Matthias’ fingers lightly traced the brocade box. The cool silk beneath his touch did nothing to dry the sweat dampening his palm. He glanced at Leopold, who was drinking with Barto.
Leopold threw his head back to chug a large cup of amber liquor. As his Adam’s apple bobbed, his gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, toward the copper pot stashed in the corner of the igloo.
Inside was the drugged liquor they had prepared. It was concocted from a poisonous herb native to the snowy plains that emitted a faint, sweet scent. Once mixed into strong alcohol, it was nearly undetectable.
“Chief Barto, your alcohol tolerance is astounding,” Leopold said.
He slammed his empty cup onto the table, sending ice chips flying. “This ‘Glacier’s Kiss’ hits like a hammer. Most men would be flat on their backs after three cups, yet here you stand, unshaken. No wonder they call you the Mighty Eagle of Frostwarden.”
Barto roared with laughter, and his amber eyes crinkled. He gave Matthias a hearty slap on the shoulder with his thick arm.
“Drink!” he exclaimed.
Though his Dragonmari was broken, it carried an enthusiasm that brooked no refusal as he refilled Matthias’ cup.
Matthias forced a smile and endured the liquor’s fiery sting down his throat. “It is an honor to share a drink with you, Chief Barto,” he said.
He secretly circulated his true energy to divert the alcohol’s effects to his limbs, but his fingertips trembled faintly with tension.
Meanwhile, Leopold had already secretly slipped the drug into Barto’s cup. Now, it was only a matter of waiting for it to take effect.
In the corner, Neville sat with his lone arm resting on the long sword at his waist. His vigilant eyes swept over the assembled yeti warriors.
The wound on his back throbbed dully. Each breath tugged painfully at torn flesh, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to make a sound.
Matthias had ordered him to stay behind earlier and tend to the wounded, but he had insisted on coming. As he watched Matthias and Leopold perform their coordinated act, his palm was slick with cold sweat.
After three rounds of drinks, Barto’s eyes grew hazy. His large frame started to sway, and the strings of ice beads around his neck clattered erratically. He slammed on the table, splattering hot broth from the copper pot, but didn’t even notice.
“Friends… Friends recognized by the spiritual stag…”
“Of course,” Matthias responded, raising his cup. “When I return to the central plain, we shall drink until dawn.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Leopold subtly flash a hand signal that meant the drug was about to take effect.
A few moments later, Barto suddenly grunted. His massive body crashed to the ground, toppling the wine jars on the table. Liquor slipped across the ice floor, filling the air with a sharp, biting stench. The surrounding yeti warriors rose to their feet, but Leopold beat them to it.
“Chief Barto is drunk. Get him to his room, “he ordered. None of them doubted a thing, and the drunken yetis stumbled over each other as they carried Barto away.
Leopold exchanged a quick glance with Matthias. Under the guise of helping the drunken Barto, the two quietly slipped out of the igloo.
The night wind had a bitter edge, stinging their faces.
Matthias wrapped his cloak tightly around him and followed Leopold through the silent streets. The ice beneath their feet mirrored the overcast sky, casting their elongated shadows ahead like slender giants.
Neville followed closely with two elite soldiers. The rasp of their drawn blades was unnaturally loud in the hollow silence of the valley.
“The reindeer pen is just ahead,” Leopold whispered, pointing toward a faintly glowing enclosure ahead. “The tunnel entrance is hidden beneath the easternmost stable, covered by three loose ice bricks.”
Matthias’ heart hammered in his chest. With every step, he felt like the ice beneath him might give way at any moment.
He couldn’t help but glance back. The bonfires of Frostfang Valley still flickered in the distance, but not a single voice carried through the night.
“Are you sure no one will notice?” he asked, keeping his voice low, but it did nothing to hide the faint tremor in it.
“The High Seer’s ritual dance lasts a full four hours,” Leopold responded in a hushed tone. “Right now, the guards are in the middle of changing shifts. Besides, Barto will be out cold until dawn.”
Though he spoke confidently, he quickened his pace. Uneasy cries came from the reindeer pen. The animals’ breath condensed into white puffs in the frigid air.
Leopold lifted the stable curtain, and the thick smell of fodder washed over them. He crouched, then stepped on the ice bricks. Three of them gave back a hollow sound, just as he expected.
“Quick!”
He motioned for the soldiers to move the bricks, which revealed a pitch-black opening.
“Go down the stairs and walk about half a mile. It will lead you to the snowy plain outside the valley,” he said.
Matthias was the first to duck into the hole. A wave of damp, frigid air hit him. It was heavy with the scent of wet earth and ice.
The stairs were narrow and steep, barely wide enough for one person. With every step, he could hear the faint, unsettling sound of cracking ice overhead.
He gripped his sword tightly, but the hilt was slick with sweat from his palm. A sudden unease twisted in his gut since everything was going too smoothly.
“Mr. Murray, are you sure no one else knows of this secret passage?” he asked.
“Besides myself and the deceased former chieftain, no one knows,” Leopold’s voice came from behind him. “If Your Highness hesitates any longer and we are discovered, don’t blame me for failing to warn you.”
Matthias fell silent and hurried downward. Just then, a sliver of light appeared ahead.
“It’s the exit!” Leopold exclaimed excitedly. They quickened their pace and scrambled out of the tunnel, only to freeze instantly in place.
Under the moonlight, Barto’s towering figure stood imposingly on the snowy plain. Behind him were dozens of yeti warriors, with their glacial spears reflecting a cold gleam like a row of icy tombstones.
Barto’s eyes were clear and devoid of any drunken haze. The ice beads around his neck clattered together sharply, especially in the still night.
