I cautiously got up – all my legs and arms seemed to be intact. Only my whole body ached from the recent impact with the water. The cloak seemed to have saved my life by blocking the blow, and it had completely discharged, losing two charges at once. Its green, rune stones were slowly being infused with new life energy.

Then I turned around and saw one of the forest sisters. She was wearing savage clothes, a crude garment sewn from leather. I wrinkled my nose, but the girl smiled as she noticed my reaction. Oh, I knew the witches of this forest well!

Back on the wall, where I'd served my five years, we'd had a witch from the Dark Forest come to visit us. She helped us against some kind of contagion that was spreading rapidly through the camp. Her potions and herbs were the only thing that saved us. But I remember the sensation for a long time. The hallucinations were such that it was the first time I was out of the control of the fortress keeper. I remembered it very well. Too well, in fact.

"Catch up or stay! And then you'll be eaten by an owl bear for sure," she giggled, reminding me of my pursuer, and strode forward, pushing the leaves of a tall fern. What was left for me to do? Only to follow her.

The fallen and browned leaves with their carpet of moss sprung softly under my feet. Around me, in the crowns of the giant trees, there was a white haze. I gradually came to my senses, taking note of my surroundings. It was eerily cold. "A little longer and I won't be able to get a tooth on a tooth," I thought. But still I found strength in myself and caught up with the girl. She turned to me and asked, "Man, what brings you here?" The witch asked it so sharply and strictly, as if she had just seen me for the first time.

"Hunting," I answered briefly.

"Hunting," the girl emphasized the word, and then bent like her cat to pass under a large branch, "and what do you hunt?

"Anything larger and more dangerous than a perootle," I grinned. "Count Feanor wants to take the boundary road to Kostegrad, and he doesn't want dangerous neighbors on the road."

"And how much did he pay for it?"

"Nothing. I have one contract with the Order, and I'm serving it," I answered, and the girl stopped.

"An Order hunter, then? Why did you come to the villagers and not to us?" She met my gaze.

"I don't know how to find you," I fought the urge to throw up my hands.

"It's good that you don't know," the girl smiled again and turned away, "and, yes, we need help."

"What kind of help?"

"Later. Let's go to our village first," the girl answered mysteriously and once again pushed the branches apart and walked through the shrubbery. As we moved through the forest, the memories and knowledge of the guardian of the fortress came over me.

The sisters of the forest have long supported the humans in their battle against the creatures of Polog. When the ship Dawn reached the island, supporters of the Cult of the whisperers-in-the-night were found aboard. Due to strange circumstances, the Senior Inquisitor of Sonma ignored their presence. And what's more, the Grave Mohawk Dynasty openly recognized their rights and granted them the Cape of Ghosts on the island of Amberlight for eternal use. It was an impregnable arm, framed on all sides by rocks. Here the sectarians of the whisperers-in-the-night had made their home. To keep the peace, they supplied the palace with a mute-born girl, who was in the king's retinue along with the bishop, counselor, and inquisitor.

I distinctly recalled the feelings of the guardian who ruled the fortress. Perhaps he had been there. I thought I could feel the waves crashing against the rock, and the wind howling as it carried me away with the memory.

Later, at the very end of the First Age, at the behest of the mute-birth, after the first ships had landed from Amber Isle and the founding of Fortress Ruch, Kostegrad, and Innesent, she ordered the establishment of a settlement in the Dark Forest. Thus came the "laughing sisters" – the witches of this already inhospitable forest. And there's one of them up ahead, leading me through the forest.

The young man sank his fingers into the spear. He was terribly afraid, despite all his training in the Order. He knew that these moments of life could be his last. His thoughts raced, frantically searching for ways to escape, to save and deliver. He succumbed to them for a moment and looked up at the fortress wall of the mountain outpost, the only barrier to the infected creatures of Polog. Huge and massive, made of immovable blocks of stone, it was taking roll call right now, taking guard and passing guard.

The young man glanced back without anyone noticing, not even the boys standing next to him. There was a sloping path down to the lower gate. Not so long ago an Order novice had used it to bring them to this inhospitable place, and now stood to the right, smiling. He himself would be leaving soon enough, when the initiation into the guardians of the foothills was complete.

Mute cliffs towered around them, and the ground drew heat rather than warmth. Snow swirled near his feet, blown in from all directions. It was so cold around that I could even feel the wind blowing the warmed air from the other men in the formation toward me.

I stood straight. And in front of me was the passage to the inner rooms, here ahead of me lit a torch. Too late to think of escape. The torch illuminated the darkening vault of the passage in front of me. One of the boys on the right exhaled, as if he thought it would be over now. Maybe it would be, because not everyone comes to their senses after merging with a fortress keeper. The thoughts began their dance around the circle again, they were in a round dance, constantly reminding him of this. Now the old man would come. Or, right now, his gaunt figure would appear behind this or that novice of the Order.

The bitter cold seemed to intensify. I couldn't feel my feet and I couldn't look at them. They must be all blue by now. I have to stay focused. I must stand straight. Those are the orders of the order's novice.

There was a procession coming out ahead. It went on and on. Ministers in long robes with candles. The novices with vessels and scented oils. Men with blessed weapons. Order adherents with clean new robes.... They were all coming out, and there was absolutely no expression on their faces.

Suddenly, a gaunt old man suddenly appeared from behind.

"Well, weren't you expecting it?" he asked. One of the novices wet himself on the spot, right under himself, like a horse in a stall. The other ran. Silently. Because Order novices don't yell. But I heard his body fall, pierced by bolts. I glanced up, the guards on the wall were reloading their weapons. I thought to myself, "He was the third one who couldn't get away. Couldn't escape."

The old man laughed. He walked between us and spoke, "Should I choose you? Or you?"

The Ancient Guardian did not point his finger, as he should have, but amused himself with us. He bent down and hovered in front of each one's face. Suddenly the fear was gone, replaced by anger. My knuckles crunched from that unpleasant memory, so hard I clenched my spear.

"Don't move," I told myself.

There had been two yesterday, but the order's novice had let it slip that they hadn't run far.

The old man's long beard flashed in front of my face. The old man froze in front of me and, leaning toward me, asked almost in a whisper: