The service tunnels were supposed to be our salvation.
Silas ran with me in his arms, his powerful, blood-stained legs chewing up the frozen ground. Kael limped heavily behind us, using a snapped silver spear as a crude crutch, his breath a ragged, wet whistle in the darkness.
But the air wasn't getting any warmer, and the smell of the freezing mountain air was suddenly choked out by a wave of metallic ozone and heavy, marching footsteps.
Silas skidded to a halt at a dead end.
A massive, heavy iron portcullis blocked the exit to the outer slopes. And standing on the other side of the bars, surrounded by a phalanx of elite guards with silver-tipped crossbows raised, was Kaelen. He had anticipated our path. The tunnel wasn't a way out; it was another cage.
"Put her down, Silas," Kaelen
