“First, the army of Beedles that Spring ensnared and converted to her services,” said Querc. “They’ll be dug in on yonder slope.” She stood up and drew their attention to the rampart of rocky ground that rose up out of the forest south of them. This had become visible as the weather cleared. It was markedly closer now than when Prim had looked on it yesterday. It seemed much higher and steeper than her earlier view of it had led her to expect. Details could now be made out that hinted at its being inhabited. Not in the sense that structures had been built atop its surface. No, this had been burrowed into. If there was any truth to the old myths, the Beedles that Spring had brought into her service were miners. They must have been very accomplished miners now. Mile-wide fans of spoil spread away from pinhole-sized orifices in the slope. Every one of those stones had been hacked out of the bowels of the earth by one of those Dug—as the converted Beedles were called. For they had dug and dug and dug until Dug was all they were.

“And second? Third? Fourth?” Lyne prompted Querc.

“Between the Dug and the Chasmian—which is to say, along the Shifting Path that goes across the top of the glacier—nothing except for, well, you know, Lightning Bears.”

“Good to know,” Lyne said.

“But I don’t think we are going that way,” Querc added. “Corvus said something about a cave.” She looked toward Edda. “Is that where we are going, my lady?”

“It is where we are headed,” Edda corrected her. She did not meet Querc’s gaze, or anyone’s. She was standing a little apart from the others, who were clustered round the fire in the hopes of drying out their clothes. She seemed content to gaze upon the vista opening up to the south as the weather continued to clear off. Some of the high mountains leading into the Knot were now revealing themselves. They were the grandest thing Prim had ever beheld. But Edda’s gaze was fixed low, toward a green plateau that was difficult to resolve distinctly, as clouds and rain still swirled close about it. It was a small shelf that looked to have been cut into the eastern extremity of the Dug-infested rampart that blocked their way. Indeed its shape and situation were so convenient that one could easily imagine it had been purpose-built by Dug with picks and shovels. High and remote though it was, yet it seemed to exist at the bottom of a well of golden light, the overabundance of which made the swirling veil of mist into a blurry glow that dazzled and befogged the vision.

“Is that the Eye of the Storm then?” Querc asked.