“Come to think of it,” the old knight went on. “Maybe that was his name before?” He turned, looking at the dog. “Toby. Here boy.” When he patted his leg, the mastiff gave a growl. “Huh. Maybe not, then…”

“We’re not naming him,” Jonik said, with a tone of finality. “We’re giving him away when we reach the border, and that’s that.” He looked down the track they’d been following for some hours, an old dirt road that weaved between small woods and over swollen rivers, past open fields where great puddles had formed, creating bogs and muddy marshes. The rains had fallen on and off for days, often cold, sometimes spitting with hail, and there had even been some sleet one cold misty morning as well. Gerrin knew these parts best, though Harden was a few years older. They both agreed this weather was not normal. “How far are we?”

“Close,” Gerrin said. “We’ll be there in an hour or so.” He pointed ahead. “When we pass those trees we ought to see the statues again.”

Jonik nodded. They’d seen the twin statues many times over the last few days, growing closer with each glimpse. The last had been only a few hours ago, when they’d summited a shallow rise among some grassy hills and seen them standing sentry at the border, towering a thousand feet tall, guarding the way to south and north as the sun rose in the east. Vandar faced north, glaring down at the denizens of Tukor. Tukor faced south, warily watching the men of Vandar. Both wore hard, fearsome expressions on their giant faces, as though warning any man entering their kingdom to behave, else there’d be trouble. Yet when a man returned, it was different, people said. A Vandarian who had travelled to Tukor, and was passing back south across the border, would see a different expression on the Steel God’s visage. Hard, yes, but somehow more inviting. Welcome home, that face would say. We have missed you. Come on through.

And what face will I get? Jonik wondered now. He was both Vandarian and Tukoran by blood, born of the royal houses Lukar and Daecar. Will I be welcomed by each of the gods for that, or looked upon with suspicion? He imagined it would be the latter. Suspicion was familiar to Jonik, a shadow that had trailed him all his life.

The dirt track led into the trees, moving through an open thicket of oak and elm. When they came out on the other side, the twin statues came into view, closer than ever, only a couple of miles away. Jonik took a grip of his godsteel dagger, enhancing his sight to get a better look. The clouds were low, the fogs thick, yet all the same he could see some damage to the twins. One of Vandar’s shoulders was blackened, and it seemed to him that the fingers on Tukor’s right hand - the hand that held the hammer - were chipped away, scorch marks staining the stone.

“The dragons have attacked them,” Jonik observed.

“They always do,” Harden said. “Every time there’s war, some dragon comes and has a nibble. You’d think they’d learn by now. Those statues aren’t coming down, no matter what they do. Would take a hundred of them breathing at the base to topple them, and even that would take a while. There’s magic in that rock.”

Ilith’s magic, Jonik thought. It still felt so strange to think that he had met the demigod…stranger still that he was serving him.

They followed the road until it turned westward, leading toward the broad, stone-paved thoroughfare that passed between the statues. The twin gods were spaced two hundred metres apart, forming a valley of sorts between them in which the border town had sprung up, popularly known as the Valley of the Gods. Here were stables, taverns, blacksmiths, farriers, tailors, armourers and weaponsmiths, even a pillowhouse or two. Market stalls lined the route, selling foods, ales, wines and rums, clothes and jewellery, spices, medicines, ointments, shoes, weapons and armour and a whole lot more. People had always gathered here in their droves, taking advantage of the lack of duties applied to the goods they bought. Some came only to trade, others to meet friends old and new, while the rest passed south and north, moving between the kingdoms.

Today, the town was teeming. From the south, a great river of people, rich and poor alike, were pouring up the thoroughfare.

“Refugees,” Gerrin said, as soon as they saw them. “From East Vandar, I’d guess, escaping the war. Must be thousands of them.”

“Thousands of mouths to feed,” grunted Harden. “That Ilith better be stocking his halls and larders. Might have a few people begging at his door soon enough.”

Jonik had left that in Lord Morwood’s care, seeing as his royal cousin had washed her hands of it. She would help, in time, Ilith had claimed, though that might have been more in hope than expectation. Maybe when she sees the teeming masses gathering at the city gates, she’ll decide to lift a finger to help. He wasn’t going to hold his breath.

The noise the refugees made was a doleful thing. A din of rattling wagons and weeping women, whimpering children and bawling babes. Grim-faced men tried to hold it all together, staring out with hollow eyes as they wandered up the road. Many looked starved and helpless, and the injured were in great abundance. Animals moved among them. Dogs walking forlornly, cats hissing in cages, goats bleating, chickens clucking, the occasional malnourished cow being led along on a rope.

Gerrin led them on in the opposite direction, heading south toward the border crossing. A few heads lifted and looked at them as they passed by, perhaps wondering what madness would compel them to go that way, but not many. Most were too lost in their horrors to notice.

Ahead, the great soaring statue of Tukor, the Forge God, loomed. From here Jonik could see little more than the great kite-shaped shield that he wore on his back, the hint of his right hand, bearing the hammer, a little outstretched to one side, with those tips of fingers missing. Below, great chunks of stone had fallen down onto the road, dwarfing the wagons as they wended around them, and high above birds swirled about the head and shoulders, tiny as fruit flies, giving scale to its staggering size.

Beneath the great shadow, the border guards were doing their searches, checking the carts and wagons as they passed north. There were two gates built into the walls here at the base of the statue; one for those passing into Tukor, and another for those seeking to go south, through the Valley of the Gods, and into Vandar. Despite the great flow of traffic seeking to take the former route, the guards were only using the assigned gate, rather than opening both of them to those making for Tukor. It seemed senseless to Jonik but he wasn’t going to complain. The soldiers there were standing by the walls, leaning against the stone, chatting with one another, looking bored.

One moved away from the others to intercept them as they approached, dressed in a cloak of Tukoran brown and green, stitched with the royal coat of arms in fine silver thread. “Your business here?” he asked them, planting the butt of his spear on the ground.

“Passing south,” said Gerrin. That was obvious, given the direction of travel they were going.

“Just you?” The guard looked them over, but this should be a formality. Typically the border soldiers were much more interested in checking those travelling into, rather than out of, the kingdom.

“Just us,” Gerrin confirmed. “Though we’re looking to move on these two horses.” He pointed out the pair that Harden was leading on the stallion.

The guard gave them an appraising look. “That one’s only got one eye.”

“He still has four legs, thankfully. I would say that’s more important.”

“He looks starved.”

“Yes. Food usually helps correct that.” Gerrin smiled easily, in that way he had, an avuncular side that Jonik had not seen a great deal of during their days in the Shadowfort, as master and apprentice. Now it came out often. “Your choice. We will be happy to give them to the Vandarians instead.”

The man scowled. “No. They’d only starve them some more or eat them. They eat horse over there, you know. In Vandar. Barbarians.” He spat to the side. There was no love lost between the border guards here at Tukor’s Pass, though the rivalry was mostly in jest, Jonik knew. The chuckling of the men behind made that clear enough.

“We’ll all be eating horse soon,” Harden said, morosely. “That’s what happens when you run out of mutton and beef.” He dismounted his stallion, landing heavily in his armour, which rustled beneath his cloak. That caused the guard to raise his eyes.

“You soldiers? Sellswords?”

“The latter,” Gerrin said. In a fashion it was true. They had sold their swords to Ilith now, for the price of trying to help save the world. “Looking to lend our efforts to the war.”

“I see.” The guard looked at the piebald palfrey, bearing the sickly form of Sir Lenard Borrington, swaddled up in that great black cloak. “And who is this? He looks in poor shape.”

That was an understatement. The man had been at death’s door since they’d found him, and would surely have perished already were it not for their intervention. Those deserters…Jonik closed a fist, trying not to dwell on their vile cruelty. Trying not to think about Devin.

“He is wounded,” Gerrin said. “We will seek medical aid across the border.”

“Why not here?”

“He’s Vandarian.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll not delay you, then.” He waved a hand, causing the other soldiers behind to part and let them through. As they moved past, the soldier called out, “You watch your backs in there. Those Vandarians. You cannot trust a single one of them! You hear me. Not a single one!”

That provoked more laughter from his friends. Harden, a Vandarian himself, only rolled his eyes and led the horses on.

They entered the Valley of the Gods. The border town was positively teeming. They veered at once to the side of the road, squeezing past the smallfolk making their way north, through the wagons and carts, past frightened children and noisy animals, men arguing, women shouting to be let through. Many had been here a while, Jonik sensed, all packed in tight as the soldiers made their checks. He wondered if he might take this opportunity to leap up onto some stall or shop roof and shout out to them all about the portal. Make for Ilithor, he might say. There is a portal that will take you into the mountains, and the safe refuge of Ilith’s sanctuary. The Worldbuilder will protect you.

But that would sound preposterous, and they would think him only mad, so he just said nothing and kept on walking, leading his horse along.

Most of the stalls and shops were closed, Jonik saw, but as they continued south, they found that a small amount of life still lingered here. One stall was selling roasted nuts, another soup from a pot, and they saw a whore standing on the balcony of one of the brothels, scantily clad despite the chill, beckoning them to employ her services. “You three look like you need ten minutes of fun. Half an hour, I’ll have you all. One after another or all together if you prefer! Give you a nice discount too.”

They politely refused, Jonik hastening past her, barely even giving the woman a glance. Jack would poke at me and tease me for that, he thought. The big, redheaded marshlander had always made fun of him for his chastity, a matter of annoyance to Jonik, but he missed it all the same.

The statue of Vandar filled the view ahead, a work of unsurpassed magnificence. Bearded he stood, with his great blade planted into the ground at his colossal feet, a huge rippling cloak trailing heroically behind him. Jonik craned his neck up, meeting the Steel God’s gaze. It was looking right down at him, in that mysterious, inscrutable way, with an expression of surpassing authority etched into his eyes. The eyes were judging him, he deemed, following him like the statue of Thala in the refuge. Help me win my war, they seemed to say. Help restore my Heart.

Jonik stopped a moment, letting the others go ahead of him. Standing there amid the bustle, he inclined his head into a bow, and said, “I will, my lord,” before continuing on…and as he did so, the face seemed to change again. He saw approval in that great stone face, a look to stir the soul.

The guards at the border were judging them as well, watching as they made their approach. There were two gates here also. The layout was much the same as on the Tukoran side, with one for passing north and the other for passing south. As before, only one gate was being used for the refugees, though the wagons and carts were not being so thoroughly checked. For the most part they were being waved through without so much as a glance.

“They’ll ask more questions here,” Gerrin said, as they approached. “We’re entering Vandar, so…”

Jonik understood. “Will Amilia’s seal work?”

“Hopefully we won’t need it. Sir Lenard should suffice.”

A soldier stepped forward to bar their way, several others standing behind, watching. The guard wore a silver breastplate and blue cloak, stitched with the sigil of his kingdom. Banners of the same flapped against the walls. A wind was picking up and the clouds were thickening in the skies.

“Your business entering Vandar?” the man asked.

Manifold, Jonik thought. He let Gerrin do the talking.