The storm was howling outside, but the insides of the raftsman's cabin were warm and homely. Alfred was sipping hot tea from his cup. The old raftsman was a merry old man, full of stories from his younger days. He knew all that went around the river and the crossing. When Merin asked him about the orcish army and how it crossed the river, he answered gingerly:

-Ah, you want me to tell about those buggers? Well, there isn't much to tell there. They never came this much downriver. They must've crossed higher up. I hear they built a dark bridge just to cross the river, and that they burned it straight afterwards. A small scouting party of orcs came about here no more than a week ago, but I handled them all right.

With this the old man smiled a crooked smile, and then pulled out an orc's hood out of the trunk sitting next to him. It seemed that orcs received a merry welcome in this house; Alfred thought. His respect for this old warrior just came up more than one notch.

Once again they told stories to each other. Events from long ago and far away unfolded as each person talked of his adventures. The old raftsman had much to tell, but he was a good listener too. Merin sang of the forests of his home, and of birds and animals in the brushes, and of the hunt. Alfred spoke fondly of his homeland, friends, playmates, and of his learnings. The halflings shared a long, funny story of their coming to this land, and it was to their story that everyone laughed the most. When the old clock in the cabin struck midnight, everyone slowly slipped from consciousness into deep, long sleep.

The fire was dancing in the fireplace, and the clock had just struck three hours past midnight. The cabin was quiet, while snows were swirling outside. Dreams came to Alfred now. He was standing on a wind-swept plain that stretched all the way to the horizon. The horizon harbored blood-red shadows of the Misty Mountains. The land was totally desolate. Strangely, though, Alfred felt no fear or loneliness. Suddenly, in a slow, jerky kind of motion, pictures began to appear in front of his eyes. It was as if someone recorded his life as a series of pictures and was now showing it to him. His youth; his hunting and sparring with the sword; his studies; his travel to here; everything was shown there. Near the end the pictures grew more dark, and it seemed that the source of light was somehow inside him. Then he felt warmth on his chest, and he noticed the medallion that hung there. It was glowing warmly, and suddenly Alfred understood. The medallion was the source of light. It glowed with inner brilliance. Now a figure appeared, shrouded in the dark cloak. The figure spoke with his stepfather's voice:

-Alfred, the mists are thickening now. You must hurry, hurry to me. Ebening awaits. Remember the light! Remember the light!

The figure started to retreat, repeating its last words. Alfred started to move towards it, when suddenly he felt cold surround him. The land around him disappeared, and now he was standing at the bottom a dark chasm of ice. It was terribly cold here, and Alfred started to shiver. Now a darkness formed around him, and it spoke:

-Come to us, young one. Give us what we need. Give us what we want. Give us the crystal!

Suddenly the darkness reached forward and seized Alfred's arm. Painful numbness spread through there, and Alfred panicked and tried to break his arm free. The light of crystal started to grow dim, and chasm was opening below him. Now he was falling deep below, and the darkness was all around him, suffocating him, freezing his soul. He just seemed to be falling forever, screaming and falling, deeper and deeper.

Alfred awoke with a start. Right above him was a face, a face that then materialized into Banion's in a moment when Alfred finally focused his eyes. Banion smiled and grinned, and said:

-Good morrow, friend Alfred. Are you in want of a breakfast?

Shaking off the strange dream, Alfred smiled in response and rose from his covers. The cabin around him was busy with people cooking, people washing, people cleaning their tools and sharpening them. Fire played in the fireplace, and their generous host was already baking bread on a grid in the fireplace. Banion went back to making some eggs for breakfast, while Rusty was busy letting the tea-kettle boil. Merin was letting his clothes from the last night dry after he washed them, and was now sharpening the tips of his arrows. Seeing everybody already at work, Alfred went out to care for the horses.

The world outside was completely changed. There was no trace left of the low, sheltered flood plain of a large river. It was midmorning, but all of the world was coated in white. For a moment Alfred was lost in the reflections of the bright sunlight coming off the snow from all directions. All the way to the horizon, his eyes saw nothing but a great vastness of white. Soon, however, he caught his bearings, and began to discern small differences in the shading of the snow that indicated the hills and the valleys around the raftsman's abode. The river was still rushing freely in the middle, but more than half of it was covered in a coat of ice. The raft that carried them across ere last night was safely locked in the ice right next to the small pier. Seeing the world like this now told Alfred that autumn was over and that the harsh winter was here. Still, it was impossible not to be joyous standing there in crisp, fresh air, under the brilliant blue sky and feeling the warmth of the sun shining on your shoulders. The memory of last night's dream faded away as Alfred stepped into the stables in the side of the house.

Inside he was welcomed with warmth and friendly neighing of horses. Their breaths were white with vapor condensing in the air, and with a start Alfred noticed his breath was white too. He chuckled to himself. Then he went to the side of the stables, and put out some feed for the horses under them. Noticing the fresh hay under their feet, Alfred guessed that Merin was with them earlier this morning. Feeling happy and relaxed, Alfred rubbed his horse's mane, and afterwards used a small brush to take out all weeds and remaining grasses out of it. After the horses had been taken care of, he stepped back out and looked again to the North, to the outline of mountains overhanging him. The Misty Mountains deserved their name, and today only their bottom hills and highest peaks were visible, shining in sunlight. Everything else was covered in white fog, mists swirling around the precipitous cliffs. Thinking of the road ahead, Alfred realized that the paths into the Mountains are bound to be treacherous, and doubly so now, after the snows had fallen. His only hope was that he arrives at the passes before the snows close them up. Still, although the snow will slow them down, Alfred hoped that today's sunny weather would continue for at least a couple more days, so that he can reach the foothills of Mountains before the next blizzard. Remembering the breakfast that was cooking inside, he turned around and walked back into the cabin.

Inside the breakfast was ready. Delicious bread rolls and eggs with bacon, as well as hot tea, spread their aromas around the cabin. Merin put down his arrows and sat down with Alfred, while the halflings brought the food to the table. The old raftsman was the last one to sit down, bringing his bread rolls with him. After a customary exclamation of gratitude to their host, the group started to eat. Everyone had at least one serving of eggs and bread, and the halflings had two at least, each one that is. They smiled with full mouths, and incited laughter in everyone else. Then they all drank the hot tea, and put away the dishes. Sitting down at the table again, the raftsman spoke to all of them:

-Dear travelers, yesterday we crossed just before the storm iced the river over. Now there is nothing more left for me to do. You are the last passengers before the winter, and as such, it has been a custom in this business for a long time that the last passenger of the year receives a small offering to give back to the river in thanks for the year and promise of easy passage next summer.

The old man took out a small, exquisitely carved little wooden oar, no longer then three inches, out of his pocket. He put it in Alfred's hand. He then continued:

-You were the last one to leave the river this year in crossing it, and so you should be the one to offer it to the river.

Accepting the delicate oar with care, Alfred responded to the old man:

-Thank you sir, for the hospitality you offered me and my friends tonight and this morning. Before we leave, I shall give this offering to the river, and wish that your next year be just as fruitful as the one before.

Nodding and grinning, the old man rose from the table and went to grab his coat. Alfred set the halflings packing, and Merin collected his arrows. About a minute later they all exited the cabin through the door. Merin went to the stables to fetch the horses, while the raftsman drilled a hole in the ice near the shore with his dagger. The water rushed under the ice in its unending run to the sea. Alfred slowly stepped to the ice, and then dropped the oar into the water, while silently praying to whichever deities were listening to delay the snows that were coming so his company can make it to the passes before they are blocked by avalanches. Alfred spent a moment standing like that, and then turned around, and went back to horses. The others had already mounted them, and Alfred was last to take the rein of his horse. Then everyone greeted the raftsmaster, and he said his goodbyes. Then they turned around and started towards the north and the foothills of the Misty Mountains looming above them. The raftsman watched them as they went over the first hill and then disappeared behind the white horizon, into the white, white world of cold and sunlight. Sighing shalowly, he then turned his back to the travelers and started to walk back to the warmth and security of his dwelling. The river was closed and impassable, and the winter had come.

The small group was passing the snow-covered hills. Soon they rose out of the now-small valley of Froas back into the foothills. The sun was shining brightly on them, but the temperatures were well below freezing point. The snow glistened, and whiteness made it hard to judge distances and scan the terrain ahead. Their progress was slow, because horses tended to fall into pits with deep snow, and those were very hard to spot beforehand. Here and there pines and other evergreens stood in small groups, sheltering against the wind the howled in these hills. Even those trees were covered in white, though, and offered no respite to the eye from the merciless white wasteland. Still, today the wind was almost nonexistent, and travel was better then it could have been. Alfred decided not to stop at noon because he feared they would need all the time they could get to reach the passes before they become blocked, and Merin agreed. The halflings seemed not to pay attention to this, captivated by the white world they were crossing. In their homeland weather was warm and wet most of the time, and it never snowed. This wasn't the first time they had seen snow, but still they were dumbfounded by the power of the snow covering everything to change the landscape into something completely different. They passed one snow-covered hill after another, laboring to choose the right path among them. The summer road was covered in snow, and they had lost it some time ago. Now they were treading their own pathways through the knee-deep snow drifts. Sun began to drop again to the western horizon, and the air itself grew colder with the onset of the evening. Still Alfred saw no sign of a friendly dwelling, in fact a dwelling of any kind, for he was loathe to camp in the snow, whipped by the now-rising wind from the Mountains. Thinking that it would be best to go as far as they can before sunset, he pushed his horse stronger into the snow drifts. Merin followed on his steed, concerned about the rising wind.

Wind speed increased just as the air grew colder. Soon the horses were seeing their steamy breaths condense and drop to the ground not far from their nostrils. The sun sat low on the western horizon, and now it disappeared from everyone's view as they rode into the deep valleys between the hills. As soon as they lost sight of the sun, it grew noticeably colder. This cold warned Alfred that if they had to camp they would have to have a fire, and firewood was scarce in the hills. Still hoping to find some outpost of hospitality and civilization before dark, he carried on. An hour passed, and now the sun had sunk below the hills in the west. Cold was terrible. The sky was clear, and as the colors went from orange to red to purple and then to blue shades, the stars began to appear above the small company. As the world turned itself away from the sun, and warmth, the cold of winter and the dark of the night gripped it tightly in their deadly grasp. Wind was now sweeping snow, and it was making travel very difficult. It got into eyes, ears, cooled the faces, and stung the cheeks. Finally Alfred realized that they needed to stop. Looking around in desperation, he realized that there were no trees anywhere in sight. He stopped for a moment to look at the surrounding hills, when Merin shouted to him over the wind:

-There, Alfred, ahead and to the left! I see a light! We've found a refuge after all. Come, follow me!

Alfred looked, but couldn't see anything in that direction besides the snow. Still, trusting his friend implicitly, he set his horse to follow Merin. Banion, sitting behind him, tugged at his shoulder, and pointed Alfred's eyes in the right direction. Straight ahead was a tiny light of sorts, hidden by the ridge of a hill. Soon they arrived to the top of the ridge, and gazed on the valley below.

The valley was hiding a small village, with no more than a dozen or so houses. The light they saw was a fire, burning in a brazier under one of the houses, one that looked like a store of some kind. The village was surrounded by grim tall evergreens, and houses were all surrounded by a tall stone wall, maybe six feet tall and two feet wide. All houses were made of stone, and were covered in snow. Not a living soul was to be seen, and there was no smoke rising from the chimneys. The pens behind the houses that should've held sheep and cattle, were empty and silent. A strange feeling gripped Alfred as he watched the village; the sense of being watched somehow. But it was cold, and wind was blowing. Spending a night in the hills with no fire was out of the question, and this village, no matter how strange it looked, would certainly provide better shelter then their blankets can in the middle of the night on a barren hill. So Alfred followed Merin down into the valley, not mentioning his strange feeling of the place to anyone.

They descended the steep sides via a path that wound between the trees. The path was covered with snow, and looked out of use. As they entered the shelter of the treetops, wind slowed down, and the cold abated a little. Soon they were standing in front of a wooden gate in the stone wall around the village. The tall trees and the wall hid the insides of the village from view, but the gates were open. Cautiously looking inside, Merin assured them he saw nothing suspicious, and they rode in through the gates. Alfred followed right behind him. They were standing in a snow drift that covered the main street of the village. Houses stood at both sides of the street, set right next to each other for warmth. A small gust of wind from the back prompted Alfred to look back at the gate. Immediately another, stronger gust pushed the gate, and the wood slammed shut. The sound reverberated uneasily through the valley. Shrugging off the event as just a random gust of wind, Alfred turned back and faced the street leading into the village proper. The street went straight to the other end of the valley, and intersected at the right angle some paces ahead, in the center of the village. In the center of the village they saw a small square, and a well in its center. There was no sign of life anywhere. All doors were closed, all windows shut with wooden shutters. There was no light, fire, sound or cry to tell of people living here. The village seemed totally dead, and devoid of all life.

Nonplused, Merin led his horse straight into the main village square. Here they saw the storehouse with the burning brazier. It was at the northern end of the square, and was noticeably bigger than the rest of dwellings. It had a wooden overhang in front that protected the iron brazier standing there, burning with a bright orange flame. The flames of the brazier seemed somehow alive with a spirit of their own, as they danced in the metal bowl. There was no wind, and yet the flames swirled around. The store had one tall double door on their hinges, so Alfred stepped forward and knocked on the door. Nothing but silence answered him. He stood there, indecisive, while Merin dismounted and then, seeing Alfred standing there, simply opened the door.

The doors opened to a large room with a tall ceiling. Its floor was covered with hay, and a fireplace stood in the far corner of the room. Empty sacks and several crushed wooden crates lay in one corner, but the room was otherwise empty. Alfred dismounted as well, and led his horse inside. Then he turned around, and when Merin led his mount inside too, he shut the door to the outside. Inside it was cold, but Alfred noticed a pile of wood in one corner, and took some logs out of it and put them into the fireplace. Right after that he took his flint and the steel tip and started a fire with the logs and some wooden bits lying around. Meanwhile the halflings dismounted, and set out their gear on the floor. Merin tied the horses to one of the pillars supporting the room, and then stepped to the front windows to look outside. The window was surprisingly clear of frost, and it showed the iron brazier burning in front of the store. Banion took out his cooking pot, and opened the door to the outside to grab some snow for cooking water. Rusty fetched the dry food from his pack, and gingerly started to arrange plates and utensils for a dinner. Alfred smiled when he saw the halflings go to work. There were happy creatures, he concluded. Here they were, in midst of snow-covered hills, in an abandoned village, with the strange brazier burning in front of their shelter, and all they could think of was their next meal.

With the fire burning bright in the fireplace, warmth began to fill the room where they stayed. The horses had enough hay in their corner to stay full, and Banion was cooking a soup in the pot over the fire. Alfred relaxed, figuring the strange feeling he had about this place was just a feeling, nothing more. Outside, everything was quiet. The meal was good, and filled all their stomachs. Merin started to sing a traveling song, and Alfred joined him. The halflings didn't know the words, but they hummed, and drummed the rhythm on the floor. Soon enough, however, the song was sung, and everybody was a little sleepy. Banion was less tired then the rest of them, so Merin and Alfred agreed to let him take the first watch. Merin took it upon himself to take the second one. With the guard duty set, everyone except Banion the halfling went to sleep. Banion then settled himself comfortably with his back to the fire, and covered himself with a blanket, preparing for a long guard.

The room was warm, the blanket comfortable, and the good food of his last meal began to get to Banion. He started to fell sleepy. Slowly his eyes began to close. Once he tried again to keep them open, but he was too tired. Again he closed his eyes, this time falling asleep almost immediately afterwards. Everyone was asleep now, and the fire was dying out. Outside the brazier was burning just as bright. Time passed, and now the dancing flames in the brazier began to change. First they turned dark, as if the fire was dying out, but the flames instead turned black, and a black shadow began to form above. A dark shape, twisting and swirling, rose from the brazier. All of the fire disappeared now as the shape grew two black hands, and two points of red appeared on it. As if scanning his surroundings, the shape turned around slowly, seemingly absorbing every detail of its environment. It now turned to the store, and issued a quiet, high-pitched chuckle. Waving its arms, small tendrils of darkness shot out from it into the ground in all directions. The snow began to move in places around the village. The shade chuckled again, and continued to wave its arms.

Banion awoke suddenly, hearing some kind of a sound. For a moment he was wondering where he was, but then he remembered. Then he realized he had fallen asleep on guard duty, and his cheeks grew red for a moment. Then he heard the chuckle outside. It was an odd sound, and it raised shivers on Banion's back, but he rose, fortifying his heart, and went to the window to peek outside. What he saw froze his soul. A dark shadow was hovering above the ground, waving its arms all around, and from everywhere in the village forms of Men were rising from the ground, disturbing the snow in slow, careful motions. Their faces and their bodies were decaying, and some were not much more than skeletons, but still they rose from the ground, and moved towards the dark shade. Terrified, Banion shrieked suddenly, waking up everyone:

-Eeek! Monsters are coming! Wake up! Wake up!

Aroused suddenly from his sleep, Alfred took a moment to figure out what was going on. Banion was shrieking something about the monsters outside, and everyone else was awake too. Seeing the terrified look on his face, Alfred rose quickly and ran to the window where Banion was pointing his hand. Outside, the shade, hearing the shriek, turned quickly, and called in a burrowing pitched sound, summoning the undead. The corpses, animated by an evil magic, began to move faster to the storehouse and the village square. Alfred saw all of this, and realized suddenly where were they. A legend he heard a long time ago, about a village that was cursed by the spirit of an evil necromancer the villagers had burned at the stake, to rise after death and serve him. The name of the village was Longhorn, and it was rumored to be in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. It seemed that Alfred had found the long-lost Longhorn, and its undead inhabitants. Realizing all this, he shouted:

-Undead! Everyone, grab your weapons! Foes are on our doorstep! Merin, release the horses!

Merin nodded quickly and went to untie the horses, while the halflings grew serious, and grabbed their shortswords. While Alfred sheathed his blade, and readied himself to open the door, both halflings grabbed long sticks of wood, and tore some sacks, dipping them in Rusty's bottle of cooking oil. Then they put them to the log embers still burning in the fireplace, and now they wielded torches in their hands. As the first of the undead began to reach the door, Alfred suddenly sprang and opened it, and then sheathed his Blade of Light to full view. Bright white light shone forth from his blade, blinding the zombies, and stopping them. The dark shade, struck by the light, seemed to grow dim and recede, and retreated into the shadows of the square, screaming in pain. It then made a hallow sound, and the zombies started to move once more. Two approached Alfred from the right, stretching their hands out, clawing at him. Alfred turned and swung his blade in a wide arc, hitting both monsters with the same blow. As the sharp blade struck the undead flesh, the undead fell with a thud and turned to dust, disappearing in the snow. Behind him another zombie was reaching his hands to grab Alfred. Hearing it thud on the firm ground under the overhang, Alfred swung around and struck horizontally with his sword. The blade shuddered at impact, and another creature fell to ground and turned to dust. Meanwhile, Merin released the horses, and took one of the torches halflings made. Rusty stepped forward to tap Alfred on his shoulder, while Banion climbed to horseback. Alfred's steed neighed, sensing evil creatures near. Alfred turned around, feeling a tap on the shoulder. Rusty handed him the torch, saying:

-Here, take this. Thfear fire, and it destroys them easily. Hold the torch!

Alfred held the torch in his hand, swinging it around. The zombies around tried to get near, but Alfred swung the torch and set fire to one, while he struck another with his blade. Still, more kept coming, answering to the summons of the dark shade. Merin, Banion, and Rusty on horseback stepped out of the store, waving their torches as well. They spread out, moving the fire in a pattern that kept the monsters at bay. But already the torches were growing weak, and more undead were on their way. The shade laughed once more with a shrill voice, preparing for their downfall. Stepping forward, Alfred's foot almost tripped over something. He looked down, and saw the iron brazier, glowing red in its center, lying on the ground. Suddenly an idea came to him. He shot forward, waving his torch. The zombies fell over backwards all around him. Quickly leaning down, he grabbed the brazier. The metal felt cool, in fact it suddenly felt as if it glued itself to his hand. Weakness overcame Alfred. He stammered. Zombies around him began to rise. Seeing him in trouble, Rusty charged from horseback into the zombies. Waving madly with his torch, he forced them back, but his horse, panicking from the corpses around it, threw him down. Banion fell, and his torch rolled into the snow, hissing as the fire in it died. Now the shade screamed in pleasure, and its minions moved forward to feast on the flesh of the living.

Alfred felt weak and paralyzed. Suddenly a thought came to him, and he remembered the medallion. As he thought of it, a warmth spread around his body, freeing his movements, and the medallion felt like it was glowing on his chest. Feeling free, he let go of the brazier, and swung his sword as hard as he could on the metal bowl that held the red glow. His blade struck the brazier. Sparks flew from it, and a high-pitched scream came from the shade. The brazier fell apart and exploded in a fireball of red flames. The shade wailed and withered into nothingness. Left without the animating force, the undead began to drop to the ground, instantly disintegrating to dust as they fell. Alfred rose up, as he was thrown on the ground by the explosion. The brazier was gone, and so were the zombies. The wind began to blow over the village square, bringing with itself the sharp cold. Suddenly wishing to put as many leagues as possible between him and the village, Alfred called out to his friends:

-We should leave this place as soon as we can. I want to leave tonight, and ride until dawn. What do you say?

Tired faces around him, as well as the look of fear on Rusty, who had just risen from the ground, told him all he needed to know. Silently, Merin nodded too. He ran back into the storehouse and took out the other horse.

It took them about five minutes to load the horses, and mount them themselves. Soon they were out of village's gates, and climbing over the ridge that hid the valley of Longhorn. As they rose, wind blew around them, chilling their bones. Down there the valley began to shudder, as houses and the wall began to fall into dust. Not sparing the destruction even a second look, small company turned north and rode over the ridge, into the snows of the Rayan Pass.

The village was far behind them. Hours had passed as they climbed tall hills, passing valleys blocked by snow drifts. Wind howled up here, but the pass was free. Alfred was surprised to see how close they were to the Pass itself. The maps usually placed the Fords of Hamsen at least a good three days' ride from the Pass, and so Alfred inquired Merin about this. Merin asked to look at the map Alfred was referring to, and examined it for a minute. The map indicated at least three days of riding to the Rayan Pass. Puzzled, he told Alfred that at least by his knowledge, the Fords are actually more like one day of riding from the pass. Pondering the map once more, he finally exclaimed a muffled "Ahah!" and then told Alfred the elven route and the human one differed; the elves knew on a shortcut between the hills, and that was why they were ahead of their schedule. They lost the regular trail in the snow, and inadvertently gotten to the elven paths, and that was why they were so close. Satisfied with this answer, Alfred put the map back into his pack and continued the ride.

Higher and higher they went, and the terrain grew more and more barren. Soon they entered a deep canyon, at whose bottom Froas flowed, cold and deep. They passed turn after turn, one twist in canyon after another, closing on the end of the Rayan Pass. The sky lightened with the approaching dawn. Finally, after the last twist in the canyon, they stood upon a small ledge overlooking a green valley in the Mountains. As the sun rose from the east, they were looking at the Ebening, the Valley of Dreams. Froas flowed through the center of the valley, and grass was green here. Trees still bore leaves, and they saw lights in the distance; the lights of the Monastery, and of the Elvenhome. The long voyage was done. They were come, just as the winter snows closed off the passes behind them.