Legend has it, if you stand in front of a mirror, shuffling an enchanted deck of cards, you can open a doorway between dimensions.
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Prince Teodric of Springport remembers the promise he made his father: to *not* try to reenact the legend of dimen...
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After I convinced myself that snow wasn't going to hurt me—as long as I didn't touch it—we moved onward. We passed through a forest of trees so caked in the white stuff that we couldn't see leaves or trunks. The clubbers trudged on without difficulty, as if they'd been bred to mosey through the snow without complaint.
Eventually, we turned up at a steep section of mountain. Before us was a narrow, vertical stone staircase that I was certain the clubbers wouldn't be willing to climb. I expected us to leave them here—in this cold, though?—and continue on foot. But no, again, the clubbers surprised me by going forward without even a hint of hesitation. The flight of stairs only permitted us to use it one at a time, and the steps were quite vertical and slick. Not once did my clubber indicate any sign of difficulty.
Thin lanterns lit our progress through a haze that loomed a few feet over our heads. No matter my clubber's ease with getting up, I gritted my teeth the whole time.
At the top, the mountain flattened. Through the fog was a pathway lined with short shrubs, leading to a stone archway two stories high. Rusted letters along its surface spelled out Diamond Valley. As we crossed under the arch—unguarded, which I found odd if this was a town governed by a princess—I shuddered, a wave of frost slithering up my spine.
This city was empty. There wasn't a sound aside from a few whooshes of wind darting into nearby trees, and the clubbers' hooves clicking on the icy ground.
Diamond Valley was a quaint, uphill village of wood and stone houses and buildings, smothered with old moss and sharp icicles dangling from rooftops. Slippery pebbled passages weaved between deserted shops and empty marketplaces. Everywhere I turned, everywhere I looked—nothing but stony structures, no sign of life.
"It's not as uninhabited as it appears," Ysac mentioned as he pointed at one curtain-covered window to our left. He smiled at the sight of a small child glancing out at us. Ysac waved, and the child disappeared behind the drape. "The Diamond dwellers are shy folk. While they love the snow, they also love their cozy hearths and thick blankets. At this hour," he glanced up at the gray, dreary sky, "the temperature is at its lowest, so they're usually inside. They avoid the cold, no matter how used to it they are."
After trekking through the surprisingly large town, passing homes and businesses all built in the same wooden constructs, we reached the end, where a massive iron fence awaited us.
"The Outer Gate," he said, as he gestured towards a small booth near the gate. "This space is patrolled and guarded, as it separates the main town from the castle itself."
I took note of the shuddering soldier inside the tiny, frozen booth. He pulled on a lever that opened the gate with a loud creak.
Past the gate, we galloped through what Ysac told me was the Diamond Forest, a thick wood of pines and ominous sounds and unidentified shadows. Black branches above us scratched at the grayish sky, and a freezing wind whipped them back and forth in menacing motions. I had a hard time not hiding under my hood, fearful of where our journey would lead us.
