The snow wasn’t what woke Quinn from her deep sleep, but voices from the snowy road. Horses snorted and muffled hoofbeats and the squeak of wagon wheels meant one of the peddlers she passed finally caught up with her. Early morning sun streaked through sparse clouds and a fresh layer of snow made it through the branches and onto her blankets. It wasn’t enough to close the pass and she frowned. Part of her hoped more snow would’ve fallen to prevent Mage Xander from following her.

A little voice in the back of her mind told her that if he was truly still following her, he would’ve caught up by now. With her night at the inn and now her night in the pass, he had either stopped following her or was doing so very slowly.

“--time you caught up,” a man’s voice carried. “Thought I’d have to stick around another night before you got here.”

“Had a lucky break,” said another man, a little further away. “The plow stopped and had a spare.” A fist thumped something wooden twice. “If he hadn’t helped me out, I would be back down in the village and hope to the gods the pass didn’t close. Goin’ south in Cinder just ain’t an option. I’ll take snow over a sandstorm any day.”

“Speakin’ of that,” said the first man, “some mage wanted me to take him south to the capital, said he could get us through the sandstorms.” He paused, likely making the sign to ward off evil over his chest. “I told him no man should be stopping what the gods sent forth. Ugly bastard, big scar on his face and pissed as a mule when he saw I wouldn’t budge.” Quinn froze.

“I’ll drink to that,” said the other man. They were close, and Quinn packed her things as fast as she could. He was headed south, and on the Cinder side of the mountains. Relief warmed her to her bones. Maybe after losing - or murdering - his partner he lost interest in pursuing her. Other than the outstanding bounty the king had on necromancers she couldn’t see any reason she would be worth capturing.

It only took her a few minutes to catch up to the peddlers, their conversation changed from the mage to trade with the gypsy caravans this last season, and were more than happy to let her hop on and ride as far as the Rainon capital for a piece of gold.

Rainon was unlike anything Quinn had ever seen in her twenty years. Even in the southern regions of Cinder near the capital, everything was shades of brown with the occasional copse of wide-leaf palm trees. Of course the desert and the Singing Hills took up a majority of the country, both barely livable and unforgiving places, and she hadn’t ever seen the eastern coast. From what she heard, it was all rock and harsh weather that produced even harsher people.

She spent the first part of their trip napping and soaking in the sun that didn’t scorch her skin. Both peddlers seemed happy to let her be and talked as if she wasn’t there. The weather warmed as they descended down the pass, and thick forests of trees lined the main road leading to Stone Creek where winter hadn’t quite begun. Lush green grass still clung to autumn, as well as trees reluctant to shed their leaves. Shrubs, bushes, ferns and plants Quinn had never seen covered the forest floors. Is this what a normal forest was supposed to be like?

“Ever been to the land of plenty, girl?” The peddler driving the cart she rode in, either making idle conversation or noticing the look of awe on her face, turned away from the road to face her.

“Never,” she said, unable to keep the wonder from her voice. “I’ve lived in the Cinder Desert for…” she paused and chose her words carefully. “...as long as I can remember.”

“You’re in for quite the shock,” said the other peddler. “It ain’t like Cinder here. They leave people be, the king is alright as far as kings go, and the mages don’t get treated like rabid animals.” He shook his head. “Came up from the south this year through the desert and stopped in the capital there. Nasty place, that. I saw mages lined up on the gallows. They might be necromancers, but they didn’t have no choice in that.” He shook his head again. “Right awful, that place.”

The peddler driving her cart watched her, looking a little suspicious.

“Name’s Arn,” he said finally, and then jabbed a thumb at the other driver. “That’s Pauly. Whatever mess you’re gettin’ out of - don’t say anything now, we don’t wanna know - Rainon does right by most people. You’re gonna be fine now, you hear?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Stone Creek was similar to the little town on the eastern side of the Scar, but more people milled about and it felt more alive. The impending winter didn’t bring the gloom that it did for those on the other side of the mountains, likely because it didn’t mean no fresh supplies for the next six to eight moons.

The main streets were paved with neat cobblestones, and a pair of men worked on fixing a hole where too many wagons rolled over it. Few beggars lingered on corners, and didn’t look any worse for wear than she did. Prosperity oozed here where fear and uncertainty ruled the cities and towns of Cinder. She wondered why she hadn’t come here sooner.

Arn and Pauly only stopped long enough to offload the rest of their supplies to inns and shops, and continued south along the main road that widened once they left Stone Creek. It looked like a nice place; she would remember it and maybe come back to settle down.

It took two days of easy travel on the main paved road before the first signs of the Rainon capital appeared. Men and women dressed in silks adorned with lace in smooth and sleek styles, and wore silver and gold jewelry encrusted with jewels and displayed for strangers to see. Peddlers like the men she traveled with drove wagons nicer than the ones the gypsies lived in streamed south to return to the city.

Tall grass swayed in the light breeze, and copses of tall trees with gnarled branches dotted the sprawling landscape of rolling hills, growing larger as they led into the Scar to her left. Up ahead the road split off, one heading to the city and one west. At the split several wagons and travelers lingered, and both peddlers joined them.

“This is as far as we go,” said Arn as he stretched his arms. “The docks for peddlers like us is further down the river, past the lake to get to Lorin.”

“Thank you,” said Quinn. “To both of you. And my feet thank you.” Arn huffed a laugh and gave her a nod of his head.

“You take care, now,” said Pauly. “The capital here might not be as bad as you’re used to in Cinder, but it still ain’t the safest place for a girl traveling alone. Watch yourself.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” she said and hopped out of the back of Arn’s wagon. She swung her pack onto her shoulders, still mostly full of the rations she hadn’t had to break into, and made her way down the road leading to the capital of Rainon.

Traffic on the road increased the closer she got to the city walls. Quinn could see them from where she was, but they were still distant and it would be close to nightfall by the time she reached them. Wagons, carriages, riders on horseback and even men and women pulling carts like the one she had to abandon in the Wind Song caravan streamed in both directions. With winter well on its way it looked like everyone was bustling to prepare.

Soon she was forced to move from the smooth road and trekked through the tall grass lining the road to a side trail travelers on foot wore into the ground. Others did the same and eventually Quinn gave up on trying to stay close to the road. She was close enough to the walls to find a way there without guidance.

Puffy white clouds skated across the expanse of blue sky above, and the sun warmed her skin. If there hadn’t been bare branches and dead leaves under the trees she would’ve never guessed it was almost winter. The air didn’t feel dry like it did in the desert, and she could take in a deep breath and not risk cracking the inside of her nose or throat.

Up above a black figure glided through the sky. It was too big to be a bird, and the wings didn’t look right. It banked to go towards the city, and passed a pair of squat guard towers a few hundred paces ahead. Shortly after, something shot up into the sky at the black figure and shouting voices rose up from one of the towers. Quinn couldn’t hear what they said, but since no more projectiles went after the figure perhaps it was an accident.

But the damage was already done. A shriek sounded and the figure changed directions in the sky and hurdled north. Towards Quinn. It was just like the desert all over again, but this time the creature was falling from the sky instead of attacking.

She jogged closer and tried to see where the figure would land and positioned herself to try and catch it. It grew bigger, and bigger. By the time the doubt turned into confirmation that it was far too big for her to be catching, the odd creature hit squarely on her chest, knocking her off her feet and the ground knocking the air from her lungs.

“Son of a whore.” The string of profanities continued to come from the creature, making her eyes go wide. Even though Quinn struggled to catch her breath, she managed to gasp as the “creature” stood up. It wasn’t a creature anymore, but a woman, even smaller than Quinn, with wild black hair and naked as the day she was born. Black scales marked the protruding parts of her body, like her knees and elbows. The pack strapped to her front hung from one strap since the arrow broke through the other and then embedded in her shoulder. She spun around, and her manic eyes found Quinn lying on the ground.

“You.” She pointed a finger at her. “Get up and help me.”