The farther Cendre went, the rougher the land became.
The ground no longer resembled anything close to a path. Jagged ridges jutted out from the snow like broken teeth, and the frozen earth beneath the powder shifted treacherously under each step. One needed steady footing and a keen eye to survive the terrain. Without both, a man would not last long here.
Natural traps were everywhere.
The most dangerous among them were the sudden breaks in the ground, these narrow fissures concealed beneath thin layers of snow. Some were shallow enough to climb out of. Others dropped into black depths that seemed to have no bottom.
More than once Cendre felt the snow collapse beneath his boot.
Each time he reacted quickly, shifting his weight and grasping whatever rock or ice he could reach. Looking down into one of those openings made the danger plain. At the bottom waited jagged earthen spikes, sharpened by centuries of freezing and fracturing stone.
If he had been slower on his feet, or less accustomed to climbing, the journey would have ended there, his body skewered far below where no one would ever bother to retrieve it.
He continued carefully.
Eventually he came upon a narrow passage between two ice-lacquered walls. The surfaces shimmered faintly where the weak sunlight touched them, reflecting dull silver light in uneven patches. The floor beneath his boots had frozen smooth, forcing him to move with slow, deliberate steps.
One careless motion would send him sliding into the rock.
Cendre angled his body sideways, using one gloved hand to brace against the wall as he navigated the corridor. The passage was quiet except for the faint scrape of leather against ice.
After several tense minutes he reached the end.
The path opened suddenly.
Before him stretched a flatland buried beneath waist-high snow.
The surface looked deceptively smooth, a white field that seemed to swallow everything beneath it. Cendre studied it for a long moment before attempting to cross.
He was not foolish enough to step onto it blindly.
Instead he gathered several sturdy branches protruding from a frozen shrub nearby. With a length of cord from his pack he fashioned a pair of crude snowshoes, binding the branches across the soles of his boots.
They were not elegant, but they would distribute his weight.
He tested them first.
One cautious step onto the snow.
The surface dipped but did not give way.
Another step.
Satisfied that the makeshift shoes would hold, he began moving across the field slowly, relying on careful balance to remain upright. Each step required attention, each shift of weight deliberate.
The crossing took time.
Eventually the snowfield rose into a shallow incline. He climbed steadily until he reached the top and stepped onto firmer ground.
Here the snow had been disturbed long ago.
The path was faint but visible, sections of compacted snow and exposed stone where many boots had once passed.
Cendre crouched and examined the ground.
Not fresh.
But not entirely erased either.
He continued along the carved path until something caught his eye among the snow.
A piece of gear.
He knelt and brushed away the frost.
It was a broken fastening from a saddle harness, the metal etched faintly with the decorative pattern common among Blanc retainers. Likely torn loose during hurried movement.
Retreat.
Or pursuit.
Finding it here meant he was near the place where the Duke's party had scattered.
He stood and scanned the area.
There was little remarkable about it. The land formed a shallow basin surrounded by four tall rock formations that rose like uneven pillars. Their placement blocked much of the sunlight, leaving the ground beneath them dim and cold.
It was the sort of place where an ambush could happen easily.
A land untouched by civilization.
The kind of place that would remain unchanged for centuries, until the day humanity built machines powerful enough to conquer even this environment.
For a moment Cendre found himself staring toward the distant horizon.
The tundra stretched endlessly, white blending into pale sky until the two became indistinguishable.
Then something moved.
A strange furred shape bounded across the snow in the distance.
Cendre's hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his sword as he slipped behind a nearby boulder.
The creature approached slowly.
At first it appeared almost spherical, a dense mass of pale fur like a drifting ball of cotton. Only when it drew closer did its limbs become visible to him; long, oddly proportioned arms that ended in thick, blunt hands.
He watched in silence.
The creature did not behave like a thinking predator.
Instead it knelt beside a large rock and began striking it with its knuckles. The blows were heavy and deliberate, each strike sending dull cracks through the stone.
Eventually the rock split.
From within its hollow center oozed a thick sap-like substance.
The creature immediately lowered its snout and began licking the exposed resin, scooping it eagerly with its tongue.
Cendre frowned.
He did not recognize either the animal or the substance it consumed.
Rather than disturb it, he waited patiently until the creature finished and shuffled away across the snow.
Only after it disappeared did he approach the broken rock.
The sap pooled within the fractured cavity.
He crouched and examined it closely.
Whitish-yellow in color.
Sticky.
Slimy to the touch.
The scent was faint and dull, neither sweet nor bitter.
Curious.
He removed an empty potion vial from his pouch and carefully collected a small sample before sealing it tight. Whatever the substance was, it might prove useful later.
Or at the very least interesting.
With the sample secured, he continued north.
The journey dragged on.
Every so often he paused to rest, carving shallow hollows into sturdy rock faces where he could crouch out of the wind. Fighting the cold through breathing alone was exhausting work.
The method flooded the body with adrenaline, but the effect never lasted forever.
Eventually fatigue caught up.
When that happened he resorted to more ordinary measures of gathering bits of kindling, striking a small fire, and melting snow for water while chewing through his rations.
Evening brought the quietest moments.
The wind often stilled at that hour, leaving the tundra wrapped in a strange, heavy silence. Without the clouds, the sky opened into a vast spread of stars that glittered across the darkness like scattered glass.
It was awe-inspiring.
But not awe-inspiring enough to distract him from the cold pressing against his bones.
Nor from the thought that somewhere beyond the darkness, unseen eyes might be watching him.
* * * *
A day passed as Cendre continued moving forward through the harsh expanse, keeping his pace steady and deliberate. He advanced cautiously, mapping his path with care and noting every landmark that might guide him later. In a place like this, memory alone could betray a man. A ridge mistaken for another ridge, a hill swallowed by fog, and suddenly one would find himself wandering in circles until the cold claimed him.
So he marked everything he could.
A split rock that resembled a broken tooth.
A line of frozen shrubs bent permanently eastward by the wind.
A narrow ravine where the snow gathered deeper than elsewhere.
Each detail went into his notes.
Around the time when the sun climbed to its highest point, though its warmth barely reached the ground, he arrived at the edge of a steep drop. The cliff was not sheer, but the descent below it was treacherous enough that a careless step would send a man tumbling down the slope.
Cendre crouched near the edge and studied the land below.
Beyond the drop stretched another tundra.
It was vast, broader than the terrain he had crossed since leaving the Quiet Pass. Rolling hills rose and fell across the white landscape, broken occasionally by patches of dark stone. In places the snow had thinned enough to reveal pale grasses beneath, stiff but still alive.
Life could exist here.
He considered the geography carefully. It seemed plausible that this region and the lands before the Quiet Pass had once been connected more naturally, before shifting ice and centuries of erosion carved the mountains apart. Now the Pass served as a narrow gateway between two frozen worlds.
He was about to turn away and head west when movement caught his eye.
A band of figures traveled slowly across the tundra below.
Cendre immediately lowered himself flat against the snow, proning his body to reduce his silhouette. From his cloak he retrieved a small brass telescope and extended it carefully.
Bringing the lens to his eye, he began observing them.
They were unlike the folk of Icy's End.
Their skin appeared pale, almost white against the snow, with cheeks flushed a deep reddish hue from the cold. Thick fur garments wrapped their bodies entirely, layered hides stitched together in ways that looked both practical and unfamiliar.
The weapons they carried drew his attention next.
Black stone.
Axes, spears, and knives fashioned from dark minerals that gleamed faintly in the light. The design matched the descriptions given by Ser Sullybane of the attackers who had descended upon the Duke's hunting party.
So they were real.
Not demons from icy hells.
Men.
Or something close enough.
Cendre adjusted the focus of the telescope.
The group traveled with animals he had never seen before, massive white-furred oxen with enormous ringed horns curving outward from their heads. The beasts moved slowly but steadily, dragging a sled behind them.
The sled carried coils of rope, bundles of lumber, and large sacks sewn from cured leather.
Supplies.
Trade goods perhaps.
Or materials for building.
Then he noticed something else.
Children.
Small figures bundled heavily in fur, riding atop the sled or walking close beside the adults. One of the women paused briefly, shifting the bundle in her arms.
Through the telescope he saw the motion clearly.
She was breastfeeding an infant.
Cendre lowered the telescope slightly, frowning.
That changed things.
Rebels rarely traveled with infants.
A war band might bring supplies and beasts of burden, but they did not bring nursing mothers and young children into such dangerous territory. The presence of families suggested something else entirely.
A tribe of people who lived here.
They moved with familiarity across the tundra, guiding their oxen without hesitation, navigating the uneven ground as if it were a well-known road.
If they were truly natives of the region, then perhaps the Quiet Pass had never belonged solely to House Blanc after all.
Perhaps the Duke and his party had unknowingly entered someone else's hunting grounds.
The possibility lingered in Cendre's mind.
If that were true, then the battle might not have been an ambush born of conspiracy.
It might have been a misunderstanding.
A fatal one.
But even if it was a misunderstanding, the outcome remained unchanged.
The ruler of Icy's End was dead.
And the Blanc family did not strike him as the kind of rulers who would shrug off such an event as unfortunate confusion.
Cendre studied the group again through the telescope.
They moved calmly, speaking among themselves in a language he could not hear from this distance. Their formation was relaxed. No scouts ranged ahead. No warriors flanked the column with drawn weapons.
They felt safe here.
Safe enough to travel with their children.
Should he approach them?
The question settled heavily in his thoughts.
Part of him considered turning back immediately.
Returning to the Duchess with this information alone might be enough. The existence of a tribe beyond the Quiet Pass already explained many things. It explained the strange attackers, their knowledge of the terrain, their ability to repel both the Duke's guards and Captain Vandal's riders.
But there was still the matter of the two-colored sabercat.
That thread of the mystery remained unresolved.
Was the royal huntsman truly luring the Duke and the heir into danger? Had he deliberately chosen this location knowing the tribe might attack them?
Or had he simply been trying to fool them with his painted sabercats, hoping to profit from presenting rare prey?
The position of royal huntsman carried generous rewards. Land, coin, prestige.
Karlos's comfortable home outside the city proved that much.
If greed had motivated him, deception alone would have been enough.
But murder?
That was another matter.
Cendre exhaled slowly as the cold air fogged before his face.
Turning back now carried its own risk.
Navigating the terrain again without guidance might take days, perhaps longer if the weather shifted. But if these tribesmen could move through the region so confidently, then their hunters likely knew paths that led through the mountains.
Perhaps even routes back toward the Quiet Pass.
Still.
Approaching them blindly would be foolish.
These people had already killed a Duke and his heir. They had repelled trained soldiers afterward. Walking down that slope and announcing himself as a stranger might earn him a spear through the chest before he could speak a single word.
And even if they did not attack immediately, learning about them properly would require time.
Observation.
Patience.
Understanding their customs, their language, their intentions.
Cendre grimaced faintly.
That was never part of his task.
He had accepted this job to settle his family's debt. Once it was done, he intended to leave the North behind and ride west where the climate and the politics were far kinder.
Negotiating with a remote tribe in the frozen wilderness had not been part of the agreement.
Yet the answer to the mystery might lie among them.
For a long moment he remained prone against the snow, watching the slow movement of the caravan below.
Indecision settled over him.
Climbing down the drop would commit him to the encounter. And if the tribe noticed him before he could retreat, he might find himself surrounded with no escape.
That was not an outcome he particularly wished to test.