The men fell silent as they pondered his words and studied the ever-changing river before them. The mountains closed in on them now, blocking them completely from the open plains, from the Pandesian garrisons, as the river continued to gush its way south.

“Do you remember when we rode the Thusius to the end?”

Duncan turned to see Seavig looking out at the waters before him, lost in memory. He nodded, having a memory he’d rather forget.

“Too well,” he replied.

Duncan remembered the awful journey, all the way to the Devil’s Finger and on to the Tower of Kos. He tried to shake it from his mind, the memories of that barren wasteland in which he’d almost died. They called it the devil’s country—and for good reason. He had vowed to never return.

Duncan studied the mountains closing in on the river banks, white with snow and ice. They had arrived, and he wondered where Seavig would disembark. Seavig, too, studied the landscape, on alert. Finally, he nodded, and Duncan held up a fist, signaling to his men to stop—and not to sound the horns.

One raft at a time steered over to the river bank, the air filled with the gentle sound of wood rafts bumping against each other, then grounding on a rocky shore. Duncan jumped ashore the second they did, thrilled to be back on dry land, and his men followed his lead. He turned and kicked his raft back out into the water, making room for the other rafts to follow, as did all of his men, and he watched as the now-empty rafts drifted away with the current.

“Will we not need our rafts?” Arthfael asked with concern.

Duncan shook his head.

“We will descend these cliffs on foot,” he replied, “on the other side, with an army in tow and attacking the capital—or not at all. There is no retreat—we succeed or we die.”

Duncan knew the power of burning his bridges when he needed to—it sent a powerful signal to his men that there would be no turning back—and he could see that they respected it.

Hundreds of his men soon congregated at the base of the mountains, and Duncan took stock: he could see they were all shaken, exhausted, cold and hungry. He felt the same, but did not dare show it: after all, the worst of their journey still lay before them.

“MEN!” Duncan called out as they gathered around him. “I know you have all suffered much. I shall not lie to you: the worst is yet to come. We must climb these cliffs, and do it quickly, and we may not find a hospitable welcome at the top. There will be no rest, and the hiking will be hard. I know some of you are wounded, and I know you have lost close friends. But ask yourselves as you climb: what is the price of freedom?”