“If snow is the silence that falls from the sky, perhaps rain is an endless sentence.”

  ― Han Kang, Greek Lessons

  The group of guards around Alea and Iseret eyed Butler One warily. One of them turned to the leading guard, a young blonde man who had yet to be named.

  "What the heck is this thing? Is it dangerous?"

  "That’s an automaton. You know golems? Something like that," a woman answered.

  "Never seen one. There was this elemental..."

  "No chatting on the job!" The young guard turned his head, fixing the culprits in his sight. “Lars. Will you be alright until after the hearing?”

  “Mh.” The burly guard sergeant grumbled.

  Grumbling under their breath, the group fell silent once more.

  Shutters clattered as housewives shook out their bed sheets—hurriedly, because of the cold—while an old man laboriously pushed a cart with barrels down a side alley. The snow made the process painful to watch.

  "We don’t need five of you. You there. Help the man," the young guard ordered.

  One of the guards saluted ironically before walking over and patting the old man on the back, gesturing at the cart. Soon, they lost sight of him.

  "Don’t think we’re that dangerous?" Iseret asked, raising an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  "Snakes," one of the beaten guards muttered under his breath.

  "No," the young guard sighed. "But leave that for another time, yes?"

  They left the labyrinth of small streets and alleys, emerging into a slightly larger plaza dominated by a statue of a mailed warrior raising a sword to the sky.

  The ground was paved with large, uneven stones buried beneath the snow. Only where the townsfolk frequently passed was the snow trampled into sludge.

  A large building, more stout than elegant, rose above the surrounding structures. Its top bore crenellations and battlements, still reflecting its martial roots. Three towers extended one or two stories higher, the entire structure forming the shape of an 'L.' A wall completed the blocky square.

  Many people going about their business paused to stare at them, or perhaps word of their capture had spread faster than anticipated. The men and women were bundled in furs and layered cloth against the biting cold, their shawls and hoods accumulating the still-falling snowflakes.

  Reinforced with iron bands, the double doors opened into a passage leading to an inner courtyard—the inside of the 'L.' Nodding to the guards on duty, the group soon entered the building proper.

  Lamps burning tallow flickered, casting a dim light over the room. A large fireplace crackled at the head of the hall, before which stood a throne-like chair flanked by two statues: a stag and a boar, depicted as if lying down to sleep.

  Several townspeople stood in a queue, seemingly petitioning the seated lord.

  A lanky young man with a wispy but well-maintained beard and watery blue eyes lounged on the throne, listening to the complaints of a portly woman while making no effort to hide his boredom. Yawning, he waved over an older man, who bent down to listen. After a brief exchange, the older man nodded and spoke—though his words were lost amid a swell of murmuring and whispers.

  Several guards stood at attention along the hall. They stiffened as the group entered. One stepped forward, spoke softly with the young guard leading them, then nodded and approached the older man—likely a steward.

  Taxidermied animal heads loomed high on the walls. Fierce mountain bears, stag heads, and boars were displayed alongside more exotic creatures—a strange furred beast of humanoid proportions and a crystal-studded snake. Slitted windows near the ceiling let in weak rays of anemic light and, of course, the cold.

  The murmurs of the assembled townsfolk faded as they took note of the guards and their unusual prisoners.

  "What have we here?" The lord leaned forward, his slightly reedy voice cutting through the residual noise—shuffling feet, a cough, a few whispered conversations.

  "Milord, they have been accused of harming your guards and inciting unrest," the old man declared darkly.

  The young guard bit his lip as if he wanted to say something but held back.

  The baron studied the group slowly. The murmurs of the waiting townsfolk grew louder.

  "Silence!" one of the guards beside the baron barked, and the throng fell quiet once more.

  "So. Not even a day in my town, and you’re already causing trouble." A twisted grin marred his youthful features. "Whatever shall we do with you, mh?"

  "The crime is clear," the steward, Rulfrik, said. "Those assaulted were your guards. Twenty lashes and two days in the stocks. Not to mention the fine, of course."

  The murmuring rose again.

  "...at this time of year?"

  "...death!"

  "...freezing outside..."

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  Alea stepped forward. Steeling herself, she began to speak. She faltered once, then managed to say, "You did not even ask our names or our testimony. Is that your way of dispensing justice? I will tell my uncle, and he will be sure to let you know what Graufurt thinks of such a travesty."

  The young baron looked taken aback. He studied her more closely.

  "Graufurt, you say? And who exactly are you?"

  Butler One stood reassuringly beside her as Alea straightened to her modest height and answered firmly, "Alea von Graufurt, Saintess of Jaros."

  The baron leaned back in his carved wooden seat, casting an annoyed glance at his steward before turning his head back to the group. A reluctant smile touched his lips.

  "I was still deliberating," he said. "Rulfrik is right in principle." He shifted in his seat. "But what is your opinion, my noble lady?"

  Alea exchanged a glance with Iseret, who remained stoic.

  "Naturally, you will let us go free after verifying with the shopkeeper that our account was truthful," she said softly.

  The large sergeant who had led the assault visibly sweated.

  The young guard who had brought them sighed, composing himself.

  "So, it seems there are some aspects of this I wasn’t aware of. How about this? I will release you on parole and send someone to investigate. If it is as you say..." He pointedly looked at the sweating sergeant, his expression promising nothing good.

  Iseret's tone was light as she spoke. "What exactly was the good sergeant doing so early in the morning at the general store, with his men conveniently nearby? Admiring the freezing temperatures? Taking a stroll through the snow-covered streets? Not getting enough of that while standing watch?"

  The baron’s expression darkened. "And who are you, snake?"

  "My retainer," Alea interjected with a frown. The attention was getting to her. Without her experience at the academy, she would have already crumbled.

  "Tsk." The baron turned to the sergeant. "We’ll be looking into this, but for now, I think some fresh air will do you good. The post at Mountainswatch is due for a shift change. You can go directly and inform the men of the good news. Take your men along." He made a dismissive gesture.

  This caused the shoulders of the captive guardsmen to sag with defeat, and Lars, the sergeant, gritted his teeth.

  The Baron rubbed his forehead before shifting his gaze to the petitioners, who were listening intently.

  "The court is closed. I have important matters to attend to. See them out," he instructed Rulfrik.

  Then, turning back to Alea, he added, "Why did you not come to my mansion? I would certainly have liked to extend my hospitality to you. And now that it has come to this…" he turned toward Rulfrik, “Introduce me.” Waving his hand, he fell back into his seat, tapping the armrest impatiently.

  “Ahem.” The steward fought to keep his features calm. “This here is his excellency Amdyr the Third of Fernhome.”

  The baron got up and looked at the petitioners. His face fell further as he saw them straining to hear every word.

  "Get out." He barked.

  The men and women hesitated.

  "Out!"

  He slammed his hand on a nearby table, toppling a goblet of wine. The deep red liquid spread across the dusty ground.

  The assembled townsfolk reluctantly filed toward the exit, herded by two guards more interested in hearing what happened behind them than doing their jobs. This way, the whole affair took a lot longer.

  “Rulfrik, see to these matters. I will guide my new ‘guests’ myself.” Gesturing for two guardsmen in somewhat better arms and armor to follow, he waved his hand at the group of Alea and her friends. “Come. Let’s discuss this further.”

  A short corridor linked the hall with a smaller one featuring a stair and several doors. Walking straight ahead without pausing, Amdyr, the baron, pushed the door open before one of the guards could more than raise his hand.

  Inside, they found a small seating area with thick pelts carpeting the floor and a small iron stove radiating heat in a corner. With a word, several glow crystals flared to life, but one of them only flickered dimly, earning itself an annoyed look from the nobleman.

  Gesturing at a table around which several upholstered chairs and a cushioned sofa were arranged, Amdyr took a seat at the end. Seeing them still standing at the door, he waved at the seating. “Sit.”

  Alea looked at Iseret and then approached one of the lower chairs. Butler One swiftly pulled the seat back, and Alea sat down primly while Iseret remained standing.

  “Now that that’s out of the way. What in Irkonos’s name are you doing here?” The baron’s right hand searched for a goblet and began to play with it.

  “We are looking to cross the mountains. We wanted to buy supplies and perhaps engage a scout or two to help us,” Alea answered.

  “You? In winter?” The baron looked at her incredulously. “Do you have a death wish?”

  Alea’s face reddened at the tone. “No. We have supplies, magic, and several seasoned wolf-tribe scouts. And…”

  “…and what?”

  “Please be more respectful of the lady. She is the niece of the current liege of Graufurt, Demavar.” Iseret interjected, earning her a dismissive glare from the young nobleman.

  “We have to do it.” Alea pressed her lips together until their original pastel colors bled into white. "If we don’t, the Lich-Queen will destroy us all.” A subtle golden light flared around the girl, and for a fleeting moment, old, scarred hands made of light rested reassuringly on her small shoulders. A sense of security and peace permeated the room.

  One guardsman made the sign of the eye and fell to his knees muttering a prayer to Gesserach, while the baron’s eyes widened, and the goblet held in his hand fell, forgotten, rolling twice before coming to rest at a bowl containing slightly withered-looking apples.

  “That…” Amdyr licked his lips. “...changes things a bit. You are really a saint?”

  Alea nodded.

  “We live in interesting times.” Shaking his head, he continued with a serious look that had been absent before. “I will give you one of my best trackers and what supplies you need. I hope that resolves the issue with my guards one way or another?”

  Iseret prodded Alea, making her nod quickly.

  “Zygmund von Nordmark is truly dead?”

  “He is.”

  “Gods help us all.”

  Meanwhile, Alyssa had found the wolves and stood outside the fortified mansion.

  “Do you think they are in trouble?” Alyssa had to tilt her head to look at Mordrak, who shook his head.

  “No.” He grumbled softly. “She is a noble. And that automaton and the little southern snake are with her. If there is trouble, we will hear it.”

  Noting her troubled face, he added, “We could probably even see it.” He grinned, exposing his fangs.

  Some of the people walking nearby hastened their steps.

  The snow had stopped falling, but some clouds hung high above the snow-covered ground, alternating shade with sunshine.

  “Hey! Why did no one tell me?” Mireille walked up to them, yawning widely. “I was just asking for some bread, and then the innkeeper said you all went to the castle, fortress, whatever.” She scratched her unkempt hair while she looked critically at the fortified building.

  “They took Alea and Iseret.” Alyssa broke into Mireille’s monologue. “I did not want to waste any more time.”

  Mireille looked hurt for a moment before realizing what had been said. “What? They took them? Why?”

  “They had an altercation with some guards. You remember? The ones that wanted to make it difficult for us at the gate?”

  “Those sonof….” Before she could finish, a servant in practical, thick clothes with a band on his arm denoting his service hurried up to them.

  “My ladies, gentle...men...” The man stuttered as Hella grinned at him menacingly, causing the rest of the wolves to chuckle. “...the baron bids you welcome in his fair city and invites you to have lunch with him.” The rest of the words sped up as the servant got ahold of himself. Having finished his speech, he waited.

  “Well. Let’s not keep him waiting, then?” Mordrak raised an eyebrow.

  Shook down on me

  The dust of snow

  From a hemlock tree

  Has given my heart

  A change of mood

  And saved some part

  Of a day I had rued.