Eldoria’s lands were vast. Everyone knew that – everyone learned about all the different places in the Empire. Everyone knew that the province of Olisar was temperate, filled with olive groves, fields of corn and spelt. The sun shone brightly there, the summers were hot, winters were temperate, and spring and autumn was always rainy.

  It was quite easy to know all that. It was another thing to experience the stark difference in climate and surroundings.

  The Northern Wall was nested between two gigantic mountain ranges. It covered the only passable terrain between Calador and Eldoria along the northern section of their shared borders. It was cold, snow was often seen, and the terrain was difficult to traverse. Everyone knew that.

  “When you said it’s cold…” Arwen covered her mouth and nose with her palms, breathing in and out rapidly as her teeth clattered. “I didn’t expect it the air to freeze!”

  “Me neither.” Alistair muttered. He didn’t seem as bothered by the cold, though he was wearing several more layers underneath his cloak.

  The of the carriage creaked open, and Willow stepped out. Her nose and cheeks were red from the cold, but she seemed cozy and warm in her newly changed clothes. “I can feel my fingers now.” She said with a relieved tone and pushed Arwen towards the carriage. “How did you know it’d be so cold so fast?”

  “Happened when Ilya was visiting Derwen Hold too.” Midhir absentmindedly replied. He had warned them as they struck camp in the morning. His gaze lingered in the front – something had blocked their path, only after they set off. Whatever it was, the guardsmen were still busy trying to clear it. “I’ll check what the holdup is.”

  Somewhat trampled snow crunched under his boots as he made his way to the front of the convoy. The storm had only lasted half an hour, yet even such a short time had been enough to cover the area in a thick blanket of snow.

  As he stepped out from behind the foremost carriage, the biting wind slammed against him. The cold penetrated through his clothes, forcing him to wrap himself in his fur lined cloak. His lips went somewhat numb, and his fingertips hurt from the cold.

  Large mounds of snow covered the stone paved road connecting Derwen Hold to An’Larion. Branches and roots sticked out of the snow.

  “Fallen trees.” Cait’s voice startled him. She was leaning out of the window of the carriage he had just walked past. “It’ll take time to move them.” Her eyes were narrowed, and she covered the lower half of her face with her hands as she spoke. “Get some rest while they work.” She sounded awfully tired.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Are you-“

  “I’m fine,” she cut him off. “Don’t worry about me, Midhir.” She forced a smile, lowering her hands for a moment before visibly shivering. “The mist took its toll, so I need to rest. More than most.” She tapped her finger below her eyes, pointing at them. “I overdid it in the Induen Estate.”

  “I understand, I think.” He hesitated. “Get some rest then.”

  With a smile, she nodded, then closed the window of her carriage, and pulled her curtains.

  Midhir turned his gaze forward once more and made his way to the guardsmen gathered in front of the mounds of snow and the trees beneath. Of course Cait was exhausted – she rarely used her ability, and even when she used it outside of the mist, it took a toll on her. He couldn’t imagine how much it must have drained her while she was chasing the man wearing that ridiculous helmet through the Induen estate.

  “Your highness,” Two very similar voices spoke up at once as he arrived by the small crowd of guardsmen. He raised his gaze and met the gazes of two very much identical men. Had they not dressed in starkly opposite colours, he’d have no way of telling them apart. One was dressed in pure white, while the other was dressed in black.

  “Lords Castor,” He bowed his head ever so slightly before pointing towards the fallen trees and mounds of snow. “Didn’t scouts ride ahead of us this morning? How come did we not receive reports of this?”

  The Castor brother in white shook his head. “We’re not quite sure ourselves, your highness. We haven’t received any reports from our scouts yet.”

  Midhir scowled. No sane man would think this wasn’t something worth reporting. Had the trees fallen during the storm, after the scouts had already passed through here? “You do have a wind augment, don’t you? Blow away that snow, please.”

  The Castor Brother in black immediately turned towards the snow covered fallen trees. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade. The biting wind blowing towards them from the mountains whirled, its direction changed as his resonance took charge of it.

  He folded his arms as he watched the snow slowly get blown away, revealing the fallen trees somewhat.

  “Old Growth.” The Castor Brother in white blurted out. He pointed at the guardsmen, then towards the side of the road. “Check the roots.”

  “Yes, Lord!” Half a dozen of them rushed towards the bottom end of the fallen trees.

  Midhir walked past the enforcer twins and rested his hand on the closest tree. “Half a dozen trees at least…” he muttered, mostly to himself as he leaned to the left and right, trying to count them. They were all stacked on top of each other neatly. Too neatly.

  His gaze snapped to the guardsmen returning from checking the roots. “They’re torn, Lords!” They reported. “All of them.”

  The Old Growth wasn’t made of individual trees. They were all connected in one way or another – either by shared roots, merged branches, or straight up fused trunks.

  He turned towards the twin enforcers as his hand went towards his earring. “Unfortunate,” he spoke loudly. His voice echoed across the snow-covered forests climbing the two mountains on either side of them. He fiddled with his hair as his gaze scoured their surroundings.

  They had to be somewhere nearby, hiding, waiting. But where? Where were they?