Bramthos led the way and Duncan entered, and as he did, he was in awe at this place: carved entirely of ice, this temple, with its translucent walls, filtered in sunlight, seemed to be glowing, alive. A quiet, empty structure, so high in the sky, it felt solemn, sacred. It was even colder in here, if possible, than outside, yet no one seemed to mind.

A long walkway stretched before him, its floor made up of hammered swords, leading to a massive star-shaped altar at the far end of the temple, with a gleaming halberd perched at the top, like some sort of ornament to war. And kneeling before it, Duncan saw a dozen warriors, their backs to him, hands clasped. In the center of the group knelt a man larger than them all, the only one wearing red furs, with wild red hair, and a red beard. Even with his back to him, Duncan could recognize his old friend anywhere. Kavos. Their leader. A man famed to have killed more men in battle than anyone Duncan had ever met. A man whom Duncan had seen stand still when a lion pounced on his chest, knocking the creature back.

Kavos had a mystique about him, and one that was justified. Duncan had personally witnessed him receive dozens of vicious wounds, yet he had never heard him cry out once. He did not know what stuff he was made of—he was just glad that they fought for the same side.

Kavos, Duncan knew, was a difficult man to read even in the most simple of times—and these were not simple times. Unlike many leaders, whatever Kavos commanded his people followed religiously. There was no questioning, ever. And Kavos never changed his mind. Duncan knew he would only have one chance to convince him.

As Duncan slowly crossed the temple, he felt a great sense of anticipation, knowing that everything would ride on this encounter, all of his efforts and journeys up until now, the very fate of his people. If Kavos refused to join them, the war, Duncan knew, would be lost. Escalon would be lost.

He reached the end of the long aisle, and Duncan stopped and waited patiently behind Kavos and his men. He knew that Kavos was not a man to be rushed.

Duncan examined the curious altar, the candles burning around it, and he wondered about the gods of Kos. They were no gods that he prayed to. These men were different, in all that they did, from the rest of Escalon, separatist enough to make Duncan wonder if they would ever really join his cause. All the way up here, with their own climate and culture and gods and city, they were, oddly, not even a part of Escalon—and they never had been.