The mountains of Asterholm slowly disappeared behind them.
For two days, the royal expedition journeyed south along winding roads that hugged towering cliffs and frozen forests. The air had grown slightly warmer, though winter still ruled the land with an icy hand. Snow no longer fell in thick sheets but drifted lazily through the sky like feathers carried by the wind.
The silence among the travelers was different now.
The words of the blind scholar lingered in every mind.
“History remembers victories.”
“It buries truths.”
No one had spoken much since leaving the monastery.
Even Julian, who usually found something to tease, seemed lost in thought.
By late afternoon, Sir Roland rode ahead before raising a hand.
“We’ll make camp here.”
The party slowed.
Before them stretched a bro
