By afternoon, we’re loaded into longboats and rowing across the strait. The wind across the water is bitterly cold, and the boats lurch on the waves. My fingers are frozen into claws by the time we get to the other side. We take off our shoes and roll up our trousers before wading onto the opposite shore. The water on my bare skin sends jolts through my bones, but it’s better than marching on in wet clothes.

Arxa has us hide the boats in a sea cave, and then we continue into the forest. I see signs of settlement once in a while—well-worn paths, some wells…Walgash tells me there are peaceful villages in the lowlands, though it looks like we’re avoiding them. I wouldn’t say we’re marching in secret—there’s far too many of us to not be noticed—but we’re not announcing our presence either. Kiran confers with Arxa about everything—the layout of the land, the consistency of the ground we march on, the edible vegetation on the mountainside, the flooding patterns of the waterways.

After a few days, we start marching uphill, making for the mountain pass that connects this valley with the rest of the continent beyond. According to the commander, this section of road is the most dangerous by far. The narrow path, with its bottlenecks, provides plenty of ambush opportunities. Also, there’s the constant threat of landslide. Because of that, Arxa takes every precaution. He sends a constant rotation of scouts ahead, with one reporting back every quarter hour.

The path starts out wide enough for four men to walk abreast. As we climb, it gets steeper and narrower. Gray granite rises around us on both sides. The trail is rocky, and I’m constantly dodging pebbles dislodged by the men in front of me. I find myself gasping for breath, even though we’re not going quickly.

“It’s the mountain air,” says Masista when he sees me wheezing. “Makes it harder to breathe.”

Halfway through the morning, we start seeing snow on the peaks around us, and we’re commanded to march in complete silence so we don’t trigger an avalanche. The entire march becomes quite ghostly, just the whistle of wind and the crunch of our feet. Kiran marches a few rows in front of me, and sometimes I catch a glimpse of scouts coming back and forth.

Suddenly the column slows. A message is passed back. One of the scouts has not returned. Be vigilant. I feel for my sword at my side, though it’s hard for me to see how much fighting I could really do out here. The path is ridiculously narrow, with the mountain rising up on one side and a steep drop on the other. At least my limbs are warm from all our marching.