After moving Galfrido to a sheltered, more comfortable spot—no easy task, since the enormous man must have weighed a ton—the half-blood elf began gathering branches and logs to start a fire. There was a small grove not far from there. She found herself wondering if it had been a good idea to stay behind instead of going with Kalen, but that no longer mattered. They had left several hours ago. She trusted fully in the knight’s skills, and, in large part, she had learned to trust Anthos as well.

  Once the fire was lit, she cooked some of the remaining legumes. It wasn’t much, enough perhaps for that night’s supper and one more lunch, but nothing beyond that. She hoped Galfrido would be better by morning.

  The night wrapped Galfrido and Begryn in a cold, starry mantle, with the moon still casting light over the valley and, farther away, over the Ramei Mountains. The elf could not help but wonder what had become of the cursed witch Baba Yaga. She had heard a thousand tales of that infernal being, but never had she imagined finding herself in a situation involving such an abhorrent creature.

  “The world seems to hide many surprises, my friend,” she said, looking at Galfrido, who breathed peacefully with his eyes closed, warmed by the fire and by a tunic Kalen had given him. Beyond the wound on his neck, the paladin’s laying of hands had spread its cauterizing effect to the bite on his face from the fight against the Osgor, aiding his recovery.

  The night passed without incident. The next morning, Begryn opened her eyes and noticed Galfrido sitting there, absorbed, staring at the remnants of the fire. He looked pale, with deep red circles under his eyes. Though Kalen had nearly healed his wounds, the shock from the blow and the cut had been enormous. He had lost a great deal of blood.

  “Good morning, are you feeling better?” she asked, rising to fetch more branches to rekindle the fire.

  “It was a dream, wasn’t it?” His words came with difficulty, and when he spoke, his face twisted in pain. “The kidnapping of Drako, Ertai’s betrayal… It has to be a dream. What happened?”

  “All of it was real. Ertai betrayed us and stole the boy… I think that was his plan from the beginning. He worked to earn our trust, and when the right moment came, he took advantage.”

  “We saved his life… that son of a bitch. He bled with us… How can you distrust someone who bled to protect you?”

  The elf noticed how deeply the betrayal had shaken him. It was the kind of wound suffered by people overflowing with loyalty, those who can never truly understand the concept of treason.

  “I believe it was always part of his plan to fight alongside us, to win our confidence and then betray us. I even suspect he may have been the one who somehow led the Osgors to the pass…”

  “And Anthos? He was up there with Ertai… did he betray us too?”

  “No. Ertai struck him hard, and we almost lost him.”

  “Where…?”

  “They’re hunting Ertai now… Anthos and Kalen. He has quite a head start, but there aren’t many places to hide. And if he’s carrying Drako alive, the boy will force him to stop more often than usual. What you need to do now is recover and then head to Rivero. We’ll wait for them there.”

  “Damn it, Begryn… I should be with them!” He tried to rise, grimacing in terrible pain.

  “Calm down now, big man!” The elf pressed both hands against the warrior’s massive chest, forcing him back into his resting place. “Our time will come. For now, the priority is for you to heal enough to make it to Rivero. Or do you think I can carry you all the way to the village?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it…” He let out a laugh that made his ribs ache. “Thank you for staying, my friend.”

  The elf nodded with a smile. When she looked back at him, he had already fallen asleep. There was no doubt he still needed rest.

  The day passed quietly, without major incident. Begryn managed to catch a hare, stretching the stew she had started earlier that afternoon. By twilight, Galfrido seemed more spirited and even physically improved. He even managed to get up and walk a few meters outside the camp to relieve himself, excusing it as needing to “meditate.”

  That night, the elf kept watch. Though she heard the characteristic howling of wolves and saw them slip past in the darkness like sinister shadows, they were not attacked.

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  The next morning, they set out for the village of Rivero. They had to head several kilometers north to skirt the wall of rocks, and then northwest until they reached the road to the settlement. The day dawned somewhat overcast, with a fine, damp mist that chilled them to the bone.

  Galfrido walked with difficulty, having to stop often to catch his breath, but at least the color had returned to his face, leaving behind the deathly pallor of the past days. Forced to carry her friend’s greatsword, Begryn was once again surprised by the strength he possessed, for it was a burden to haul it across her back.

  They passed another night without trouble. The warrior was feeling better, though at times Begryn still had to help him climb a hill or get past some obstacle. The road was now more wooded, and the tracks of carts made it clear that it was more frequently traveled.

  A few nights after the incident with Ertai, they finally reached the village of Rivero. It was much smaller than either Begryn or Galfrido had imagined. A single inn smoked at the center of a narrow, half-paved street covered in snow; a dozen wooden houses; a larger home that, in all likelihood, belonged to the village lord; and a small watermill on the riverbank.

  Surrounding the buildings stood countless pines, many already reduced to stumps for firewood to feed the hearths.

  “We got here just in time,” said Galfrido as he saw the snow begin to fall. “Do people actually live in this pigsty?”

  “Apparently, several families. There must be more houses scattered around, but this is without doubt the center of the village.”

  “Let’s head to that famous tavern,” he said, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together to fight off the growing night chill. “I can’t wait to drain every beer barrel I find.”

  “Kalen ’Fal was quite specific with the directive that you’re not to drink all the alcohol in the inn until he returns.”

  “To hell with him,” he said with a grin. “I died, and he brought me back. The only thing I feared about ‘the other side’ was that there wouldn’t be enough beer.”

  They saw that, indeed, the only doorway from which a warm glow spilled and the clamor of travelers could be heard was that of the inn, called Blood and Barley, as the sign above the roof proclaimed. They also noticed a battered cart with a few supplies, surely belonging to some merchant within.

  The inn was somewhat larger than the other houses, with a massive smoking chimney. A wooden staircase led up to a gallery, where a few frozen benches lay covered in snow. The wooden door was a bit crooked, but it did its job.

  “Blood and Barley?” Galfrido muttered as they climbed the steps to the entrance porch. “By the gods, that’s a shitty name.”

  “You don’t say.”

  When they pushed open the squeaky door and stepped inside, the warmth of the place and the smell of tobacco and food flooded their senses. A man of about fifty, balding and with a prominent mustache, greeted them. From the leather apron tied around his waist, they knew he was the innkeeper.

  The tavern wasn’t very large or comfortable, but it was quite cozy. They noticed that, in the fireplace just opposite the entrance, a pig was being roasted. A pair of men were drinking and playing “The King’s Spark”—an old game of cards and dice—, another was asleep slumped over a table, and yet another was doing business with a small group.

  “Innkeeper!” said Galfrido thunderously, even though the man was less than a meter away, startling him. “Two mugs of the finest beer you have.”

  “At once, sailor!” replied the kind man, twisting his mustache into a wide, sincere smile as he scratched the inside of his ear. Almost immediately, he prepared them a table, and at last they sat down in peace.

  Begryn sighed and closed her eyes to relax a little. Despite usually hating those human inns, noisy and full of smells, she was truly at ease. The warmth of the place began to soothe the trembling of her body. She looked at Galfrido and, for the first time since the betrayal, saw him smile. It felt good to be there. Now they only had to wait for Kalen and Anthos.

  “Can I get you anything else?” asked the innkeeper as he brought them their mugs of beer. “Perhaps lodging? Some soup to drive away the winter chill?”

  “Of course… soup, lodging, and if you have any provisions…”

  “You’re in luck. I’ve arranged to offer, in addition, assorted supplies from that merchant,” he pointed to the man they had seen doing business. “He’s an old friend, and if I can help him, all the better. Would you like to see his goods?”

  “Of course!” exclaimed Galfrido, almost immediately clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And let me congratulate you on the name of the inn. Very original!”

  The innkeeper smiled with pride. Begryn couldn’t help but let out a smile herself. Her friend’s audacity had no cure.

  They began eating the soup with great eagerness, alternating with swigs of beer. The warrior seemed to have almost fully regained his strength. Begryn looked around and saw the stairs leading to the upper floor, where the rooms were. She longed to wash up a little and tend to her equipment before lying her head on the pillow. Rising to her feet, she excused herself and left.

  Galfrido, meanwhile, chose to remain by the fire, drinking his beer. Despite the joy he felt at having reached the village, the sense of helplessness for not having been able to stand by his friend gnawed at him from within. He was not one to watch history unfold from the window. He longed to be a protagonist—not only to defend those he loved, but also to be part of something greater. A voice inside him whispered that he already was.

  And yet, there he sat, drinking beer by the fire, while Kalen and Anthos were somewhere out there, fighting “Kramer-knows-what.” In the end, he relaxed and went off to sleep.