Duncan examined all of their faces, and could see them reassured by his words.

“If there is any man here who is not up for the journey ahead, step forward now,” he called out, studying them all.

He waited in the thick silence and there was not a single man, he was relieved to see, who came forward. He knew there would not be. These were his men, and they would follow him to the death.

Satisfied, Duncan turned and prepared to climb the cliffs—when suddenly, there came a noise, and he turned to see there emerge from the trees a dozen boys. They held in their arms hundreds of large snowshoes, spikes at the bottom, along with icepicks and bundles of rope.

Duncan shot a curious look at Seavig, who looked back knowingly.

“Mountain traders,” he explained. “This is how they make their living. They want to sell us their wares.”

One boy stepped forward.

“You will need these,” he said, holding out a snowshoe. “Anyone who climbs these mountains needs these.”

Duncan took it and examined its sharp spikes. He looked up at the cliffs and pondered the icy ascent.

“And how much do you wish for these?” Duncan asked.

“One sack of gold for the whole lot,” one boy said, stepping forward, his face covered in dirt.

Duncan looked at the boy, near the age of his own sons, looking as if he hadn’t eaten in days, and his heart broke for him; clearly, he had a hard life here.

“One sack for this junk?” asked Brandon derisively, stepping forward.

“Just take them from them, Father,” added Braxton, stepping up beside him. “What are they going to do—stop us?”

Duncan looked at his own sons with shame. They had everything, and yet they would deny these poor boys their livelihood.

Duncan stepped forward and pushed back his two sons, then looked at the boys and nodded back soundly.

“You shall have two sacks of gold,” Duncan said.

The boys gasped in delight, wide-eyed, and Duncan then turned to his sons:

“And the money shall come from your personal coffers,” he said sternly. “You can each hand me one sack. Now.”

It was not a question but a command, and Brandon and Braxton looked crestfallen. They must have seen the determined look in their father’s eyes, though, since they reluctantly reached into their waists and each pulled out a sack.

“That is all my gold, Father!” Brandon called out.

Duncan nodded, uncaring.

“Good,” he replied. “Now hand it to the boys.”

Brandon and Braxton grudgingly stepped forward and hand the sacks to the boys. The boys, delighted, rushed forward and handed Duncan and his men the shoes and ropes.

“Take the eastern face,” one of the boys advised Duncan. “There is less melting. The north seems easier, but it narrows—you’ll get stuck. Remember—don’t remove the spikes. You will have more than one cause for them.”