Kyle rolled forward through the shallow wash to kick one fellow down. A crossbow thumped, releasing. No lancing pain stabbed him so he charged onward, pulling the second fellow’s crossbow down and smashing a fist across his jaw. He turned to Gleeda. She was fumbling to bring up her own weapon. A single leap and he snatched it away and turned it on her.

Gleeda glared her bloody rage. Then her gaze went to the blade lying on the naked gravel bed of the wash. It gleamed there like glowing ivory. ‘You’re … him,’ she half mouthed. ‘That fella.’ She backed away while squeezing her mangled hand. ‘Whiteblade …’

Kyle gestured them off with the crossbow. The three stumbled back across the creek. He picked up the blade and carefully resheathed it then edged away, weapon raised until he entered the woods. He jogged on for a time. Once he’d gone far enough he shot off the bolt and slammed the weapon against a tree to break it and threw it away.

Three days later, in a valley far higher above the dry prairie plateau, he knelt at a pond of run-off next to humps of shadowed snow. Beneath the snow rested a layer of deep sapphire ice thicker than his arm. It crackled and almost seemed to steam in the heat of the gathering spring.

He was kneeling to scoop up the frigid ice-water when a voice spoke, close and gruff: ‘You are bold.’

He held out his arms, turned, and was quite startled to find a near-giant standing directly behind him. The man must have possessed a good full third again in height over Kyle, though he knew he wasn’t all that tall to begin with. The fellow wore thick leathers and possessed a wild mane of mussed brown hair tied up with leather strips, and an equally wide and bushy beard that touched his chest. A sword hung on one hip, a long-hafted axe at the other. The fellow regarded him from within his nest of hair with something like an eager grin, as if hoping Kyle would go for his sword. He kept his arms wide. ‘I’m just passing through.’

The grin broadened on the man’s ruddy features and he scratched his scalp beneath his bunched and matted hair. ‘You pass through to what? To peak? You’ll not like it there, I think.’

‘I’m looking for someone.’

The expressive brows rose. ‘Oh-ho! Looking for someone! You have friends here, yes?’

‘Yes, in fact I might.’

The giant slapped Kyle’s side, nearly sending him tumbling into the pond. ‘Ho! You are funny little man! I give you chance. You go south now. Don’t come back.’

Kyle rubbed his ribs. ‘Do you know a man named Stalker? Badlands? Coots?’

The fellow dropped his grin. He edged backwards from Kyle. A hand went to the bearded axe at his side. ‘The Losts? Yes, I know.’

Losts? Kyle wondered. Well, that made sense. They called themselves the Lost Army. ‘Well … they named me Lost as well.’