Tarn stepped forward, passing out of the shelter of the mountain tunnels and into the driving snow at the foot of the glacier.

The guards who had escorted him were already moving out of his vision, headed toward one of the other sleds barely visible in the swirling winds of the winter storm. The vast white fields of the Cairn Plains stretched out in all directions, the distant Iceteeth Mountains lost in the mist and blowing artic snow.

Tarn inhaled deeply, anxious to fill his lungs with something beyond the crumbling dusty air that had been the past two years of the Baltoro. The biting chill pushed in like tiny knives, but it was still new and different. Then he sensed something different, a familiar scent laced into the wind, strangely humid and moist. Something completely alien to the dry, bitter cold of the Cairn.

“Do you smell almond?” Rykin muttered from his side, shielding his eyes from the overhead sun.

Almond? Oh shit!

The air just twenty feet in front of them suddenly split open, a tear of blood-red energy bursting into view. The circle throbbed with magical tendrils, like pink, mottled intruders forcing themselves into this world from some fell other-realm. The portal sent shock waves of force pulsing into the snow, knocking Tarn down to his knees.

A dark shape lurked into view, growing in size as it tumbled forward. The shadow crossed into the world, coalescing in screaming fury as he tumbled end over end through the air, his crimson and gold robe in tatters. As Tarn struggled to his feet, a second figure flew from the portal, crossing over with even greater force. Spellfire leaked from her fingers as she hurtled through blowing drifts and slammed into the snow with a scream, directly next to her companion.

The mystic portal of the crimson gateway slammed shut with a thunderclap as its final occupant stepped from its interior. Tarn peered at the figure, covered head-to-toe in the enchanted gray fabric of a port-suit, the only material that could allow a non-mage to survive the mystical transport.

For a moment, the snow swirled around the newcomers, covering their identity in a wall of white. As the two stunned and injured portal mages slowly got to their feet, an angry cry pierced the gale once again, words filled with blood-curdling power and violence as if a great lioness had learned to speak.

“Softee mages! I told you there would be pain if you touched me!”

The winds parted to reveal a massive orc woman, at least eight feet tall, with limbs like muscled trees. As the gray fabric of the port-suit fell shredded around her, it revealed a thick black leather vest, with matching patchwork pants. Heavy furred boots slammed into the snow with purpose. Lavender skin was visible inside her parka, where a shock of flowing blue and charcoal hair could be seen.

In a day of surprises both dark and light, for Tarn, this shock was the best one of all.

“Bog!” Tarn shouted as he ran forward, and for a moment all his cares vanished. Here before him was his first companion, his first real friend.

“Tarny!” Bog cried, her voice booming against the storm. With hands still bearing the blood of the two portal mages, she scooped him up as if he were a child. The force of her embrace compressed him into her warmth as tears streamed down her cheeks, freezing them in the cold.

“Never thought-“ she stopped, laughing and choking back tears as she lowered him onto the ground. “Oh Tarny, I never thought I’d see you again!”

“Same thing,” Tarn said, his chest tightening. First Urthin, now Bog. “I thought you were lost. All of you.”

He blinked again, looking up at her. Whereas Urthin had shown the effects of two long years in prison, both in his weight and the flecks of gray in his beard, somehow Bog looked as if no time had passed at all.

“It would seem a reunion is being engineered.” Urthin had come to stand beside them and now spoke in a tone so dry it would seem the weather was being discussed. To anyone else, it would be annoying, but to Tarn seeing his team again only froze the grin on his face further.

Something was happening, but for the moment his heart just needed to enjoy seeing them again. But were they all here?

“Does that mean?” Tarn looked over at where the portal had been but saw nothing. No tiny three-foot shape scampered about, long ears flapping in the wind.

“Don’t worry Tarny,” Bog laughed. “Lash is here too, Fang’s Father only knows how they got him out of the Spire. Those two softee mages brought him before me, I saw him myself. They told me they put him in the sled, asleep. You know how gremlins do with port magic sometimes.”

Even Lash? For two years Tarn had thought of little but getting his team back together, and now someone had engineered that very thing. But who? And why?

“The gremlin is asleep?” A hint of mirth came into Urthin’s voice. “We should enjoy the silence while it lasts.”

“What we need is answers,” Rykin said, coming to stand with the group. “But I’ll note that Tarn here has once again failed to introduce me, so I’ll do so myself. Acthebal Rykin, oldest guard in the Baltoro.”

Rykin offered his remaining hand, grinning up at Bog. She peered back at him, her forehead scrunching through the confines of her hood.

“The tattoo on your arm.” Her voice was deep enough that Tarn could feel it in his bones. “It is military. You fought in the wars?”

“Twenty-two years,” he replied proudly. “Oh, don’t worry about it though, lass. I bet yer used to getting the cold shoulder. Me, I’ve no grudge. Orc folk are brave and fearsome, and I respect your kind. I don’t blame anyone for the hand -- except me for not blocking.”

“I see little has changed, Tarny,” Bog laughed, her tusks pulling her smile wider. “You still choose unexpected companions!”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

It was tempting, the warmth that was welling up inside him. To be with his friends again, to be outside and back in the world, it was almost enough to push back all the questions that flew around his mind.

Almost.

“Actually, a few things have changed.” He stepped past Bog and Rykin, headed toward the dog sled and the last remaining figure beside it. “I’m a little more patient now. But I’d like some answers.”

The snow swirled and blew around him like a cold snake, but Tarn’s excitement was enough to keep him warm now. He was out of the Baltoro, surrounded by his old team. Opportunity stretched in every direction, an incredible gift.

Which was the concerning part. Is all of this happening just for him? It didn’t make any sense. The guards who escorted him out were now long gone, leaving only one place to get his answers.

The shape hidden in the flurries of snow turned into a woman clad in city-guard armor, the same as the strange men who had escorted him. She watched him approach with something like amusement on her face. Weary lines marking the sides of her eyes indicated she must be in her thirties, like the others. Veterans, well-vetted by whoever was running this operation.

He stopped himself just a few feet from where she stood. Several scars across her olive skin peeked through the hood, reminders of battles past. A single toothpick hung in the corner of her mouth.

“Bet you want answers, handsome?”

Handsome? Tarn laughed and raised an eyebrow in surprise. There were more pressing matters on his mind than a flirtatious stranger.

“A bit confused, eh?” Her chuckle was soft and warm. “That’s fine. Some of you have been brought a long way, and you’ve all been waiting a long time. I’ll tell you what I can. My name is Jental, and yes, great effort was made to retrieve you and your unusual band.”

She stepped closer, eyeing Tarn as she closed the distance between them.

The gleam in Jental’s gaze and the slightly upturned corner of her lips suggested to Tarn she was different from the others, coerced agents forced to participate in someone else’s plan. Whoever Jental was, she was here because she wanted to be.

“Took them long enough to get you out here,” she said, pulling her jacket a bit tighter. “Still I suppose you get what you pay for. At least Erto got to you.”

At Jental’s mention of Erto, Tarn whirled around and looked behind him. The frightened man was gone, along with the four men who had escorted them back to the prison. Tarn could see some movement through the snow around the other sleds.

“Where’s Erto?” He glared back at Jental. “I made him a promise, and I’m a man of my word.”

Jental laughed.

“They told me right about you, that’s for sure. Best relic hunter and tomb diver in the land, they said, but his weak spot is his loyalty. I’d think Erto might not want your kind of help, eh? Or he’d end up in prison like your last friends?”

“I’m not in prison now, girlie!” Bog shouted, the ground shaking as she took a step forward. “And I’d like to-“

Tarn held up his hand, waving Bog off.

“It’s fine, Bog. I don’t think Jental here is looking for another scar, is she?”

“I am not,” Jental smiled. “And to address your concerns. Erto and the other men will be headed back to the capitol in that very sled, well compensated for their roles in this little adventure. Safe and sound.”

“Considering the ethics of Lurim’s society the outcome is unlikely.” Urthin folded his hands behind his back. “But unverifiable. Tarn is correct though. It is time for answers.”

“Indeed it is.” She spread a gloved hand wide, indicating the sled and dog team behind her. The sled itself was painted a dark black, with a blood-red stripe across its edge. The rear was packed with several wooden crates and burlap sacks, all tightly tied down. The eight plains-bred Huskwolves hitched to the front looked powerful and well-trained, their muscles tensing for the journey ahead.

“This sled and the snow-hounds are for you, Tarn. You and your … collection of colorful misfits. You will ride directly north and rendezvous with the man who engineered all of this.”

“North?” Rykin called out from behind them. “That’s madness, lass. The nearest town of any real size is a full day to the southeast. There’s not a damn thing north of the Baltoro.”

“There is one thing north of here,” Jental’s amused expression confirmed she heard the old guard’s complaint. “Your destination. As for what waits for you there - at the risk of sounding cliché, I am told simply that you will know it when you see it.”

Tarn gritted his teeth. The cold was starting to work its way in, adding to his impatience to move, to act. But Rykin was right, there was little north of the Baltoro but more desolation, and vast sheets of ice and snow. South was where life was, where their future was.

Yet answers might be north.

“If you wonder how this was arranged?” Jental continued. “I cannot say. I only know this: the man who hired me has a unique task, and apparently only you and your team can pull it off, Tarn Arisfal.”

So this is all for a job? Tarn thought of the dozens of tombs and ruins he and the team had cracked, back before his return to the city and eventful arrest. Some had been mundane treasure dives, others impressive runs through traps and monster-infested halls. But was that worth all of this?

“Tempting,” Tarn said, setting his jaw and staring into Jental’s emerald-green eyes. “I do like a good mystery, it’s no lie. But I haven’t seen these people, or freedom, in years. I think we’ll head south. We’ll be in a warm bed by morning. With the paltry number of supplies on that sled, this is a one-way trip. I can’t take that on some vague promises and instructions.”

Jental nodded, humming her amusement.

“Exactly how I would feel,” she said. “I know your reputation, and I told them you’d protest. You managed to threaten the Old Bastard, after all. You’d want to see something of substance, something real. Whoever set all this up must know you real well, too. That’s why they gave me this note.”

She reached deep into her cloak, pulling out a scroll sealed with wax. With one gloved hand, she deposited it into Tarn’s trembling fingers.

“And with that, my work is done.” She smiled and offered him a parting nod. “I have transport waiting for me inside the prison. What you do from here on out is up to you, handsome. I only advise you and your team to not follow me. That would end … badly for you.”

Walking away from their stunned faces, Jental marched into the swirling snow, headed for the distant entrance to the mountain and the long tunnel up into the prison.

“How is she going to ‘transport’ from the Baltoro?” Bog asked, one massive hand rubbing her chin.

“It matters not.” Urthin’s voice was as flat as the plains. “We have a sled, dogs, and enough supplies for a day’s journey. Do you accompany us, Guard Rykin?”

Rykin rubbed the back of his neck with his one remaining hand.

“Uh, I don’t know.” His voice cracked. “Truth is, they ain’t had use for me here since the day the army forced me on them. I’m tired of backing up late shifts and sitting in the mess hall. I can still matter if you’d have me!”

“You know I’m with you Tarny,” Bog said, slapping a big hand on his shoulder, knocking him forward a foot. “Wherever you go, I will bring my pain and be ready to fight. I owe you that, and more. And this old one here would be a nice change from smiley Urthin.”

“Charming as always, Bog,” Urthin said through gritted teeth. “As always, I am bound by my vow to accompany you Tarn. The question is, where are we going? South or north?”

Tarn looked back at the group, gathered around the sled. The dogs harnessed to the front even turned. He could feel all the eyes upon him, all but the gremlin Lash, asleep inside the sled. He’d be making his choice too.

The last time he chose for them all, they all ended up in prison. And Sinah may have ended up even worse. Tarn pulled the wax seal off the scroll and opened it. His hands began to shake as he read the simple handwritten script, four words written in crisp black ink.

Come for your sister.

Tarn crumpled the scroll and dropped it to the snow, where the wind grabbed it instantly, carrying it up the side of the mountain.

Tarn’s voice was strong, full of hope and tension in equal measure.

“We’re going north.”