The struggle for survival against the blizzard had so utterly exhausted Roland that he eventually accomplished what he had thought impossible: he actually slept in that snowy crypt alongside the frozen corpse of perhaps the most hideous creature he had ever encountered.

The remembrance, however, made a poor start to his day when he awoke. A blinding morning sun filtered through the roof of their snow cave, and that revealed a hawk-nosed face locked for all eternity in a baleful scowl. Although the gray skin was stone cold and the eyelids closed, not even death could drain the malice from its countenance. Roland paused only briefly to survey the bony features and the frozen, clenched claws before scuttling out into the white world.

The Tishaarans, both of whom had slept soundly, took a more detached view of their discovery. “Now who would have expected to find a Raxxar in the Fourth Realm? Much less under five feet of snow?” marveled Belfray, as he emerged from the shelter. “What are the odds of that?”

“That depends,” said Digtry.

“On what?”

“On how many Raxxars lie dead along these slopes. If this is the only one, our stumbling onto it is indeed a miraculous coincidence. However, it this pass should be littered with dead Raxxars, the coincidence is less cosmic.”

“So you think there are dead Raxxars all over this pass?” asked Belfray.

“Yes."

“But it is more than passing strange that there should be any,” insisted Belfray. “This is the Fourth Realm, after all, and Raxxars do not belong here. I can scarcely believe there is one, even with the evidence plainly in front of my face. To suggest that there are dozens is beyond ludicrous, pardon my saying so.”

“I believe in a simple principle,” said Digtry. “Given competing possible explanations, lean toward the one that depends least on coincidence.”

“Are you guessing that in addition to dead Raxxars in the Fourth, there are also many live ones up here?” asked Sloat.

“My guess is a whole mob went through. And given the snow conditions here, it’s a good bet that a fair number did not make it.”

“Raxxars marching in force to the Fourth?” said Belfray. “But why?

”

“Let me take a stab,” broke in Roland. “Digtry’s been saying that the Raxxars are part of the Cold Flame conspiracy.”

Digtry was back in nodding mode.

“So if large numbers of Raxxars are suddenly running around in the Fourth Realm, that would mean someone in the Fourth Realm is involved in this conspiracy as well. Right?”

Digtry’s smile was as good as a pat on the back. But while Roland felt warmed by the affirmation of his cleverness, that was immediately overridden by another shiver of fear. If the Fourth Realm was in on the conspiracy, then they knew about Roland. His personal peril had not disappeared when the Raxxars abandoned their siege, nor had he left it behind in the Third Realm. His long list of enemies had just added another page. Torment lay in wait for him whatever realm he chose to enter. Indeed, by fleeing to the higher realms, all he seemed to have succeeded in doing was to draw within range of ever more powerful enemies.

“This might have no connection at all with the Cold Flames,” said Belfray, hopefully. With a frozen body, one cannot say whether he died yesterday or thousands of years ago.”

Digtry’s arched eyebrow was not an encouraging response.

Sloat sealed the deal. “There has never been a report of Raxxars in the Fourth. If any have passed into this realm, they must have done so recently. I would wager it is the same mob who have been yammering on our doorstep these past months. The questions that bothers me is where are they going, and why?”

“I hope we can answer that before it is too late,” said Digtry.

Snow was still flying when the expedition departed their makeshift lodge. The discovery of the corpse put some distance between them and the joy of an unorthodox rescue from oblivion. As Roland noted, death, even of a Raxxar, has a sobering effect. Sloat kicked in the walls of their cave to allow the creature to lie in such peace as a dead Raxxar could attain.

The group plodded on in a frame of mind more begrudging of the snow that remained than appreciative of that which had risen. Berch’s vulnerability following the loss of the mule cast a deep shadow over the group. Although no one would admit it, they had to slow their pace drastically for him. Every time he rasped out a cough or spit another gob of bloody mucus, the others silently probed his vital signs. Roland could only hope that the climb would end soon, and that the descent onto the Fourth Realm plains would prove easier.

By this time, they had climbed so high above sea level that Roland felt keenly the effects of oxygen deprivation. His temples pounded, he could never get enough air, and often his lightheadedness turned to dizziness. It was all he could do to place one foot in frnt of the other. He could only imagine what Berch felt. Despite the Tishaarans’ efforts to accommodate him, the old man was struggling mightily.

Over the next several days, the snow depth gradually diminished. The air cleared, and they began their winding descent down the western slopes. When the morning sun scaled the eastern peaks and bore down on them, it felt close and penetrating. They often walked the midday hours clad only in their tunics, reveling in the unexpected warmth. However, this provided only a temporary boost to their spirits. For not only did the sun’s rays burn their cheeks and blister their lips in the thin atmosphere, but the thawing snow clung to their clothes in thick, wet clumps. In no time at all, it seeped through their boots and trouser legs, chilling them to the bone as soon as the sun slipped under the clouds or the horizon.

After long days of downward travel, the slopes began to level out. When daylight retreated into the hills one evening, Sloat stopped them at a small clearing ringed by thick evergreens. Here, the snow scarcely reached midcalf. “This will have to do,” said Sloat. Roland noted with envy his unflagging, low-key energy. If the captain had suffered a moment of fatigue on their journey, he had disguised it well. Berch, on the other hand, looked like a zombie with his hollow eyes and flesh that hung loosely from the bone.

A frigid squall screamed down from the north, overpowering the hemlock windbreak to ravage their camp. Yet Digtry and Sloat forbade the kindling of a fire. The absence of fire bothered Roland as much for what it portended as for the lack of warmth. No fire always meant there could be someone in the vicinity from whom they wished to hide. It brought back dark memories of flight from the Devil-throat and the race against the Raxxars in the August Mountains.

Roland tried to banish such unsettled memories and convince himself that cold was only a state of mind. But when his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, he could pretend no longer. He pulled his head under his blanket, scrunched himself into a ball and wiggled his toes to stimulate their circulation as a defense against frostbite.

“Ah, the wind, blessed breath of the Lord,” sighed Sloat. Roland thought it oddly sarcastic of him.

Stolen story; please report.

“What are you saying?” demanded Belfray. “The wind that you bless so richly is stinging through the very threads of my blanket.”

“Small price to pay. We have crossed into territory of the Droom. Were there no wind to blot out our trail, they could track us by moonlight. As it is, I believe we are safe, at least for the night.”

Dread seeped back into Roland’s veins. “Just who or what is a Droom?” he asked, not certain that he wanted to know. The more you knew in these realmlands, the harder it was to get to sleep at night.

“You have never heard of the Droom?” said Belfray in his barking laugh. Even after all this time, he seemed unable to comprehend that Berch and Roland had, until recently, no knowledge of this world whatsoever. “Why, Droom are the most powerful nation in all the realms. Their knights are fierce and cruel.”

“Skilled, relentless trackers,” added Sloat.

“It is said that they are a clever, learned people, skilled in the use of magic,” Belfray went on. “One of their spells has released them from the need for sleep--ever!”

“Right!” sniffed Digtry, sarcastically.

Belfray turned on him. “But it is the truth. Why, the wolves have told us so. They are noble creatures, well acquainted well with the Droom. They have learned to their sorrow the magic the Droom possess.”

“Magic!” sniffed Digtry. “What a crock!”

After all the hardships Digtry had faced with irritating aplomb, his prickly reaction to the suggestion of magic caught his mates by surprise--except for Roland, who had encountered Digtry’s aversion to the term back in the August Mountains.

“What do you mean?” Roland probed. “Are you saying there really is no magic in the Fourth Realm?” If there’s no magic in this realm, then why am I wasting my time here? And what is a snowrise if not magic?

“But I thought,” started Belfray. “Well, begging your pardon, Digtry, but you can hardly speak of the Fourth Realm without speaking of magic.”

“Watch me.”

“But--”

“Magic is a useless concept,” insisted Digtry. “It is nothing but an attempt to glorify stupidity. To dip the wart of ignorance in gold paint and call it treasure. Magic does not exist.”

“How can you say that?” squawked Belfray. “Why, we have proof of the power of magic in our very midst. Berch, here, and Roland as well, suddenly appeared from an entirely different world. Surely, you must concede that is magic!”

“You call it magic because you don’t know how it was done. That only proves my point. I refuse to legitimize ignorance by calling it magic!”

“So you do not believe in the mystical powers of the Fifth Realm?” asked Sloat, cautiously. He had no interest in debating Digtry on the matter but was merely asking for clarification.

“Mystical powers? Terrifying powers? Powers I do not understand?” said Digtry, his voice rising. “Of course there are powers I don’t understand! None of us claims to know everything. But I will not call something magic just because I don’t understand it.”

“You’re saying there is a rational explanation for my appearing in the realms?” asked Roland.

“I would bet my life on it.”

“And it’s tied up with the Cold Flames? And the island?”

Digtry took a deep breath and composed himself. ”Yes,” he said, calmly.

After pondering this for awhile, Roland asked, “So what about the Droom? Could they be involved with the Cold Flames?”

“I doubt it,” said Digtry. “Droom despise the lower realms. They want nothing to do with them. And I can’t see them taking directions, much less orders, from anyone, not even a Fifth Realmer.

“On the other hand, I’m curious about the Raxxars. Bold though they may be, they are without imagination of any sort; it would never occur to them to cross into the Fourth of their own accord. Nor would the Droom allow a Raxxar rabble to enter their territory. They would exterminate them without remorse. The only way a Raxxar incursion into Droom land makes sense is if whoever controls the Raxxars has made some arrangement with the Droom. Whether the Droom are behind the conspiracy I don’t know. But it seems obvious that they know something about it. And they don’t appear inclined to stop it.”

“Whatever they know or do not know, the Droom have no love for us,” said Sloat, failing to disguise another anxious look at Berch. “We must avoid them at all costs.”

Roland caught the significance of the look. Once exposed on the treeless plain at the foot of the range, with Berch as a liability, what chance had they of escaping the Droom?

“Avoid?” he cried. “Is that all you people do in this world? I’ve been been playing hide and seek ever since I landed here. Who’s our next contestant on Chase of the

Day? If it’s not Brookings, then it’s Raxxars. If it’s not Raxxars, then it’s Droom. Whatever realms you hop, there’s always someone waiting in line to have a go at you. Each worse than the last.”

“Perhaps we can avoid a chase with the Droom," said Digtry.

“What do you suggest?” asked Sloat.

“I see only two alternatives. One, we dash around the perimeter of Droom under the cover of the woods in hopes of reaching the Glasswater. Unless we are luckier than all mortals who have ever lived, that will mean hot pursuit by the legions of Droom. Or we can go openly to the city of Kal Shadir.”

Roland hoped this was not a variation of the infamous Raxxar-Cloudmire quandary. Mention of cities or the barest allusion to civilization sounded good to his wilderness-weary bones. He hoped it appealed to the others as well.

Far from it. Belfray threw off his blankets and leapt to his feet in the darkness. “Go to Kal Shadir? Go to Kal Shadir?! The capital city of Droom? Voluntarily? I would sooner offer my head to the jaws of a grizzly bear than go there! Digtry, pardon my saying so, but how can you speak of such a thing?”

“You know that it is death for a foreigner to trespass in Droom,” said Sloat.

“They have a keen sense of ownership,” agreed Digtry. “But they must know about the Raxxars who passed this way. Which means they know something of the Cold Flames as well. I would like to know what they know.”

“I know little of the Droom but that they are to be feared and not trusted,” warned Sloat.

“Trust?” said Digtry. “Trust has nothing to do with it.”

Belfray paced and huffed in alarm. Only with great effort did he launch into further, high-pitched speech. “I hope I give no offense by suggesting that you take Sloat’s warning too lightly. The Droom do not treat with anyone. They are as arrogant and cruel as they are suspicious.”

“An interesting challenge,” said Digtry. Roland thought he detected a crust of conceit on those words.

“This is insane!” cried Belfray. “We could never reach Kal Shadir even if that was our wish. The Droom patrols would slaughter us long before we came near the place.”

“I think not, if I may respectfully disagree,” said Sloat. “The Droom are not mindless killers like the Raxxars. If a small party such as ours pleaded important business with Kal Shadir, they would let us in.”

Belfray gulped, bug-eyed. “So you are in favor of this plan, also?”

“No. Not at all. I see Digtry’s point, clever as always. But I fear the risks of what is, in effect, surrender. They may well let us in to Kal Shadir. The problem is that I see little hope we would ever leave alive. To gamble our lives, and more importantly our mission, on Droom mercy strikes me as irresponsible. But what do the rest of you say to this?”

Roland had been ready to rubber-stamp Digtry’s plan, as always. Given the guy’s track record, it seemed silly to argue with him. Yet according to Digtry’s own admission, some of his heroics had owed as much to luck as to design. Roland had come to view Sloat as highly competent as well, and he did not like the edge in the bold woodsman’s voice. “You think this is our best choice, Digtry?” he asked, looking for reassurance.

He got none. “Just a wild hair.”

Much as he admired Digtry, Roland debated long and hard about trusting his life to a hunch. He had not quite screwed up the guts to support Digtry when Berch spoke up.

“I’ve got something to say about this. I haven’t butted in much until now so I think you owe me a listen.”

Congestion rattled in his lungs. “You act like it’s a big secret I ain’t as young as I was. So whoop-dee-do! If I drop dead, I drop dead. It ain’t the end of the world. Digtry, this Kal Shadir plan of yours sounds like a bunch of shenanigans to try and save my skin. You can’t slip past the Droom weighted down with the baggage of an old man, and so you’re trying to come up with something else. I’m telling you right now, forget it! If you’re thinking of taking any risk for my sake, I’m walking out of this camp right now. And so help me, I’ll beat the living snot out of anyone who tries to stop me. Don’t think I can do it? Just try me. You understand?”

The darkness masked a camp full of stunned and sheepish looks.

“I said, `Do you understand?”

“My reasons for choosing Kal Shadir have nothing to do with you,” said Digtry.

Berch snorted an expletive.

“All right, it was a consideration. But not my main one. The fact that it’s easier on you is just frosting on the cake.”

“I call for a vote on this,” said Sloat. “Kal Shadir or north.” Roland had to admire the way he stuck to the issue.

“Kal Shadir,” said Digtry, immediately.

“North,” said Berch.

Fearful of being left at the end with the deciding vote, Roland jumped in. “I would kind of like to hear a little more debate before we vote. But Digtry’s always been right so far, and I like to back a winner. Kal Shadir,” he said, without any real confidence.

Sloat sized up Digtry for a long time. “We were sent on this mission to seek the wolves,” he said. “Begging your pardon, but I suspect the suggestion to go to Kal Shadir has more to do with investigating the Cold Flames than it does with our sworn mission. The mystery of the Cold Flame conspiracy may be important. Vital, even. It may even be more important than the mission to the wolve, for all I know. But it is not the assignment given to this expedition. I vote north.”

Belfray suddenly found himself on the hot seat. Despite his customary bravado, he did not relish the responsibility of the deciding vote on such a divisive issue. Roland hoped the young Tishaaran’s faculties were not clouded by his hyperventilation.

“I guess . . . I guess I will go along with Digtry,” he said at last.

They all waited for some explanation of his decision, but none was forthcoming. Roland got the distinct impression their fate had just been decided on the basis of a whim.

“Kal Shadir it is,” said Sloat. His tone of voice made Roland wonder if he should not add, “And may God have mercy on our souls.”