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Chapter Eight The Bigger Picture The snowline ended as abruptly as a sword cut. One moment, the world was all scree and sleet, wind knifing through the openings in their dwarven blankets. The next, the path dropped into a trough where crocus and dandelion already rioted through the matted brown grass. The weather had changed while they were in the mountains, they were met with a blast of warm spring air. A single yellow butterfly battered itself against the tip of Conrad’s nose, and he startled, almost slipping in the thaw-slick mud. Byron caught his arm before he could fall. “Careful,” said Byron. “Wouldn’t want to break that pretty face, Junior.” Conrad’s glare didn’t last—he was grinning, a big dumb grin that said he was half in love with the flatter lands already. “Just glad to see something alive again,” he said, shaking out his arms and stretching like a bear after hibernation. “It’s good to feel warm.” Emil trudged behind them, boots leaving wide, flat prints in the sodden

Chapter Seven Finding Snow White             The morning came damp and ugly, a bruise of cloud and cold that clung to the valley. Ginny took charge of packing, every motion sharp and businesslike, the way she got before a fight. She crammed bread and sausage into a sack, checked the edge of her knife with her thumb, and snapped at Conrad until he got the water skins filled. Red trailed her, uneasy, watching the world for a sign that wasn’t there yet.              “We sure this’ll work?” Conrad asked, voice low as the fog. He glanced back at the camp, then at Red, as if the whole idea of using her as bait was a dare gone too far.             Ginny kept her eyes on the kindling. “He’s shown up every time, hasn’t he?” She nodded at Red. “If Grumbly’s got any sense, he’ll be here by sundown. That’s how a coward works.”             Red shivered, not from cold. “He always looks like he needs help first. Then he tries to trick you.”             Emil finished restringing his bow, fingers

Chapter Six The Quest Renews A week underground in the dwarf tunnels did strange things to a man’s sense of time. Down there, days measured out not by sunlight but by the predictable clank of tin cups on stone, by the rhythm of dwarfs’ laughter (always harsh and oddly metallic), and by the endless scent of loam and burnt charcoal. By the seventh day, Emil was fairly certain he could distinguish between the three distinct bells that signaled meals, each a slightly different clang from the mess hall’s monstrous, greenish bell. He kept a tally of it in his head—every meal, every hour, every time Conrad banged his skull on a dwarven lintel or Rose Red vanished into a snarl of passages. He’d started with one hope only: to be out of the stronghold before they grew beards of their own. They’d been treated better than expected. Much better. It was clear the dwarfs owed Bear’s Gang. They were fed—heavy stews, great slabs of smoked cheese, warm brown loaves, and some kind of blue pickled egg

Chapter Five To the Forbidden Forest The forest that morning was a sodden, half-lit thing. Night’s bruises still stained the boughs overhead; somewhere, rain continued to drip from leaf to leaf, even though the clouds above were already thinning into skeins of white. Red huddled under Byron’s cloak, blinking herself back from a shallow, fretful sleep. For a moment the woods beyond her nose seemed to shimmer, as if what little sun made it through the branches had gotten caught in spider silk, and she watched a thousand points of light drift and hover and fade away. “Oi,” Byron said, his voice raw but certain, “That’s enough shut-eye for now, love.” He loomed over her, battered and bearded, his hands already stained with the sap from gathering more firewood. Ginny muttered about damp socks and the unfairness of fate as she gathered up what little they had. Red sat up, dizzy, heart pounding, and tried to recall the night’s dreams. Something had been chasing her, a shape that

Chapter Four The Battle with Fang               The market smelled like sour mash, wet dog, and wood smoke, with a hint of something sweet drifting in from the bakery shack that always overcooked its crusts. Byron made his way through the morning crowd, boots thumping in time with the uneven boards that stitched the central avenue of Refugee Town. The air pulsed with gossip and laughter, but underneath, a new tension simmered—like the crackle of a hearth just before the coals caught.             Byron didn’t bother hiding his sword; everyone here knew what it meant. It was as good as a business card, and if anyone doubted he could use it, well, the line of old scars along his left arm served as a handy reminder. He shouldered past a pair of mud-caked boys racing after a feral chicken, nodding at the grim-faced women haggling over dried beans. Most folks looked away, but a few held his gaze a moment too long, sizing him up or measuring his worth.             A shout rang out from the

Chapter Three The Town in the Woods               The road had been kind for once, and when the last color bled from the world, Bear’s gang made camp in a patch of old-growth pine that smelled like cold and ghosts. The trunks stretched straight as cathedral columns, higher than anything Red could remember seeing, and somewhere far above the evening wind played with their spiked crowns, hissing like a thousand whispering witches.             The gang worked with the silent coordination of people who’d set up camp in every sort of disaster: Byron and Emil dug a pit for the fire, Conrad vanished to gather kindling and water, Ginny hammered down the tent stakes with the back of her ladle, pausing only to swat at Conrad when he returned with the bucket splashing her shoes. Nobody had to say much. By the time the last stripe of sunset bled into the trunks, their tents stood in a rough half-moon and a small, mean fire spat sparks onto a clutch of stones. Even Byron seemed smaller in the

Chapter Two The Enemy Approaches               As usual, Red woke before the others. She sat right outside of the camp and looked for the lights dancing in the woods. A hush hung over the forest, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath before the sun’s first light.              “She’s got to keep moving,” said a voice from nowhere. Red stifled a gasp, and looked around. She couldn’t see any lights this time. She guessed that it was because she was so close to the camp.              “Soldiers will catch her and take her back.”              “So many they will kill her new friends too.”             There was a faint buzz while Red thought over what was said. She thought of where to go, and realized she had no idea. Silently a tear rolled down her cheek and fell to the ground. The buzzing of the voices got louder.              “I don’t know where to go,” Red whispered, barely audible. She hoped this wouldn’t cause the voices to silence. The buzz did diminish, but did not

Chapter One The Fiery Prisoner               The girl stretched her fingers up to the small window in her cell. For years it had hung above her, unreachable. She remembered when her fingertips first brushed its edge. A season later, and she could finally curl her hands around the cold iron bars. Now, as she grew even more, she could grasp the bars of the window. She knew her hair was red, not the orange often called red, but the same as the wine she saw her guards sometimes drink. Her clothes were rags, and she had no shoes. Her bare feet were hard and calloused. These few certainties defined her existence. She grasped a bar.              “She’s reached it at last,” came the familiar whisper from beyond the window.              “She can’t do anything with it,” said another.             The voices had been her companions for years. Her jailers would scowl whenever she mentioned them—they couldn’t hear what she heard. At night, tiny lights danced beyond her window, but they never

            The six representatives of the six species sat at the table, three on one side, three on the other.  On one side of the table sat the Ch’tall, covered in a very hard carapace.  Joining them were the Garda flexing their giant claws and the Kritolo, covered with vicious horns and spines.  On the other side of the table sat the Miboba with their very large mouth of vicious fangs.  They were joined by the Clanari, very brightly colored and covered with a wet sheen showing the extreme toxicity of the race, and the gigantic Tokol.             Beyond them, representatives of the many worlds, most of them members of the Galactic Confederation, sat watching.  The hall was provided by the Galactic Confederation to encourage peace, and non-member worlds were welcome to use it.  Talks had broken down, war was inevitable between the Ch’tall and the Miboba, joined by their allies.             It was at that time when a diminutive being walked in.  This new creature was slightly smaller