They were free from the vile claws of the giants, but that didn’t change their circumstances. They’d been no better off if the devil turned them loose in a pit of fire. Aside from the mountain being steep and treacherous, Barin didn’t know the trails. He set his compass on the descent, assuming he’d get his bearings once he reached the plains. He hadn’t seen the route which Sol had carried him, having been encased in his stony hand. With Sol’s enormous body, the giant could have leapt cross-country up the mountain for all he knew. So, Barin and his men hurried out of the cave they followed a slippery trail downhill and paused at the first level clearing they came to.

He turned to his weary comrades, his heart aching because of them. They shivered for want of clothing. A few had worn shoes, and the others were barefoot. Were they healthy enough to make the trek down the mountain?

“What’s your name?” Barin asked a red-haired youth who stood nearest to him.

“Stormy. My brother is in your army, sir.”

“Your brother’s name?”

“Rory, Vasil.”

“Rory?”

“You know him?”

Barin nodded but said nothing more. Of course, he remembered Rory, the soldier whom he had confined for desertion because of his sister’s insolence. Stormy bore a family resemblance to Rory, though the lad wasn’t even a man yet. To look at the dark under his eyes, and the grime and filth on his face broke Barin’s heart. Boys his age should be home with their fathers, learning a trade, fishing, enjoying their youth, not imprisoned in an icy cave by a demented wizard. The experience had been too much for any man. They were all frayed. Not only worn by the lack of clothing, and the overall gauntness of their bodies, but tattered on the inside. They had lost hope despite being free men.

“It’s been hard for all of you. I know. You’ve been prisoners for longer than I.” No one responded. They looked at him with eyes of distress. These were men from the country, Fairmistle and the river towns. Poor fellows. None of them had ever had much wealth. A few cows. Chickens. Heat from a hearth in their modest homes. Could he, as a prince, offer them solace for what they had suffered? If he could give them a horse and carriage to carry them home, he’d do it. But a long and treacherous journey awaited them. Barin sighed, lost for words.

“We’ll first need some clothing for you.” Barin removed his cloak and wrapped it around a man who was so cold his teeth were clattering. “What’s your name?”

“Effie,” the man said. “From Fairmistle, Vasil.”

“Effie, I want you to wear this until your body warms and then pass it to the next man. Moving will generate heat, and we need to move as a unit.”

“Yes, sire,” he said.

“Let me see your feet,” he instructed the men. They exchanged glances, puzzled, but sat at Barin’s biding. Despite the dark night, Barin stooped and inspected their feet. Too many swelled with sores and frostbite. Three of the men wore boots and warm stockings, though torn and threadbare. The others had long since worn the soles out of their footwear. Barin tore strips of cloth from his tunic and wrapped each of their feet.

“We can’t have your toes turning to icicles, now can we?” he asked, patting the shoulder of the last man he cared for.

“Thank you, Vasil.”

“Do you remember what route the giant took?” Barin asked.

The men glanced among themselves, and finally one of them answered.

“Don’t remember as some of us were unconscious when we arrived, taken up by the giants. We’ll trust you to get us home, sire. We’ll obey anything you say, Vasil. You are our king.”

“Prince. I am not a king, merely a servant for my father. King Tobias still sits on the throne.”

“That’s odd,” another man spoke up. “The dark lord said your father died. Said the armies from Casdamia killed him.”

“When?”

“The day you arrived.”

Barin laughed, “The dark lord lies.”

“It happened after you left home. We swear it’s true. Even the skura spies brought word. They had proof.”

“What sort of proof?”

“A lock of your sister’s hair, Vasil.”

Barin stared at them as they relayed their story. What they said seemed, at first, plausible, and then as the tale progressed, probable. His hands shook, and so he put them behind his back to appear calm. He mustn’t overreact. They could be wrong.

“Red as the bark of a cedar tree, Vasil. We don’t know what she looked like, so you’d have to tell us if it’s a lie. All we know is what they said. The skura said she succumbed to Barte of Moshere before she died. Robin grabbed the token through the bars after they tossed it on the ground. Show him, Robin.”

Barin held his breath as the man named Robin pulled a lock of auburn hair from his pocket and handed it to the prince. A long curl, soft and silky, lay in Barin’s hand. He swallowed and closed his fist over it. He didn’t want to believe he held a lock of Erika’s hair, but where would skura have gotten this token? His nostrils flared, and he set his jaw, swearing revenge. He must contain himself outwardly. Use this anger to lead these men off the mountain. There would be time to explode once he finds Barte son of Moshere. For now, his men needed him.

“We’ll hear no more of this for now,” Barin ordered as he wrapped his sister’s curl in a kerchief and tucked it in his pocket, sealing his heartbreak and wrath along with it.

While leading the men down the slopes of the mountain, he anguished over the possibility of having lost his family and struggled to stay in the present. He scratched his hands from bramble bushes and sharp rocks he had grabbed onto to keep from tripping. Still, he led the men through the steepest cliffs. Every man took care and watched their footing.

Effie removed Barin’s cloak and gave it to a friend, and he, once warmed, passed it to another. In that way they passed Barin’s shroud from person to person. Stormy stayed near Barin. The boy showed unusual strength for his age, his bright red hair telltale to his kinship with Rory. Stormy whispered to the prince.

“Back at the caves, did you eat the food?”

“I did, Stormy. I tried not to, but I couldn’t hold off any longer. They might have given me poison, but it seemed an easier death than freezing or starving.” He didn’t focus on their conversation, but on finding a straightforward way down one particularly rocky incline, so Stormy’s words did not register right away.

“The dark lord force-feeds his skura, mountain giants, and his shapeless creatures the same food. I believe it’s how he gets them to obey.”

The young man’s voice quaked. Barin paused and glanced up at him. They had imprisoned Stormy on a cold mountain top for two weeks. It had been rough on Barin, how much more so on a lad Stormy’s age? Barin put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and squeezed it.

“We’re free of that devil, now. We’re leaving this mountain. Once we join up with Neal and his troops, we’ll be a unit again. You needn’t fear Skotádi and his creatures any longer.”

“I know that, Vasil, but the food on the mountain! You ate it?”

Stormy didn’t have the expression of a madman, nor did his countenance reflect on the suffering he had endured, but deep concern darkened his face. Barin paused, searching the boy’s eyes.

“What are you telling me, Stormy? You didn’t eat?”

“Not the demon’s platter, Vasil. Moss that grew on the rocks kept me alive. Nibbled on mushrooms. I tried to tell the others, but they wanted the stew. Said it warmed their insides.”

Barin released Stormy’s shoulder, contemplating his words. His stomach felt fine. If Skotádi had poisoned the stew, Barin and his men would be sick by now. Or dead. But they were healthy, considering the circumstances.

“Let’s get off the mountain, lad,” he said. “There are pressing matters at home. Look, there’s a trail below. Once we reach it, traveling will be much safer.”

Neal had assigned three-quarters of the troops that had continued with him to Tellwater, to stay with Lord Garion’s estate. With them he left instructions and plans for the king’s fortification—a unique structure that would protect against skura, giants, and any other known beasts Skotádi created. He stationed the merchant civilians who had come with them with Felix, ready to begin a new life. All the apprentice wizards also stayed with Lord Garion.

The morning sun promised a good traveling day, and so Neal and the rest of his men headed south. Once at the junction, Neal would send another search party for the prince and take the rest of the men to Fairmistle. He would meet the scouts on his return to Prasa Potama.

The morning of the ride had been pleasant as they traveled through the vineyards now leafless and pruned. The weather had turned for the better recently, and the fields were richly green under the melting snow. Sun warmed his back, and billowing clouds floated through the blue skies.

Without warning, a skura burst out of a tree and dove into the valley, snatching a boy from the fields in the distance.

Neal whipped his horse to chase, aimed his crossbow, and fired. The skura fell, the boy with him, and one of Neal’s men loped out to retrieve the lad.

Alerted of danger, the other men spread out across the fields. Kairos rode his horse ahead of them, dusting the air with a potion his mother used to use, a liquid spell that drew animals out of their cover, much like wood rises after falling into a body of water. The potion misted the air, sucking a horde of skura into the open. Caught unprepared, the flock swarmed, flapping their ghastly wings as the magic lifted them into the sky. The soldiers fired, and a cluster of skura plummeted. The rest of the flock continued to fly and then in one menacing mass, turned around and dove toward the soldiers.

“Take cover!” Neal ordered.

The soldiers dismounted and pulled their horses to the ground. Where there were no gullies or ditches to hide in, they crouched next to their mounts. Kairos threw his spells and many of the skura vanished in explosions, but the skura were too spread out for him to kill them all.

Bolts soared through the morning sky and struck the diving beasts. Blood splattered across the fields. Wounded skura landed and limped toward their prey while men beat them off with swords.

Neal could no longer supervise the battle. The skura were as thick as tar, flying from above and crawling over the land. His ears throbbed from the screams of men, horses, and demons. He swung his sword at the screeching half-man, half-beast monstrosity that lunged at him, slicing into its scaly wing. It jumped back, favoring its wounded limb, but pressed on snarling, its nose wrinkling like a rabid bat. Neal dodged the teeth that snapped at him and swung again, severing a portion of its other wing. The skura leapt and came at him with its razor-sharp talons. Neal slid low, the skura’s talon cutting his forehead as it touched the ground. Neal rammed his sword through the skura’s heart and quickly pulled it out of the monster, jumping out of the way before the beast collapsed. He swung at another beast that had been clawing at his horse and severed the fiend’s head from its body, saving the shaken equine.

Three more skura dove at him, but they were slow and sleepy. Had it been nighttime, Neal might not have been so lucky. The gash across his forehead dripped blood, as did his armor..

When the last skura on the ground died, a hush fell over the fields. The remaining skura vanished into the clouds, leaving a thick blanket of dead animals spread out across the valley. Neal counted his men as they rose. None had fallen to death, but he counted five men wounded. Several horses had died.

Kairos rode up to Neal on his horse, a buckskin mare splattered with mud and blood. The rescued boy sat in front of him, a fair-haired young man, small in stature and perhaps thirteen years young. He had a torn coat, and scruffs on his face and neck, but he seemed unharmed otherwise.

“You all right, lad?” Neal asked.

“My arm hurts, I might have broken something, but I’ll live. I owe you my life, sir,” he answered.

A proud young man, perhaps too haughty, he sat tall in the saddle and held his head high.

“Your name?”

“Clay from Tellwater. How many horses did you lose?”

Neal looked to a soldier next to him, an older man by the name of Papett. “How many?”

“We lost six. One we had to put down,” Papett said.

“I’ll tell my master what’s happened. He’ll send you horses to replace the ones you’ve lost. At my request.”

Neal raised a brow and glanced at Kairos.

“I’ll bring him home,” the wizard offered. “We’re not far. Maybe his master will hold to this young man’s promise.”

Still in Lord Garion’s fields, and only a short gallop away from the manor, Neal consented.

“Tell Felix what happened. He’ll want to burn these bodies before any more predators catch the scent.”

Kairos nodded and Neal let him go while he saw to the wounded. There was no reason not to head further south before sundown should they replace their horses. The soldiers retrieved their belongings from the fallen steeds, stacked them near the river, and waited.

Kairos returned midday with Felix and a group of serfs driving a cart full of kindling and a barrel of oil. They led six horses. Felix hurried to Neal, jumped from his horse, and handed Kairos the reins. He surveyed the damage and waved to his serfs to begin their work. “My apologies, Neal. If I had seen the trouble, I would have sent troops to your aide.”

“It happened rather quickly, and all because of one nasty skura attempting to steal a young man,” Neal replied.

“Clay. He’s my cousin. Someday he’ll be the owner of this manor. We’ve told him before to not wander alone, but he’s headstrong and does what he wants. What happened today might change his mind. I hope so. Did you need to return to the house and spend another night?”

Neal watched his men in the field saddling the new mounts, and packing their bags. He had already decided. With the warmer weather, it’d be wise to continue.

“The day’s still young. We’ll be leaving within the hour.” Neal assured him.

The serfs had already started a bonfire, dragging the skura carcasses and tossing them into the flames. They buried the slain horses.

“You lost no men, then?” Felix asked.

“Not a one, and those wounded are more willing to leave this valley. Everyone wants to go home. We’re fine. Take care of Talos for me. Tell him we’ll come back for him in the spring, but he needs to get walking again before he can make the trip home.”

“I will. Thank you again,” Felix patted Neal’s horse. “May the Creator give you safe travels.” He frowned as he looked Neal in the eye.

“And may you find our Majesty Prince Barin on your way home.”

“Thanks, Felix. That’s my prayer as well.”