About half a watch had passed since leaving Volga Outpost when the mist still lingered on the mountain path. The road stretching along the southern foothills of the Carnadoom Range was a simple one of laid stone. Wheel ruts pressed deep into the earth marked the passage of countless carts, and coniferous trees stood in rows on either side of the path. Mist seeped from the tips of the branches and flowed down to their feet. Kael Brightblade followed Aldric Ironheart's back, still dragging the stale air of yesterday's ruins with him. Aldric's gait never changed. Iron staff for smithing in his left hand, pack across his shoulders, his feet fell in a steady rhythm. Neither fast nor slow. It was a trained pace that belied his aged body. Kael continued several steps behind, watching the old man's back absently. Yesterday at the ruins—that moment when the old man had stopped at the rotted wooden fence before the fort, his expression had seemed to be looking at something beyond. The gestur