scrambled to inspect the thick but threadbare material while Leonmarkh scanned the floor, checking the stones in the hearth of the fire beneath where the tapestry had fallen and then the wooden flooring. After thumping the floor with his bare fist, he finally managed to dislodge and prise up a floorboard.

Very carefully, using both hands, he lifted out a dusty container, the size of one of the heftier tomes in the libraries of Aulderly. Someone had gone to the trouble of tightly wrapping the whole thing in thick material, now dusty and worn with age.

Leonmark unwrapped the parcel with reverence, and Brathay sat back on a stool, patiently watching him. When the last of the cloth came away, Leonmarkh placed down a box of rough dark wood and opened the lid. Inside sat three large amber petals of translucent crystal glinting with specks of inlaid gold, all three set carefully into the casing, one on top of the other.

"I think I know where those should be placed," said Brathay. "The grating beneath the keep has a cradle which has housings for three shapes identical."

"To what purpose?"

"I cannot tell you. But I warrant you hold the answer in your hands. Is there anything else in the box?"

"Nothing. But what if these crystals set in motion some form of thaumaturgy?"

"What if they do not? How will we know if we do not, at least, try?"

"Indeed."

"The only question, then, is whether you want to bring them with us or leave them here," said Brathay. Leonmarkh peered anxiously up at him. "Do you want to know what they can do, even if that means the possibility of invoking the forbidden science? Or would you rather not know and we return them back to the floor? The decision is not one I can make for you. The decision, Lord Leonmark—Watchman of the North—is yours and yours alone."