"We've got to keep moving," Ivan calls out, glancing up at the darkening sky. "Don't want to get caught in a snowstorm here." The men don't respond, but pick up their pace, all of them having experienced enough snowstorms across the continent to heed Ivan's warning. The path gets even steeper as they continue climbing, the men struggling to keep their footing in the deep snow. Oleksandr is the first to approach the summit. He looks far towards the horizon, at a light glow beyond the valley and dense forest.

  "What are those lights?" He asks, his voice cutting through the stillness. He points to the faint, flickering glow in the distance. Ivan pauses, resting his hand on the pommel of his saber as he follows Oleksandr's gaze. A sly smile spreads across his face.

  "That, my friend, is the last village of Lithuania. Beyond that, Estonia."

  Samorix adjusts his fur-lined cloak, his frame silhouetted against the pale moonlight. "Aye, let’s move quickly," he growls. "I don’t want to linger where bounty hunters and slavers might be prowlin’."

  Ivan chuckles, the sound carrying a surprising warmth in the cold night. "Relax, brother," he says. "The only danger here is the bite of the frost. No slavers or bandits.”

  Oleksandr and Samorix exchange confused glances, before Samorix speaks. “Ye mean to tell us there will be no damned slavers near the slave market?”

  "The slave market is a safe zone, ironically." Ivan explains, his voice low and steady. "It’s the largest in the region, attracting traders and criminals from all over, from the far-east to the far-west, north and south. There’s an unspoken rule, enforced by the local lord. No capturing, no bounty hunting, no fighting. It’s like a pirate’s cove. Even sworn enemies respect the truce inside those bounds."

  Samorix grunts, his skepticism evident. "And what happens if someone breaks this ‘rule’?"

  Ivan’s grin returns, but this time it carries a sharp edge. "The Estonian authorities deal with them swiftly. No one crosses the lord who runs the market. Traders follow the rules because it benefits everyone, and they’ll uphold the laws too. You can sell your wares in peace and not worry about someone trying to stab you in the back."

  “So yer telling me there is honor among thieves?” Samorix grumbles.

  Oleksandr tilts his head, the concept both foreign and intriguing to him. "So, no one will come for me there. The Ottoman bounty hunters… they can’t touch me?"

  Ivan nods. "Exactly. You’ll be as safe as a babe in a cradle. But," he adds, raising a cautionary finger, "you won’t be able to capture Oddvarr there either. The same rules that protect you will protect him." The weight of Ivan’s words hangs heavy in the air. Oleksandr’s jaw clenches, his mind racing with the implications. A safe zone where the laws of the outside world were suspended—it was both an opportunity and an obstacle.

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  Samorix slaps Oleksandr on the back, his good eye twinkling. "Well, lad, it seems we’ve gots some thinkin’ to do. But first, let’s reach that village before the cold does us in."

  The men agreed, and they hurried onward. The path was treacherous, with thick snow and ice causing them to stumble and slip on more than one occasion. The lights in the distance grew closer, and eventually they found themselves at the edge of the small village. The place was quiet, most of the villagers either asleep or keeping to their warm homes. Samorix looks around, his eyes keen. "Looks safe enough," he mutters as they find a place to rest, a tavern.

  The tavern was small, dimly lit, and warm. The heat from the roaring fire in the center of the room was a welcome contrast to the freezing cold outside. The group took a table, and Samorix ordered mead for everyone. As they sat and drank, Samorix looked around the room, sizing the other patrons. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own conversations, too drunk or indifferent to pay them any mind.

  "So, Sasha..." Samorix asks. "How are we going to catch that bastard?"

  Oleksandr takes a long gulp of his mead, his eyes focused on the amber liquid in his tankard. He lets out a slow sigh, and his deep voice rumbles quietly. "I’ve been thinking about that," he says, staring into the fireplace. "The market is a safe zone. That means we have to find Oddvarr and ambush him when he’s outside of it. But the man is cautious. He won’t let his guard down easily."

  "He's heavily guarded." Ivan murmurs. "It won't be easy. No, it will be extremely difficult."

  Oleksandr nods. "We need to do reconnaissance on the market. I need to see firsthand what we're up against. The layout, the security. If we're going to find Oddvarr, we need to know the best places to wait and spot him."

  "Why not follow the wolf back to his den?" Samorix asks. Oleksandr raises an eyebrow.

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's a man, and that means he sleeps. Find out where he stays, and we'll capture him in his own lands."

  Oleksandr shakes his head. "I'd rather capture a wolf out on the prowl than in his den, surrounded by his pack. Seems like suicide, walking into that man's home."

  Samorix grins around his mead and leans back, slapping his thigh. "Aye, it'd be a foolish fight, one we're not going to win. But there's a way of getting past even the toughest guards... if ya know what yer doing."

  Ivan nods. "Aye. Perhaps think of it this way, Oleksandr..." He leans in. "You enter his den, as a lion in wolf's clothing." Oleksandr leans forward, his shoulders relaxed but his eyes sharp.

  "A lion in wolf's clothing," he repeats, mulling the concept over.

  Ivan grabs his shoulder. "Who is this man, son? What is he?" Oleksandr takes a deep, slow breath before responding, his deep voice a low growl.

  "Oddvarr is a slave trader," he says. "A savage beast who trades in human lives."

  Ivan leans in, a grin on his face. "And you, my dear lion, are too."