It was a nerve-racking journey. They emerged from the mouth of the cavern, abandoning the broad path to clamber down the mountain’s slope where the shadows lay thickest. Both of them moved slowly, with infinite care. One slip of the foot, one dislodged pebble, and the Fjel would come to investigate.

If it had done nothing else, at least their long travail had prepared them for this moment. The inner slopes of the Gorgantus Mountains were gentler than the unscalable crags that faced outward, no more difficult to traverse than the mountains of the northern territories. They had learned, laboring atop the rock-pile, how to place their feet with the utmost care, how little pressure it took to shift a loose stone. Their night vision was honed by their time in the tunnels.

Once they reached level ground, it was another matter. Atop the incline to their right, they could see the curving shoulder of the encircling wall. The distant spark of torches burned in the watchtowers. Dani pointed silently toward the wood. Inching along the base of the slope, they made toward it. From time to time, the low tones of Fjeltroll drifted down from above.

The wood was foreboding, but the gnarled trees would provide cover and allow them to leave the wall. Dani breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when they reached the outskirts. Tangled branches, barren of leaves, beckoned in welcome. He entered their shadow and stepped onto the hoarfrosted beech-mast, grimacing as it crackled faintly beneath his feet.

Uncle Thulu grabbed his arm, pointing.

Dani froze and squinted at the trees.

There, a short distance into the wood; a ragged nest. There were others beyond it, many others. He thought of the dark cloud that had winged toward them on the plains, so vast it cast a shadow, and his heart rose into his throat.

Uncle Thulu pointed toward the left.

There was nowhere else to go. Step by step, they edged sidelong around the wood. The trick was to do it slowly, lowering their weight gradually with each step until the warmth of their bare soles melted the hoarfrost and prevented it from crackling. It seemed to take forever, and with each step Dani feared the woods would stir to life. He imagined a beady eye in every shadow, a glossy black wing in every glimmer of starlight on a frosted branch. He kept an anxious eye on the sky, fearing to see the pale light of dawn encroaching.

It seemed like hours before they had covered enough ground to put the wood between them and the wall. They backed away from it, away from the danger of sleeping ravens and waking Fjeltroll, and made for the river.