“Conflict? Is this about the Blackveil business?”

Laren nodded. She had regularly apprised him of all that had come to pass during each of her visits, and especially the involvement of the Green Riders. “Mornhavon the Black will return sooner or later, and we’re already contending with Second Empire. We’ve word they’re consolidating their forces.” Green Riders had died trying to bring back the information.

Elgin scratched a bristly cheek, deep in thought. Presently he said, “I am an old man. What am I against all that?”

“We’re not asking you to solve the world’s problems,” Laren replied. “Just to help us so we can take care of it. Maybe you don’t remember how young some Riders can be. Our newest boy just turned twelve. Your experience will help give them what they need to survive—prepare them for the storm to come.”

He turned away and she wondered if she said the wrong thing, hit too close to his heart. The cabin dimmed even more and creaked in the wind. Sparkling snow blew through cracks in the chinking and beneath the door. The horses and Bucket watched with ears perked, as if expecting some momentous proclamation.

But Elgin remained silent.

“I’d better get going,” Laren said, rising from her bench. “I want to reach the city before it gets dark. The clouds were building like it might snow again.”

Elgin nodded. “Best take your chestnuts with you. Should be ready by now.”

Shortly after, roasted chestnuts warmed Laren’s coat pockets as she sat astride Bluebird. It was already snowing and it looked like it could really pick up.

“Be careful,” Elgin said from his doorway. Snow mounded the path to either side of him, and a thick layer overhung his roof. “I’ve lost some sheep to critters. Been thinking about getting a dog.”

Laren thought a dog a sensible idea. “You be careful, too, Chief. And if you decide to give us a hand, know that you’ll have the gratitude of your king. And me.”

He made a dismissive gesture and went back inside. Laren reined Bluebird down the path away from the cabin.

“I think he’s interested,” she confided to her horse. “At least he didn’t tell me to go to the five hells.”

Bluebird snorted and Laren slapped his neck.

The snow fell heavily, dropping through the woods in curtains. It damped down the world, blanketing it all in an eerie hush, except for the creak of a tree limb or the thud of Bluebird’s hooves.

Laren was glad the path from Elgin’s cabin was wide enough for his cart, for it made the way obvious in the snow, when a narrower track would have been obscured, the terrain and sameness of the trees disorienting. She supposed if she got lost, Bluebird would know the way home, but it was, nevertheless, reassuring to have a clear path to follow.

She rode on, warm in her fur-lined greatcoat, confident in spite of the weather and the fading daylight. The rhythm of Bluebird’s steady pace and the mesmerizing flurries floating down down down, allowed her to lose herself in an array of mundane thoughts. What was the next day’s schedule? Meetings. There were always meetings, and piles of paperwork, and checking on the progress of the new Riders. Many did not have even a rudimentary education, so in addition to learning court etiquette, how to handle a sword, and ride, they must also be taught writing, reading, figuring, and geography. The long winter had been a bonus, keeping her senior Riders available to assist.

A howl raked the serenity of the forest. Bluebird sidestepped nervously. Caught unaware as she was, Laren kept her seat by sheer instinct. No sooner did she steady Bluebird when the howl came again.

Wolves? she wondered.

More cries followed, some closer, some farther away, and the hair on the nape of her neck stood.

Ordinarily she wouldn’t be too concerned about the wild creatures, as they tended to shy from people, but with such a severe winter, she imagined they were desperate for a meal. Bluebird was definitely a prey animal, and if the howling creatures were starving, they would overcome their natural fear of her.

She urged Bluebird forward into a trot, peering into the graying forest, and the cries came again, louder, closer, all around her. If she pushed Bluebird into a gallop, wouldn’t it just incite pursuit?

When the cries filled the forest again, they didn’t sound quite right. Not exactly like wolves or coyotes. There was an almost human quality to them.

Groundmites.

“Bloody hell,” Laren muttered, and from the corner of her eye she caught the movement of a manlike figure lumbering among the trees. Manlike, but not human.

Then she saw another and another ...

She drew her saber and jabbed her heels into Bluebird’s sides. If winter had been rough on other creatures, it was certainly hard on groundmites. Starvation must have driven them this far into Sacoridia.

Bluebird kicked up snow as he lunged forward. Laren crouched low over his neck, the hilt of her saber gripped firmly in her gloved hand.

The groundmites, no longer attempting to conceal themselves, rushed her and Bluebird, waving clubs and primitive hatchets, their cries chilling. As Bluebird charged by them, Laren saw only a blur of their furred and snarling faces. The groundmites flung themselves out of the forest into the path trying to block her way. She cut one down, then another, blood spraying across snow.

Enough of the creatures scrambled into the path that they obstructed it; others charged in from the sides. Laren spun Bluebird on his haunches only to find the groundmites had cut her off from behind as well. They had effectively tightened the noose around her.