Old, she reflected grimly. I am already old. Yet I see myself as a young woman. Perhaps everyone comes to do so, and I have simply reached the self-revelation prematurely. An achievement for a girl not yet into her twenties. But not surprising, considering I carry millennia-old awarenesses within.

Rubbing her thighs to ease feeling back into them, she hobbled up the rise to join Kilava.

‘Summoner,’ the ancient Bonecaster greeted her.

Silverfox flinched – the woman always managed to infuse such disapproval into each use. ‘Kilava.’

Behind the woman, down a series of gently descending grassy hillsides, lay the glittering surface of a broad bay, and the body of a wider lake, or sea, beyond. Ships lay at anchor in the bay, and a camp of sorts was spread out along the shore. Smoke from fires rose into the air. Already, mounted scouts were cantering out to investigate their presence.

‘What is this?’ she asked Kilava.

‘The locals name it the Sea of Dread.’

Studying the waters, she could well imagine why they would do so; the rigid grip of the Jaghut magics of Omtose Phellack yet lay hard upon it, though it was rotting and slipping away even as she watched. Like ice beneath the heat of a summer sun, she reflected. In this case, the end of its time here upon the land.

‘It is all that remains of a great ice-field that once covered all this region,’ Kilava explained. ‘One of the last remaining glacial lakes.’

Silverfox motioned to the north, where mountains remained visible in the dusk – the unmistakable gleam of ice shone about their peaks. ‘Yet some remains.’

Kilava did not turn to look. ‘Yes,’ she allowed. ‘High in the mountains.’

She did not need to add … our destination.

Silverfox sensed the presence of Pran and Tolb as they came walking up. Her Imass followers arrived to stand ranged along the crest of the hill. They were motionless but for their tattered leathers and hanging fur wraps and cloaks flapping in the wind. She watched the closing mounted scouts suddenly wheel, wrenching away, to turn and gallop back to their camp. One even fell from his mount and ran now, arms waving, after his horse.

‘Where are they?’ she asked Kilava.

‘Close now. Very close.’

‘You have not spoken to them?’

The Bonecaster shook her head, brushed her hair from her face. ‘No. They know my choice. They would attack. I might not be able to extricate myself.’

That casual admission brought home the slenderness of their chances to Silverfox. We are too far outnumbered. She wondered, then, whether she was in truth driving them before her. Or were they merely pursuing their goal while she chased after? One and the same, perhaps. In any case, the restrictions imposed upon Tellann in this region inhibited them all.

We walk as in the old days. Tirelessly, yes. But just the same.

Chaos had broken out within the camp. Figures ran to the boats drawn up upon the gravel beaches, pushed them out.