It always snowed in the dream and in her bed the girl shivered, her mind far away.
Outside the window the day was dawning, the low sun not yet high enough to warm the white towers. There was not even enough of a breeze to make the proud flags stir and they hung limply, as if they were no more than sodden rags put out to dry by one of the city’s washerwomen.
The girl’s brow wrinkled and she breathed sharply. Somewhere in her mind she told herself that she need not be afraid, that she had experienced the dream hundreds of times before. But it would not be enough, she knew.
She opened her eyes as small flecks of snow chilled her bare skin, her face raw in the winter afternoon. It was already dark, and the bright stars that shone through the wispy clouds were the first sights that made her realise she was still alive.
She sat up, knowing instinctively that she would have to move if she was to survive. Her father’s pack was still tied to her back, its heavy weight causing her to struggle as she crouched low, peering intently from her hidden vantage point.
For several minutes she watched the still scene, her senses alert for any sign that some of the men might have remained.
The world was absolutely silent.
She crept quietly to the trunk that now lay partially submerged, the ice once more covering the black water, hiding any indication of her struggle with the savage dogs.
Tentatively she tested the ice with her foot, her weight pressed against the trunk. She hardly dared to breathe but the ice seemed thick enough to support her weight. She took a single step. Then, emboldened, she took another.
With a crack the ice broke, plunging her into the freezing water. The shock of the terrible cold made her cry out.
Overwhelmed with utter isolation and despair, she pulled herself out onto the frosted shore. For long moments she could do nothing but hold herself and weep, cursing the unfairness of the world and the men who had taken everything from her-and most of all her parents, who had so suddenly left her alone.
Anger replaced despair, and then she ran. She ran west, toward the mountain that loomed ominously above her, blocking out the clouds with its high summit and treacherous crags. All her life she had gazed at it, wondering what lay beyond.
But now she knew only that she had to keep running.
After several hours the forest grew less dense and the trees sparser. With each step the snow swallowed her to her knees and tested the very limits of her strength. Only then did the fatigue quench her burning rage. Only then did she fall.
It was the howls that forced her to her feet again. She was so tired that she imagined that the fleeting glimpses of the wolves might be an illusion. But they were not. They were real. Their yellow eyes glowed at her from the growing shadows on the white landscape, their predatory growls gathering in intensity as more of the pack added their voices to their terrible chorus.
Let them come, she thought to herself. I have done everything I possibly can, and the world has gone against me. She loosened her grip on the dagger that hung from her leather belt.
She took deep breaths, forcing the fear from her mind, intent on making peace with the world in her last few minutes.
Darkness gathered, and close behind her she could hear the soft tread of padded feet digging into the snow, a low growl emanating from a lupine throat.
She was ready to die, to submit herself to Saradomin.
And then she caught sight of stars that twinkled in the dark haze. It was the constellation of Saradomin himself, made up of four brilliant stars that stood out in the heavens. Her father had made certain she would recognise it.
The growl sounded again, closer this time, but now she knew what she had to do. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her dagger.
The wolf leapt and she turned, crouching low and swinging inward with the blade. She felt it bite deep into the creature’s flesh, her hands turning warm from the hot liquid that spilled out from the mortal wound.
The wolf rolled onto its back as it tried in vain to reach the deadly injury in its throat. The howling had ceased and the bright eyes that had looked at her hungrily withdrew into the night, suddenly aware of the savagery in this eight-year-old girl.
She watched as the wolf gave a final yelp and died, and she knew that she needed warmth to survive. She lay atop the animal’s body, gripping its fur tightly in her bloodied, clenched fists. The sweet scent from the wound sickened her as she embraced the warm corpse.
The matron noted a slight smile on the face of the girl as she slept. It was the first sign of any happiness that she had seen, and she prayed it heralded a recovery.
“Run and inform Sir Amik, Elise!” she barked. “I think she might be waking.”
The warmth of the wolf made her sleep. She was exhausted and hungry, but she knew she was safe.
“Wolf Cub” was what they called her when they found her some hours later-“Kara-Meir” in their language. A dozen hardy dwarfs led by the master forger Phyllis had set off from the mountain to investigate the flames from the village. They were dour folk who rarely mixed with the humans who lived in the shadow of the mountain, but they knew how hard life on the edge of The Wilderness could be.
She had woken to see them standing over her, their ashen faces wrinkled in concern. They had talked for an hour amongst themselves, speaking in a language she could not understand, forcing her to drink a hot liquid that made her cough and splutter but which restored feeling to her chilled limbs. The dwarfs had ventured as far as they dared, unwilling in their small band to confront the likes of Sulla and his Kinshra, for it was a rescue mission, not one of war.
Master Phyllis lifted her up onto his own back, her bare arms clasped about his neck, taking comfort in knowing that they had not failed-not entirely-that they had rescued at least one innocent from the ravages of the wild.
Outside, in the courtyard, the sound of hooves clattering over stone could be heard, followed by the white mare’s neigh of celebration now that she was home and safe.
In the ward, Kara-Meir’s eyes opened as the smell of clean linen and a warm fire blazing in a hearth reminded her of something she thought she had forgotten. It was the smell of happiness and people, bringing back memories of her family in their cabin and of her happy youth, before the time of Sulla.
She knew then, as she had known all those years ago when Master Phyllis had taken her from the mountainside and adopted her as his own, that she was safe.