Since losing his sight, Nick could tell when he was dreaming. There were no blurry images or headaches, only perfect vision.

A small voice at the back of his head reminded him that the woman with brooding, ocean-deep eyes was but a figment of his imagination. He didn't care. He could see her; all of her. 

How she twirled a strand of raven black hair around her fingers, pursing those lips, red as ripe berries. How the fine lace edges of her emerald dress rippled against his trousers as she curled against him. Each ripple was a pleasure, each detail a delight. 

She played a game of push and pull. Her dress swirled as she danced around him, alone in a marble-coloured ballroom with only the hundreds of chandeliers as their witnesses. For as long as the night lasted, she was his, and he was hers. A fantasy, but real enough for his blood to pump through his nether region.

Just as he laid his hand on her curvy hip, the image imploded.

He jerked awake. 

For a fraction of a moment, his body was light as a feather. Less than a heartbeat later, his weight crashed down onto the wooden floor. He banged the back of his head against something—he didn't know what—but hard enough that he couldn't tell east from west, nor top from down. Surely, the pressure in his manhood was gone.

Instantly, a choir of yips and yaps accompanied the puppy feet pittering and pattering around him. Through the noise, he identified a guttural groan—Phoenix—and a boyish nasal grunt. Prince Burn. The horses neighed, as though defeated.

Nick stretched out his hands; he failed to make out as much as a shadow. "Bear?" he said. His throat was dry; the voice struggled to rise above the noise.

"Bear?" He repeated forcefully.

Inches from him, Bear let out a bark, half a howl and half a growl that reverberated through the wagon. 

Silence returned. Mostly. 

In the distance, a trio of thrushes merrily chirped their morning song, but it was silent enough for Nick to gather his thoughts. Gone was the mysterious woman of his dreams. He was on the silver road, heading for Moondale with the five pups, Prince Burn, and a Silvermarker envoy called Phoenix. His official goal? Delivering the pups and asking King Storm if he could train his great-nephew. His secondary goal? Keeping the dogs and the boy safe.

"Everyone alright?" Nick asked.

Bear's rough tongue licked his cheek. "Yep!"

"Yeah," said the Silvermarker as Nick scratched his faithful companion between the ears.

Burn hummed.

Five arfs came from different sides of the wagon. They come one of the other, in order of the pup's position within the pack. Number One's fierce grunt came first, and the last in the row was Number Four's pitiful whine. Retracted paws clawed at Nick's shoulder, a slightly smoother tongue cleaning his neck. He allowed the animal to lick his hand as he slowly nudged him away. 

Living in close confinement with five dogs ready to bond was already a challenge. He had to avoid being too chummy with the pups. It was for their own good.

"What in the Seven Hells happened?" Nick spat. Though his rage was directed at the Silvermarker, it was Four who cowered away.

"There was a landslide," the Silvermarker said without apologising for the rough awakening, for yanking him out of a divine dream. 

Nick repeated the words in disbelief. "A landslide? You're telling me we experienced a landslide?"

"Yeah, the ground beneath the wheels just disappeared. We sank."

"That's... not a landslide." Nick shook his head. A few days on days on the silver road had taught him the merchant of King Storm was not the fullest bottle in the crate, but this was a new low, even for a Silvermarker.

"Nick's right," Burn said, to which two of the tups arfed in confirmation. The voices sounded muffled, as though they were sticking their head out of the back of the wagon. "In Ice, we call this is the swallowing earth."

"A sinkhole," Nick said. He raised his voice in annoyance. "It's called a sinkhole."

"Sinkhole...landslide... apples or potatoes... The fact is that three feet separate us from the road," Phoenix said.

Nick blew air through his stuffed nostrils and sniffed. Years ago, when travelling to Bigtown with a pup-sized Bear and Prince—now King—River, they had mostly avoided the silver road. Back then, Nick figured the Ician Crown Prince did so to avoid potential political uproar or nasty questions from curious soldiers. Now that it seemed most of the grey cobblestones that had once formed the pride and glory of the Silvermarker silver trading industry had either disappeared or grown green with mould, any road was as good as this abomination.

"Any damages?" Nick asked.

"One of the spokes of the western wheel at the back has a crack. Even if it breaks, the iron should hold."

This confirmed Prince Burn was standing at the back. "And the front?"

"All good," mumbled the Silvermarker.

"Horses too?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"You may not think much of me, but I know what a wounded horse looks like."

Nick doubted that, but this was neither the time nor the place to argue. He rubbed his eyes, then squinted out of his right one. Blurry and fuzzy shades. He didn't bother trying his left. If the horses were wounded, he would hear their whinnying in the wind soon enough.

"Do you think the horses can pull the wagon out of the hole?" Nick thought out loud.

Phoenix didn't reply. A single whip of the reins and a shout later, the vehicle jolted forwards with such might, Nick barely managed to cling to Bear without losing his balance.

The pups were yowling once more; their panic resounded too loud in a too cramped space. The pain pulsating at the back of Nick's head spread to his temples. The back of his eyes stung.

"I didn't say do it—it was a question!" Nick shouted. The light of the new dawn was barely creeping over the horizon, and already the God of Wrath was testing him.

"Well, we're clearly too heavy," the Silvermarker said.

Nick breathed out through his nose. Really testing him. "We get off," he said slowly. "Then, we try."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Wrear wrep," said Bear.

"Bear will help."

"And so can I," Burn offered. "I'm an Air Magician. I could lift the back wheels, then..."

"No." Nick shut him down.

"But I can do it."

"I don't want you to."

"We're in Silvermark, Greenlander," Phoenix said. "Magic is allowed here."

"That's not the issue. I know magic is a tool that transcends the capabilities of non-mages if the wielder masters their element and controls their power." Nick heard the words as he spoke. He summarised more simply, "The boy is untrained. The risk is too high."

"You're so boring." Burn pouted. He mumbled some profanities, wondering why he had to come, which Nick ignored. When pups whine without reason, you give them the cold shoulder.

The young Prince quickly came to his senses. As Bear helped Nick off the wagon, he gathered the pups outside and bribed them with grease snacks. For as long as Burn walked around with the grill-scented candies, they would follow him instead of wandering off into the distance. The marshland was treacherous for humans, and a death trap for pups.

Nick joined Phoenix at the back. As the Silvermarker yelled, the horses began to pull. Nick pushed. Phoenix groaned. The wheels moved, not a lot, but they were making progress. Just as they gained momentum, there came a crack, and the horses whinnied. Not taking any chances, Nick leapt aside. He heard the Silvermarker doing the same as the wagon slipped back into the bog-smelling ground.

 "Curse the Gods!" Phoenix shouted. "What was that?"

"Burn, can you see anything?" Nick asked.

Number Three barked, "Bwaf."

"Just a branch," Burn confirmed. 

"It's no use," the Silvermarker sneered. "We're going to damage the wagon or injure the horses, and then what... we hike to Moondale? Not on my watch."

Phoenix was right. Not only would it be a nightmare with the pups, especially Number Four, he doubted his feet were up to the task. The days of long marches with the junior patrols were long gone. Living in Bigtown had allowed him to embrace the God of Sloth without it being a sin.

"Let Bear try," Nick said. He gasped. "And we use planks for the front wheels as support."

"We don't have pl—"

"Anything will do." 

Nick heaved himself back into the carriage. They didn't have to be actual planks; anything flat, long, and sturdy would do. 

He squinted. Blurry outlines of blankets and bags. A headache pulsed behind his left high and slowly spread to his forehead. He got down on his knees and groped into the foggy darkness. A wicker basket containing leashes and ropes. Hay for the horses.

Outside, puppy teeth crunched the snacks. Their happy tails flicked into the mud. 

Nick peered. Another bag.

"Where are we?" Burn asked.

"Iwemaw," Bear replied.

"Yes, Silvermark. But where exactly?"

"Ya-wenno."

Nick snorted a laugh. Bear may not know, but he did. They were on the silver road, either Sourfeld lay ahead or they had passed the hamlet while he was asleep. Before he could share this knowledge, he felt something hard, half outside a bag that shared the same sour stink as Phoenix.

Nick's hands glided over the object. It was a  sturdy case, about three feet long, and heavy too. Symbols had been carved into the wood. An arrow, but also something else. A sun, or—he felt the shape again—a lion. A crowned lion. What was this?

"You need help?" Phoenix asked.

"I found this," Nick said. His sight was not on his side, so he had to be honest.

"That's my sword. Hands off."

"Why do you have a sword?"

"Says the man who lives with one strapped to his belt."

Unprepared for such a smart retort, Nick held his breath. "I'm in a foreign land with precious cargo," he said.

"It would be a shame if something happened to it." The tone of the man's voice betrayed the grin on his face. "You're not using that case or my sword. That was given to me by the late King Ariel when he knighted me."

Nick's throat tightened. The world stopped, and all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears.

A knight of Silvermark; why had King Storm send a knight to fetch some dogs in Bigtown? Had the King expected Nick to travel south with the pups? Was this a trap for him—but to what end? No, he was a nobody. No Silvermarker should care about an Ician Kennelmaster.

Unless that Kennelmaster was once named the future general of The Greenlands.

"You're right. It would be rude to damage a gift so fine." Nick swallowed and faked a smile. He relied on the Silvermarker being too dense to understand what the revelation implied.

Suddenly, Nick lost his balance. Phoenix stumbled as well. Baskets, bags, and blankets slid backwards, then forwards. The carriage creaked.

Before either of them could ask what was happening, Burn shouted. "Now, Bear! Slowly but steadily."

"Arf."

"Burn? What did you tell Bear to do?"

Bear's growls drowned out Nick's question. "Yoawr, wro, wro, wro."

Meticulously, step by step, the horses pulled. The wagon moved, the balance still unsteady.

Nick barely held the God of Wrath at bay. He was seething. Nobody commanded Bear but him. How could he!

"The boy is doing it—he's getting us out!" Phoenix cheered.

Burn chirped. "I told you it would work."

Nick ground his teeth, cursing both Burn and the Silvermarker to eternal damned life in the Seven Hells, but remained quiet. As the wagon landed—bumpily—Phoenix clapped his hands and congratulated the young prince. Nick bit the inside of his lip. What he hated more than being wrong about Burn's abilities, more than Bear obeying anyone but him, was the prospect of the Ician prince bonding with the Silvermarker.

The boy had to remain neutral, had to be the buffer between him and the Silvermarker knight. Gods of Virtue and the Summer Dragon. There may be a sword hanging from his belt, but without proper vision, he might as well carry celery.

Sitting still, Nick's heart still galloped through his chest. For the rest of the trip, he would have to be prepared for anything and everything. He would never sleep as long as Phoenix was awake. He would keep Bear close, but the Silvermarker even closer. It had been years since he had last read Virtues of Warfare, but he could still recite it. If you know your enemy and know yourself, you won't have to fear the outcome of any battle.

When Phoenix took his place on the driver's bench, Nick put his plan to action. He waited for Burn to lead the pups back inside, then sat down next to the Silvermarker. "I guess we got off on the wrong foot. I should have had more faith in the boy."

"You don't have to tell me."

"No, but we're both adults. It's your wagon."

"It's your cargo."

"Which you bought," Nick said. What an exhausting man—he had just wanted to apologise, not start an argument.

"True, but you remain responsible. In your shoes, I might have made the same call. He's young. I've seen the damage young, untrained magicians can do."

"The fall of Moonstone Castle," Nick murmured.

The Silvermarker muttered a yeah under his breath.

Queen Cobra had tried to quench the rumours it was caused by unstable, uncontrollable magic, so naturally, a few moons later, the entire continent knew the story of the royal bastard. Whether the bastard of the story was Fox or King Ariel's illegitimate son Wolf, differed from version to version, but everyone spoke of the King's self-sacrifice to save his son, which had been to no avail. The crown prince had succumbed to his wounds a few days later. A cruel game of the Gods, even if Nick felt no pity for the lions of Silvermark.

"I'm sorry. How well did you know King Ariel?" Nick asked.

"Not well, but well enough to be affected by his death," Phoenix said vaguely.

Nick startled as warm fur touched his hand. A rough tongue licked his skin. Bear. His eyes. His shield. His weapon too.

"How much has Silvermark changed?"

Phoenix hummed pensively. "We're officially at war. There's..." He paused. "Not a lot has changed except for the number of men dying each day."

"Have you ever seen war up close?"

Nails scraped over fabric. "Years ago, long before we spoke about a war. I rode south with my master and a magician. I wasn't involved in the battle—not my fight to... well... fight. But I saw the aftermath. The endless miles of forest burning. Miles and miles of burning wood. Smoke and embers. Half-burnt bodies lying in the ruins of what was once a quiet provincial farming town. The scent—I can't describe it but I smell it again as I remember the day. And then, no matter how rough your life has been, how many hardships the Gods of Sin have thrown in your path, that sound of children crying... it goes right throne the bone."

"Laneby," Nick whispered. "You were there."

"I was." 

If he was surprised by Nick's observation, his voice didn't bear a mark. He must know who Nick was. This wasn't news to him.

"You took Fox."

"I did what I was told." He left a pause, for what Nick couldn't tell. "Besides, had Fox stayed with you, he would have been executed. The Gods saved him that day. Only they knew that lanky little boy was a royal bastard. They and King Ariel, of course."

"Is he in Moondale? Will I get to see him?"

"Do you want to see him?" Phoenix deflected the question.

Nick breathed out through his nose, at first realising how cold the morning was. Behind him, Burn gave the pups the command to sit. Three barked back, already developing Mountain Dog language. Life with the dogs was so much simpler. With them, he didn't have to think twice before saying anything. They were inherently loyal and unsuspicious as long as you carried snacks that smelled like meat or fish.

"Whatever role Fox plays in this world is not my concern," Nick said after a while. "I will neither fight him nor for him. The only man I serve is King River. If Fox can accept that, then perhaps we can meet."

"I'm glad we've established that," the Silvermarker said. Nick could have sworn there was a hint of relief in the man's voice. "Not that you will see Fox, but it shows who you are."

"Oh, where is he?"

"I told you enough. You may live in Bigtown, but you're a Greenlander."

"I understand."

Nick scratched Bear behind the ears. By saying very little, Phoenix said a lot. A Silvermarker withholding information meant there was an impact on The Greenlands. Where else but Sundale would Fox go?

Doubt filled Nick's mind. He could pretend to be Ician, but he was born and raised in Laneby. Son of a farmer. A warrior of Lord Brandon. A cadet of patrol seventeen. He had friends living in Sundale; comrades who would die if Fox unleashed a rain of magical fire down on the city. Lana. Seb. Alex. Could he really sit here in a wagon on the silver road and do nothing?