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T he village was thrown up quickly, and the grass surrounding them cut back even further than before. There was no fire, even as the sun began to set, so their meal was a bowl of raw greens, seeds and crunchy roots – much to Winter’s dismay.

When this paltry succour was finished, Jai was led by the hand by a child to a small tent of his own, just on the edge of the village.

Situated on the outskirts, where the village was most susceptible to attack, the tent neighboured the most dilapidated dwellings. Jai secured the flaps tightly, wary of sabertoothed cats, direwolves or the terror birds said to roam the eastern Great Steppe – enormous flightless avians taller than a man sitting atop another’s shoulders.

The tent itself was a paltry thing made of a pair of khiroi furs, stitched together around a simple bamboo frame. The skins were old and frayed, with holes letting through the last hours of the spring sun. Another ragged fur laid on the flattened grass made for a makeshift rug, and Jai imagined he could fit the entire ensemble quite easily, folded upon Navi’s rump.

Jai didn’t mind. At last, he was alone with Winter.

The dragon chirred, resting her head in Jai’s lap before he had even settled. It felt like ages since they had enjoyed solitude together.

Indeed, he’d had but a single night with her following his escape from Porticus, and that had been spent soulbreathing before battle.

He took her in. She had grown so much, since she had first slithered from her egg into the fallen snow. In just one season, she had gone from the size of a house cat to that of an adolescent lion. Her scales had expanded with her, smooth and hard as porcelain teeth, and the wings, once folded so tight against her back that one might guess she had no wings at all, had loosened from their purchase.

Jai dared not dream of riding her just yet, for she was still growing. And from the hunger coiling in her belly, he knew that Winter, runtish already, needed more food.

Tomorrow, then. He’d find her some meat, even if he had to hunt it himself.

Now he let his body settle, closing his eyes and letting the meld overcome him. Now that they touched, he could feel her. Feel the warmth of his forehead against hers, the hunger roiling in her belly.

The fear, and the love, all directed at him. It was overwhelming in its intensity, yet Jai could only return the same emotion. He only wished he could strike the chain from her neck.

For a while, they remained that way, revelling in each other’s feelings. He ran his hand along Winter’s scales, feeling the scars where Beverlai’s direwolf had hurt her.

She had given so much. Travelled the length and breadth of the empire as little more than an infant, and freed him from his prison. He owed her his life, and more.

He felt tears spring to his eyes as he clutched her close, and she nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder. Now it was she who was in chains. And he who had to save her.

Someone is coming.

Again. That message, not in words, but meaning. Pulsing down their connection like a voice in his mind.

As if on cue, there was a tap on the outside of his tent, and a hand slipped through, tugging free the knot he had secured there.

Sindri ducked into the tent, and closed the flaps surreptitiously behind her. She looked at Jai and Winter, and sniffed.

‘Feng tells me you speak sithosi well,’ she said, enunciating clearly and slowly for Jai’s benefit.

Jai nodded, surprised at how much he understood. But he supposed he had once spoken it near fluently, as a young child. It was all coming back to him.

‘Zayn gave what is not his,’ she said. ‘Your dragon.’

Jai motioned at the grasslands outside, struggling to form the words. It was so much easier to listen to sithosi than speak it.

‘You think we can escape?’

Sindri smiled.

‘No,’ she allowed.

For a moment, she stared at him, searching his face. Then she pulled forth the diary from her furs.

‘You did good today,’ she said. ‘You showed... loyalty.’

She slapped the diary into his lap, and stood.

‘Keep the dragon. And the tent.’

With those parting words... she was gone.

Jai stared at the diary, amazed she would trust him with it. Though the gorget she still kept from him was the real proof of his heritage, the diary might well be enough on its own.

She was showing him trust. If he kept this up, he might just get Winter’s chain struck from her neck. For now, it was enough to have his dear totem back in his arms, purring contentedly.

He turned the diary over in his hands. It was in a terrible state, stuffed with loose papers, waybills, scouting reports and the like. It had suffered much in his travels, such that he could hardly read the words on the first page. Jai flipped to the second.

Today, I begin my campaign. Three legions, marching into the depths of the Great Steppe, turning off the well-trodden path of the Kashmere Road. This place is like no other I have travelled. It is like a great, green desert, stretching as far as the eye can see.

There are no cities to march on and lay siege to. No rivers to dam, nor roads to block. There are no trees for our camp walls, nor wood to burn. Water, at least, is plentiful, for it lives but a few feet below the surface.

The grass rises high as my chest in places, and our horses can only push through it for but a few hours before they tire. The grass is unpalatable to them, and they cannot stomach it. My men bring grain for them by the wagonful.

We travel but a few miles each day, and my soldiers’ arms weigh heavy from hacking it. I can only thank the heavens for Rufinus, and his Gryphon Guard. They fly above, and guide us towards the enemy. They protect our supply route, for the steppe raiders circle like vultures. Without them, we would be lost.

And there it was. On the very second page. Rufus, or rather, Rufinus, as he had once been known. It had taken so long for Jai to read more than the cover page, and then he had traded it away, like hack silver. He had been ashamed to read about Leonid’s defeat of his own people. Of his own father.

No longer.

Still, Jai was left in near darkness within the tent, for the sun had at last set. Even with the slivers of moonlight cutting through the moth-eaten hides, he could hardly see the faded letters, soulbound eyes or no.

Jai closed them, and allowed the trance to take him once more, clutching the dragon to his chest. If Sindri had allowed him to keep Winter, it meant his trade with Zayn was being honoured. He would need all the mana he could get.