Maren Jolt had guarded Bilecreek's gate for a hundred years, and today she meant to walk through it. She was seven feet of iron plate, her helm dented, her legs green with moss from standing still so long. The town elders had given her one task before the sickness took them: carry the last orphan through the cursed wilds to the safe haven beyond. The child stood at the gate now. He would not move. The boy gripped the mossy stone of the gatehouse with both small hands. His knuckles went white. Past the archway, the wilds waited — grey trees, black water, and things that hunted in the fog. He shook his head. He would not step onto the road. Maren knelt. Her joints groaned. Moss cracked and fell from her knees. She held out one huge gauntlet, but the boy shrank back against the stone. "I won't leave you," she said. Her voice rang hollow inside the helm. It only frightened him more. Boots splashed through mud behind her. Maren turned. A broad woman crossed the yard, sword slung across her back, plate armor rusted and caked with filth. Kael Prentwick. She had come to the gate three times, begging any master to take her sword. Each time the elders turned her away. Now the elders were dead, and she had come anyway. "You'll never coax him with that face," Kael said. She stopped beside Maren and looked down at the trembling child. "He's not scared of the road. He's scared of losing you in the fog." Maren said nothing. She had not thought of that. Kael crouched. She pulled a length of frayed rope from her belt and tied one end to the boy's wrist. She tied the other end to Maren's gauntlet. "There," Kael told him. "Now you can't lose her. She can't lose you. Even in the dark." The boy stared at the rope. He tugged it. The gauntlet moved. He tugged again, harder, and Maren let her whole arm follow, slow and heavy. A small sound came from the child — almost a laugh. Maren stood. She took one step past the gate. The rope went taut. The boy stumbled forward one pace, then caught himself. He did not scream. He did not let go of the rope. "Good," Kael said. She rose and drew her sword. It was too big for most men to lift. She lifted it easy. "You'll need a second blade out there. I'm not asking permission anymore." Maren looked at the road, then at the woman no one wanted. She had no elders left to refuse for her. "Walk on my left," Maren said. The three of them passed under the archway. The moss-soft gate stood open behind them for the first time in a hundred years. Ahead, the fog swallowed the road, and something in it began to move.