The Sleeping Fish was a fairly standard taverna - it had a warm fireplace with a snug ingleneuk, hot vegetable stew simmering on the stove, and a barkeep that didn't bat an eye at selling ale to a girl who barely reached the counter. Zahra finally spent the coins her brother had given her, feeling strangely reluctant to part with them.

The hamlet was peaceful, boring even, and she waited quietly for Omir to appear – no exploring, no mischief, and certainly no thieving. Most time she spent in the lounge, out on the veranda, or in her room. She practised writing, scrawling for so long that her vision blurred and an ache welled in her head. On the second day she felt ill at ease, and sniffled. She hoped it wasn't the beginnings of a flu, doubtlessly started by the cold, dry wind of the mountains.

As the sky darkened on the third evening, Omir arrived. They had a meal together, sat at the table next to the frosted windows overlooking the bay.

“Did the business go well?” Zahra asked.

“Never you mind.” Usually Omir indulged her curiosities, but not today. It didn’t seem like he had forgiven her yet. Zahra set to work finishing her plate of soup.

“We'll keep travelling North, right up to the Great City. I have a friend there, and allies that will be a great aid to your teaching. The journey will take some time, and the road is harsh, so I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities to test your skills.” he said, then sipped at his glass of beer. “We're leaving tomorrow and it'll be the last night we spend inside for a good while, so enjoy it and get some rest.”

Zahra slept well, though her dreams were fraught with shadows. When she awoke her head was clear, all traces of the cold gone. It was a good sign, she thought. It was exciting to be moving again. After buying provisions at the hamlet, they travelled for a week along the open road, down from the hills and into the sparse woodland, picking berries in the wild and sleeping under the stars. The trees and plants were unfamiliar to her, and again Omir gave his instruction, though it was in clipped tones, and he snapped if she dared to ask too many questions. He was just stressed, she thought... Or maybe her mentor was growing tired of her. Well, there was no way to take back her mistakes. She would just have to do better next time.

They would start moving just after dawn, trekking for most of the day, sometimes not even stopping for meals. Before, Omir had led them at a leisurely pace. Now it was as if he was in a rush to cross the lands of Gerighur. But why? They weren't being chased any more.

When they stopped, they were already exhausted, but Omir would insist on continuing the training he had begun in the forests of Vesper—sparring and footwork with Zahra, and the art of throwing thin blades until she could hit a target a dozen paces away.

“Pretty good.” Omir would say. "With that skill, you could make a pretty decent circus act. Tomorrow we'll get into something more serious." He was never satisfied. But the exercises did make her stronger, and thoughts of her life before Omir began to fade into the mist.

Months passed like this. They left the first snows behind as their path cut through the mountains and into the lower valleys. The journey continued, along with the lessons, the monotony with mischief as they visited settlements along the way.

They passed through Usgard, the border city that sealed Gerighur off from the rest of the Empire. As well as keeping out the riff-raff, it was a centre of trade, and the guards tended to nosiness. Omir silenced their questioning with squares of intricate-looking parchment. Though the fortress was a magnificent place, Zahra barely got to explore the ancient city of white stone. Omir was continuing to hurry, acting as if danger loomed over them, so they barely stopped, travelling through the trade slums in alleys that winded beneath the city. Omir's manner was infectious, and Zahra found herself glancing backwards to the doorways, to the shadows, to the wandering curious eyes. Who was hunting them? She tried to remember, but there was always a distraction. It was a breath of relief when they finally exited through the Northern gate, which entered into the cratered hills of Centra, the lands of House Antioch.

The air was colder here, the protection of the mountains behind them. The hills were sparse with dry, scraggly trees, stretching all the way to the famous Sister lochs that fed the groves of Themis. They made their camp in the ruins of an old cottage almost obscured by thicket, the broken walls providing some cover from the biting winds. It wasn’t nearly as cold as the higher ground, where caps of snow decorated the reddish hills. There was even the remains of an old fireplace, to prepare the campfire for their evening meal.

As Zahra set down the pack and pulled out a thin blanket, she observed Omir turning a piece of coal in his hand, chuckling in the process.

"What's so funny?" Zahra asked.

"Oh, just indulging in an old memory. Perhaps you’ll enjoy the tale. Did you know that the ancient alchemists believe that this fuel we use for the fire, this coal, this carbon... Long before we delved into the earth to extract it, was actually formed of the blood of ancient creatures?"

"Is that true?"

"Indeed, with a simple process we can extract brimstone from it, an eye-watering powder you'll doubtlessly know from folk remedies."

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"It smells like feet." Zahra added helpfully.

“Greatly fit for burning, as hot as the abyss, and impregnated with noxious substance, it’s indeed evidence for the ancients’ claim. But in the spires..." Omir mused, "Oh, what they can do to this little lump of stone. You need a real mage, of course, of pure bloodline. Not a mere journeyman alchemist, like me.”

Zahra didn't like how he was talking about himself. As far as she was concerned, Omir was as powerful as any wizard.

"I saw the process once.” he continued, reciting a list as if by rote. “A sanctified barrier, an unbroken transmutation canister, a strong ward, a winding thread of crystalline fibre, and a little blackmetal rod that they call a caltrop.” he breathed. “All that power in one room, focused on a little lump of coal. Crushing it. Purifying it down to the essence, into shining, unbreakable glass. All for a bauble, my girl! A wedding present!" he continued to laugh. "Then they tried it on a goat.” his eyes crinkled. “I'll trust you to imagine the mess. But, what power. Who can deny it?”

Zahra stuck out her tongue. It was the first time Omir had mentioned much of his past to her, but her stomach was groaning. "Can we eat, now?" she pleaded. Omir gave her a half-smile, and turned back to the fire.

***

Zahra woke up with a shiver, feeling as if something had just been watching her. She sat up to find Omir stamping at the remains of their camp fire. He looked back at her, then towards the trees, tilting his head like a wolf trying to track the direction of the unpleasant sound.

"What's going-" Zahra started, but Omir made a motion to be quiet, and they pressed up behind the bulk of a tree. They heard it again. Two short series of notes that repeated—a sharp trill, like the call of a sparrow, but somehow off. A reply came from the opposite side of the hill, the same melody as before. Omir peered through a space in the brush, but Zahra could see nothing but trees.

“Be quiet," said Omir, though she hadn't made a sound. "Someone's coming.” Zahra looked around. Now, she couldn't hear anything. Even the customary sounds of the wilderness had gone silent.

A twig snapped nearby, and she heard something snuffling - an animal tasting the loam. Something furred, rustling among the branches. A flash of white reflecting back at them, almost ghostly pale. Zahra bit back a shout as the thin figures spilled out into the clearing. Ghostly white skin, their silhouettes broken up by sharp patterns carved in black. Animal teeth and bones hanging from long necks, tinkling with the sound of hollow wind chimes.

Savages of the mountains, more dangerous than any animal predator. They had all heard the stories. Flesh-eaters, child-killers. Tribals.

“There’s only three of them.” Zahra said, with more confidence than she felt. “They don’t have any armour, we can finish them, probably.”

“Four," corrected Omir, "and likely more than that hiding in the trees.”

“I'm going to take a look.” Zahra said.

“No.” Omir said, not raising his voice above a whisper. But his voice was hoarse. He was worried. It was not a good sign. “Stay here, little Zahra, or you'll get yourself skewered.” Omir smiled at her then, and then he dashed out from the tree they were both hiding against. He shouted obscenities at the men, if they truly were men, his blade raised, attempting to frighten them off. One was knocked down by Omir's massive fist, and another stabbed in the gut. A third sidestepped around him, bringing a whirring bola above his head.

The weapon of stones and rope was difficult to master, but nothing was more effective in capturing the human prey the tribals favoured. The savage warrior released the bola overhead, and it wrapped around Omir who went rigid, falling forward as the ropes left him no way to manoeuvre. There was a wet thunk as the man whacked him with the flat of his spear. The savages jeered, laughing with themselves. It was only now that Zahra noticed their masks, featureless things of swirling, jagged patterns, amplifying their ferocity. The cackling laughter continued as they stomped the ground, and Zahra could only watch in horror as they dragged Omir away out-cold, along with their own fallen comrades. What were they going to do with him? What was she going to do now? Where could she go? North? No. She owed Omir – he had saved her and taught her so much. She would follow them, rescue him... Somehow. The idea of a five-foot girl going up against a band of tribal warriors seemed ludicrous to her, but she had to do something. Anything.

***

Two moons shone in the clear night sky. The tribals had dragged Omir through a path in the woods, uphill, and now they stopped at a camp, surely full of more of these wild men who had left civilization long behind them. It had been easy to follow them, but she had no real plan. Cooking fires lit up the camp, casting black silhouettes of the crouched hunters. The fire pits sent out plumes of smoke that spiralled into the night, stinking of lignite. Set over the fires were haunches of roasting meat, and on others wide cauldrons bubbled a foul mixture. There were more of the savage men, dancing and chanting and beating on drums of stretched skin.

Zahra gulped, wincing as the smoke irritated her throat, and held back a cough. She had heard enough tales from the sailors, about the savage hill tribes that consumed flesh. Did that fate now await her mentor? Would they skin him and make him into a hat? She shook her head to stop the wild images from flowing across her mind. She had to focus. They were taking Omir into a tent. She snuck around the borders of the camp, trying to get a better view. A peal of laughter from the camp made her hair stand on end. Several of them were gathering at the centre of the camp, around the cooking fires - it looked like dinner was being served. They took knives to cut up the haunches of what she hoped was deer, pig or goat. Something four-legged. She couldn’t bear it to be anything else.

A pair of them sauntered towards the dancers, hauling clay vessels brimming with liquid. They poured the drink into wooden saucers, and the group settled onto the ground with crossed knees as food was brought forth. Their masks were gone now, and the tribal faces were as white as their painted skin. The saucers were emptied quickly and filled again, chattering breaking out in a harsh language that Zahra could hardly recognise.

Wine, the girl thought. Perhaps if she waited until they had eaten and drank, it would be easier to sneak past them and free Omir. But what if he was injured? Waiting so long could make her too late to save him. No. She had to wait. Trying to get in now was as sure as suicide. Even if Omir was injured, the only chance she had was to catch them off their guard. Zahra knelt between two barrels, satisfied that she couldn't be seen. The long wait began.