It was a bundle of fabric suspended across the mouth of the ravine between the two statues, the loose ends of the material flapping in the breeze. Whatever was contained within it was large, and my skin crawled. “Something,” I murmured, “that we were meant to find. Stay close.”

I shielded us from sight and from any form of attack as we moved across the open stretch, the ground still dark until the sun rose a little higher. There was only one set of footprints, but Chris insisted on poking the ground in front of us with his walking stick. “Ain’t falling for my own trick,” he muttered.

I didn’t argue. Despite the frigid temperature, sweat was trickling down his brow, and there was no missing the staccato beat of his heart. If doing something eased his nerves, so much the better.

The bundle swayed on a strong gust of wind, droplets raining down from the soaked fabric. My eyes followed the drips as the sun crested the mountain behind us, bathing our path with light. Beneath the bundle was a circle of crimson, and as the breeze reversed, the metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils.

“God in heaven,” Chris whispered, and I debated sending him back to camp and out of harm’s way. Except with Angoulême, Lessa, and Roland still alive, was anywhere safe? Chris knew the risks, but he’d agreed to come anyway. He wouldn’t thank me for sending him away.

“Whoever it is can’t have been dead long,” Chris said, stopping just shy of the circle of blood. “Doesn’t take long for a body to freeze in this weather.”

I knew who it was, and, catching a slight tremble of motion from the bundle, I knew he wasn’t dead. “This is either a warning, a trap, or both,” I said. “Be ready.”

Slicing through the magic suspending the drenched bundle, I lowered it to the snow, the fabric falling open as I relinquished my hold, limbs spilling out with it.

Chris staggered away and retched into the snow. I wanted to do the same, but instead I swallowed the burning bile and approached the dying troll. “Martin?”

The librarian didn’t answer, his open eyes twitching, but unseeing. Unconscious. Which was a small mercy, because what had been done to him was a testament to what even a lesser troll could endure. But there was no coming back. Not from this.

Kneeling next to him, I pulled out a knife. A blow to the heart would end his suffering. I owed him that. I lifted the blade, then his eyes snapped into focus. “No!”

I lowered my arm. “Martin, you don’t want to survive this.”