One more step. And then another. Sulina focused on the ground, refusing to look up at the distant mountain crest. One step at a time.

Malinora, whom Sulina still thought of as a baby even though she was almost three, was strapped to Chakor's muscular back. Her head lolled back and forth with each step, her eyelashes a dark half moon against smooth white skin. Her breath puffed small mists into the cold air.

Behara, age seven, walked behind Chakor and in front of Sulina, slogging across the crusty snow in her snowshoes like a seasoned traveler.

Sulina allowed herself a proud mother's smile. Her daughters were courageous. Neither had complained since their flight began three days ago. Sulina wondered if she would have been as brave at that age, bereft of a home and the future unknown.

One more step. And then another.

Behara stumbled. Sulina put a steadying hand on her back. Dark eyes, enormous in such a small, pale face, turned to hers.

"Is it almost time to stop, Mother?"

"Soon, Beha, soon." Sulina touched the girl's cheek, trying to pass reassurance to her. Behara plodded on, her shoulders rounded with exhaustion. The poor child; she was much too young to make such a trek. A curse on Dehacha! Sulina spat, bile rising to her throat at the thought of the warlord.If not for him and his ambitions, we'd be snug and safe within our home, not fleeing for our lives over the mountains. May his soul wither and rot in the black depths.

In the distance below, blue jays screeched their displeasure, but here, halfway up the steep slope, all was quiet and still. The clumps of trees had grown stunted and farther apart the higher they trudged, and in another fifty paces they would leave them behind altogether when they crossed the timberline. Then another two days or more and they'd be over the pass, where they hoped to find safe haven on the other side of the mountains.

One step. And then another.

They rounded the last stand of pines. Glancing to her right, Sulina caught a brief glimpse of a shape at the edge of the trees. Her first vague impression was that one of the warlord's archers had come upon them, and her heart stuttered in fear. But no, the creature standing in the clearing was four-footed. A deer.

"Chakor!" She kept her voice low.

It was a large eight-point buck with velvet-brown eyes. It stood not thirty paces away, its nostrils flaring as it took in their scent. Any moment now, it would leap and disappear into the forest, she thought. But it stood steadfast.

Chakor moved in slow motion, taking the bow from his shoulder and drawing an arrow from his quiver. Sulina's mouth watered at the thought of fresh venison.

"No, Father. Don't shoot!" Behara said.

The buck twitched his ears at the sound. One ear was notched near the tip, perhaps by an arrow. A wonder, then, that the animal stood unmoving and unafraid.

Chakor nocked the arrow. "Meat for the pot," he said, glancing back at Sulina with a tight smile. He drew the arrow back.

"No!" Behara flung herself at her father's arm.

"Beha! Let off!" Chakor said.

The deer's gaze flicked to hers, an unfathomable stare. A feeling of peace stole over her.

It blinked; so did she.

The notched ear flipped forward and its eyes widened slightly. With a bunch of its shoulder muscles, it bounded up and away, disappearing as silent as a wraith into the trees.

"Wasn't it beautiful, Father?"

"Beha, my sweet fawn, the deer's beauty will not fill our stomachs. And mine is rumbling."

Behara stared at the spot where the deer had disappeared. "It was not meant to die."

Poor child, Sulina thought. She's seen far too much death and destruction for her age—for any age.

Contents