The final stretch to the Sunless City was a slog through knee-deep snow.

  They had left the ponies at the southern edge of Frostwatch's approach, and there was no need to go back for them now. So, they walked, the eighty-odd soldiers and Eirik's nine Talons.

  The city rose up before them, its size increasing with every passing mile.

  Eirik moved back into the secondary column, finding a spot near Olaf and the unconscious Brenn.

  "How is he?" he asked quietly.

  "Breathing." Olaf said.

  Eirik's face hardened.

  He felt the ice shard necklace resting against his throat, waiting until he could be sure that no one from the Duke's entourage was in sight. The column had stretched out during their march, soldiers gathering in little groups rather than keeping formation. Fatigue did that.

  "Leif," he whispered into the connection.

  The answer came after a moment—plainer now than it had ever been.

  "Commander!" There was relief in Leif's voice. "Thank the Frost Mother. We have been waiting for contact."

  "Report. Where are your men?"

  "Spread out like you asked, Commander. I have almost three hundred deployed in all, in units of fifteen to twenty."

  Eirik felt a slight weight lifted from his shoulders.

  "Anyone notice?"

  "Not yet." Leif's expression suddenly became cautious. "I've been using volunteers from the pilgrim camps who were willing to don Talon colors to walk the walls. From a distance, everything appears normal. But talk will start soon. The men who know have been sworn to secrecy, but—"

  "I know. How long until the deception fails?"

  "A week, maybe less."

  Eirik pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a good solution, but Leif was right: it did have an expiration date.

  "Last scouting party," Leif continued. "I'm personally leading out with them. We'll link up with your position in—"

  "Wait." Eirik's voice grew sharper. "You're coming here?"

  "Commander, all of us are risking our necks on this mission. I’m sitting in the fortress, doing absolutely nothing, while you're walking into a ruin full of demons with a serpent at your back."

  Leif’s voice had an edge to it that Eirik didn’t hear very often.

  Eirik closed his eyes.

  The rational half of his mind was screaming at him. Leif was the only man he trusted to handle Abercrombie while he was gone. If the young lord died in the Badlands, or fell to the spirits of Frostwatch—

  But Leif wasn't wrong.

  "The fire that I lit two days ago," said Eirik. "It was at the Skarl camp. Your scouts might have spotted the smoke."

  "They did. We traced the plume to a valley some forty miles northeast of the Icefang Pass."

  "Good. That's your heading. Go north-northeast from there until you come to a fortress named Frostwatch."

  "Frostwatch." Leif's voice was cautious. "I've heard stories."

  "The stories are true." Eirik's grip on the necklace tightened. "Listen carefully, because I'm only going to explain this once."

  He spoke about the spirits. The mass of face-creatures. How they assaulted through sight and sound, using guilt and fear. He discussed the chain pattern, the singing, and the need to keep their bodies and voices together.

  There was complete silence on the other side when he finished speaking.

  "Commander," Leif said finally. "That sounds..."

  "Suicidal?"

  Silence.

  "It is." Eirik's voice softened. "Leif, I'm not going to lie to you. Men died at Frostwatch. Good men. Elite soldiers who had trained their entire lives for battle. The spirits don’t care about your skill with a sword or your cultivational realm. They care about what you are hiding from yourself."

  Another pause.

  "I understand, Commander."

  "Do you? Because if there is anything—in your past, anything—you haven’t made your peace with, those things will find it, and use it to break you."

  "Then I'll make peace with it before I arrive." There is certainty in Leif’s voice.

  Eirik would have liked to command Leif to remain in the fortress, but he thought about the young man who chose him over a comfortable existence.

  Leif Fenrir wasn't who he was anymore.

  "You have my blessing," Eirik said quietly. "Assemble your men. And Leif—"

  "Yes, Commander?"

  "Don't die."

  "I'll do my best."

  Eirik was about to close the connection when Leif spoke again.

  "Commander, there's something else."

  "What?"

  "Sister Mara. There's still no direct word from her."

  Eirik frowned.

  "But," Leif continued, "a representative did arrive. Two days ago."

  "Two days?" Eirik's eyebrows rose. "Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

  "Ah. I wasn’t sure how to describe her, Commander."

  "Describe her? What do you mean?"

  A long pause. Eirik could almost hear Leif searching for the words to say.

  "She's... particular."

  "Particular how?"

  "I'm not entirely certain myself. She arrived with credentials from the Sister Mara herself—sealed documents, blessed tokens, the whole formal package. Her cultivation is clearly advanced. But she's..." Another pause. "Different."

  "Different good or different bad?"

  "I genuinely don't know, Commander."

  Eirik was curious now. Mara did not recommend people easily. If she had dispatched someone with her own seal, it meant that this person was something special.

  "Can you put me in contact with her?"

  Leif hesitated. "Commander, don't you think it's... strange? Entrusting this communication method to someone you've never met?"

  "I trust Mara," Eirik said firmly. "And by extension, I trust whoever she chose to send. Besides—" He glanced toward the distant black towers. "—I don't have the luxury of caution right now. If this representative is a strong cultivator, then maybe you should stay at the base after all."

  "Commander?"

  "Think about it. I still have the Ice Throne. I can teleport items back and forth between myself and Abercrombie. If I have a reliable contact at the fortress—someone who can coordinate supply drops, maybe even send reinforcements through the throne's connection—that gives me options."

  He let the implications settle.

  "But I need to know what I'm working with first. What's her name?"

  "Sister Seraphina. Seraphina Brighthollow."

  Eirik reached for the Delegation Council interface.

  The blue light appeared in the back of his eyes as he moved to the Faith position, which remained unoccupied.

  [FAITH]

  [Appoint Councilor?]

  [Available Candidates Detected:]

  [- Seraphina Brighthollow (Aptitude: Excellent)]

  [- Various Others (Aptitude: Poor-Moderate)]

  Eirik's breath caught.

  Excellent.

  He had never seen that rating before. Sindri and Isolde both had Great, the best rating he had seen until this point. Excellent was the level above that, making this Sister Seraphina one of a kind.

  He pulled up the projection:

  [Confirm Appointment: Seraphina Brighthollow as High Priestess?]

  [Projected Daily MF Generation: 2,000]

  [Current Realm: Hail]

  [Note: Appointee already exceeds Snow realm. Appointment will not trigger realm advancement due to low Kingdom Core level.]

  [Y/N]

  Two thousand passive per day. Just that alone would almost double what he is earning at the Council. And she was already in the Hail realm.

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  Who was this woman?

  "Leif," Eirik said, his voice carefully controlled. "I want to speak with her. Now."

  "Commander, are you certain?"

  "Now, Leif."

  A sigh. "Yes, Commander. Give me a moment."

  Eirik waited, his mind racing with possibilities.

  He pictured Sister Mara—the quiet power that radiated from every gesture. If Mara had sent someone from the Order's inner circle, that person would likely be similar. A mature and wise woman, perhaps.

  Someone who could stand beside him in the chaos to come.

  The connection shifted. Eirik felt a new presence join. He straightened unconsciously, adopting his most formal tone.

  "Sister Seraphina. I am Lord Eirik Stormcrow, Commander of Fort Abercrombie. I understand you've traveled far on behalf of Sister Mara. Please accept my deepest gratitude for—"

  "Oooh! Is this the talking ice thingy? It's really working! Can you hear me? Greetings? Greetings!"

  The voice that came through the connection was...

  Not what he expected.

  It was high-pitched and musical. And it carried an enthusiasm that bordered on childlike wonder.

  "Um," Eirik managed.

  "Sister Mara told me about you! She said you were very serious and important and that I should be on my best behavior, but she also said you saved a whole bunch of people from scary nomads and built a really amazing ice statue and that the Frost Mother herself blessed your fortress! Is that true? Did you really meet the Frost Mother? What was she like? Was she pretty? I bet she was pretty. Oh! And Leif—Lord Fenrir, I mean, sorry—he said you're on a super dangerous mission right now! Are you okay? You sound okay. But you sound very formal. Is that how important lords always sound?"

  Eirik opened his mouth, yet no words escaped from it for a moment.

  "I... yes. I can hear you."

  "Yay! The ice really works! I wasn't sure it would, you know, because magic is tricky and Sister Mara said I had to be very careful with it and not break anything, but it seems fine! Everything seems fine! Are you fine? You paused for a really long time. Did I say something wrong? I do that sometimes. Sister Mara says I talk too much when I'm nervous and I'm definitely nervous because this is my first real appointment and I really really really don't want to mess it up—"

  "Sister Seraphina."

  "Yes?"

  "Please." Eirik rubbed his temples. "Calm down."

  A pause. Then an embarrassed laugh.

  "Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. I'm doing it again, aren't I? Sister Mara warned me about this. She said, 'Sera, when you meet Lord Stormcrow, remember that he's a military commander and military commanders appreciate brevity.' But then I got excited because the magic stone was glowing and—"

  "Seraphina."

  "...yes, Lord Commander?"

  Eirik took a deep breath.

  Sera is good, he reminded himself. She has to be.

  When he'd first met Sister Mara, the woman had been disguised as a dirt-poor peasant mother carrying a sickly child. It had been a test—a way to measure his character before revealing her true nature. If there was one thing to be said about the Order's sisters, they were never what they appeared to be at first glance.

  He studied the distant towers of the Sunless City, his mind working through the problem.

  The spirits of Frostwatch fed on the darkness of a person's soul where regret festered. Every soldier who had fallen to the visions had been dragged down by the weight of their own past.

  But someone like Sera...

  The spirits wouldn't find much purchase there, would they?

  It was a theory. A dangerous one to bet lives on. But Eirik had learned to trust his instincts, and right now, those instincts were screaming that this apparently scatter-brained sister might be exactly what he needed.

  "Sister Seraphina," he said. "I'm going to give you a mission."

  "A mission? A real mission? Oh, that's wonderful! I've always wanted—"

  "Sera."

  "...yes?"

  "Before I explain, we need to establish a rule." Eirik's tone brooked no argument. "When I ask you a question during operations, your response must be under five words."

  Silence on the other end.

  "Under... five words?"

  "Yes. Military communication requires brevity. Lives depend on clear, concise information. If you cannot adopt this principle, we cannot work together effectively."

  He waited, half-expecting another torrent of words.

  Instead, Seraphina's voice came back surprisingly controlled:

  "Understood, Lord Commander."

  Three words. Eirik felt a flicker of respect.

  "Good. Now listen carefully. Lord Fenrir is assembling approximately three hundred soldiers to march north. They will need to pass through the fortress of Frostwatch—a place infested with spirits that attack through guilt and fear."

  He paused, letting the weight of that settle.

  "I need someone to lead them through."

  "You want me?"

  "Yes. But I need to know—can you do this? The spirits will try to break you. They'll find your deepest regrets and use them as weapons."

  "I don't carry regrets."

  Four words. And the certainty in them was absolute.

  Eirik found himself believing her.

  "Leif," he said, reopening the connection to include the young lord. "I need you to provide Sister Seraphina with credentials. A formal writ of authority bearing your seal and mine. She will be leading the expedition in my stead."

  "Commander?" Leif's voice was cautious. "With respect, the men don't know her. They might not—"

  "Make them know her." Eirik's voice hardened. "You have my authority to grant her field command. Any soldier who questions that authority answers to me personally when I return."

  A pause. "Understood, Commander."

  "Sister Seraphina."

  "Yes?"

  "One more thing." Eirik's voice grew urgent. "I have a man—Brenn. He's wounded. Frostbite and infection in his hand. The wound is spreading. If I can't get him treatment soon..."

  "Describe the wound."

  "Black tissue around the cuts. Spreading past his elbow. Yellowish discharge. He's barely conscious."

  Sera made a small sound.

  "I have something."

  Eirik's heart lifted.

  "Can it help? It is very serious."

  "Yes."

  "Sera," Eirik said. "Give it to Leif. Now."

  "Yes, Lord Commander."

  He heard a sound of delving into pouches and packs with more enthusiasm than seemed called for.

  "Found it! It's a salve. Very old recipe. Sister Mara taught me how to make it during my third year at the—"

  "Sera."

  "Right. Five words. Giving now."

  More rustling, then Leif's voice.

  "Commander, she just handed me a jar of... something green."

  "Good. Sera—you're dismissed. Prepare for the expedition. I need to speak with Leif privately."

  "Understood!"

  The connection shifted as Leif apparently guided the enthusiastic sister away from the ice shard's range.

  "She's something," Leif said finally.

  "She's exactly what we need." Eirik's voice hardened. "Now listen carefully. Your mission has changed."

  "Changed how?"

  "Forget leading the men through Frostwatch. I need you at the Ice Throne."

  A pause.

  "The throne? Commander, that's buried under half a mile of tunnels. No one even knows it exists except—"

  "Exactly. I can send items through it—equipment, supplies, weapons. But someone needs to be on the receiving end. Someone I trust absolutely."

  "You want me to wait there while the men march into danger?"

  "I want you to prepare a staging ground. Supply caches. Bows, arrows, spare bowstrings. Armor. Cold-weather gear. Rations. Waterskins." Eirik's voice grew urgent. "When Sera leads those men through Frostwatch, they'll arrive exhausted and wounded. Some will be half-mad from what the spirits showed them. But they'll need to be combat-ready within hours of arrival."

  "Hours? Commander, that's—"

  "I need heavy infantry. Archers. Three hundred farmers and pilgrims go in; three hundred elite soldiers come out."

  Silence on the other end.

  "Commander, you're making this sound like a war."

  Eirik stared at the distant black towers of the Sunless City.

  "It is a war, Leif. And it's going to start sooner than anyone expects." His voice dropped. "Now go. Prepare everything."

  "Understood, Commander."

  The connection severed.

  Eirik released the necklace and let his hand fall to his side, letting his awareness return fully to the present.

  The Sunless City filled the horizon now.

  What had seemed distant and abstract during the march was now overwhelming in its scale. The black towers rose like the fingers of a buried god.

  And the silence.

  After the cacophony of Frostwatch the silence here was almost worse.

  "Commander."

  Kael's voice pulled him back.

  "It's Brenn."

  Eirik's stomach tightened. He turned to look.

  The formation was changing in his communication with Leif. Where before the Duke's elite guard had reluctantly assisted in shifting the load of the wounded veteran, now the body of Brenn was borne entirely by the Talons. Two of them, Jory and Silas, strained under his weight.

  The guards marched past without a second glance.

  "When did they stop helping?"

  "About ten minutes ago. Ser Konrad's orders. They couldn't afford to tire their soldiers before going into the city."

  Eirik edged towards Brenn.

  Close up, the soldier looked worse than he had before. His skin had developed a grayish hue, andhis breathing was erratic, with every breath accompanied by a wet rattling in the chest.

  "Set him down," Eirik ordered quietly. "Gently."

  Jory and Silas set Brenn down on the snow.

  Kael knelt beside Eirik, speaking in a voice that only they could hear.

  "Commander. When a man is this far gone, it's no shame to assist him in finding peace. A quick cut, well-placed. He wouldn't feel a thing."

  Eirik remained silent.

  "This happened more often than you'd imagine," Kael went on. "On long missions, in enemy territory. When a wounded man becomes a problem and there's no chance of—"

  "No."

  Eirik opened his mouth.

  And stopped.

  Something pulsed against his finger.

  The storage ring.

  Eirik looked around. The column had grown during the final approach to the city. Velthan was at the front, his eyes fixed on the huge gates before him. Caelum was beside him, his face wet with sweat. The guards' attention was focused on the walls looming before them.

  No one was watching.

  "Form a circle," Eirik said quietly to his Talons. "Block the line of sight from the column."

  The men moved, creating a wall of armor and cloaks around Brenn's prone form.

  Eirik reached into the storage ring.

  His fingers closed around a small container—cool to his touch.

  The salve.

  Eirik knelt alongside Brenn, gently unwrapping the blackened bandages. The stench assaulted his senses the instant he uncovered the area: the sweet, rotten reek of dying flesh.

  "What are you doing?" Kael's whispered sharply.

  Eirik opened the jar.

  The salve itself was deep green, almost black. Eirik scooped a generous amount onto his fingers and began spreading it across Brenn's ruined hand.

  It had an immediate effect.

  The blackened tissue appeared to shudder. The yellowed fluid slowed, then ceased. The angry red lines that had been spreading up and down Brenn's arm began to recede.

  "Frost Mother preserve us," Jory breathed.

  "Quiet," Eirik hissed. "All of you. You saw nothing. Understood?"

  Nods from the circle.

  Eirik continued applying the salve, working it into every wound. The jar was nearly empty by the time he finished.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then Brenn's body seized. A strangled sound escaped his throat—cut off as Eirik clamped a hand over his mouth.

  "Quiet," Eirik hissed. "Stay quiet."

  Eirik's mind raced.

  Brenn would recover. Perhaps not long after, he might be able to walk on his own. He might even be able to fight.

  But that presented a problem.

  If Brenn suddenly rose from his deathbed, questions would be asked. Velthan would want to know the circumstances of how a man near death was suddenly cured. The Archmage would investigate Brenn, inquire about the situation, and finally trace the source of the cure to—

  Eirik couldn't allow that.

  He leaned closer to Brenn.

  "Listen to me carefully. You're going to recover. But you cannot show it. Do you understand? You need to keep playing half-dead."

  Brenn's eyes flickered open.

  "Commander...?"

  "The Duke's men believe you're dying. I need them to keep believing that. When we get inside that city, when the battle erupts, I want you to be a surprise."

  Understanding dawned in Brenn's eyes.

  "Stay limp. Let the others carry you."

  Eirik rose, schooling his features into an expression of solemn grief.

  He turned to face the waiting Talons.

  "Get him up. We're falling behind."

  As his men lifted Brenn, Eirik allowed himself one glance toward the front of the column.

  The gates of the Sunless City loomed before them.

  Eirik adjusted Grave Drinker on his hip and moved to rejoin the column.