Cold has a voice. In the high reaches of the Rhodope Mountains, it speaks in the cracking of frozen branches, in the hollow moan of wind through stone corridors, in the brittle silence that follows a fresh snowfall. That voice followed us as we climbed higher into the mountains, away from everything we had known.

  Six days had passed since we fled the village. Six days of hard travel, moving by night when possible, hiding our tracks, and hunting only when necessary. Our small band moved as one organism, each of us falling into roles without discussion. Drenis, my father's old shield brother, took the lead when the terrain grew treacherous. Zenas watched our back trail with the keen eyes of youth. His sister Lydia and her friend Kora gathered what edible plants could be found in early spring. Sura kept our spirits from failing when hunger and cold wore at our resolve.

  And I watched for Romans.

  We had seen no sign of pursuit, but this did not comfort me. Rome was patient, methodical. They would not abandon the hunt simply because we had fled into difficult terrain.

  "We should stop here," I said, raising my hand as we reached a sheltered ridge overlooking a narrow valley. "Make camp while there is still light."

  The others slowed, their breath clouding in the crisp mountain air. We had been climbing steadily since dawn, and even Drenis, with his decades of mountain hunting, showed signs of fatigue.

  "There are caves in these parts," he said, surveying the rocky slopes above us. "Better shelter than what we can build."

  I nodded, remembering my father's stories of hunting trips to these mountains. "The bear caves, near the twin peaks."

  "You know them?"

  "Only from tales. But they should lie half a day's journey north of here."

  Kora, the quietest of our group, spoke up. "Can we reach them before nightfall?"

  I studied the sky. Heavy clouds were building to the west, darkening as they rolled toward us. "No. We will shelter here tonight. Tomorrow, we find the caves."

  We made camp in a dense stand of pines that offered some protection from the wind. No fire; the smoke would carry too far in the clear mountain air. Instead, we huddled together for warmth, eating strips of dried meat from our dwindling supplies.

  As darkness settled over the mountains, Sura sat apart from the others, her eyes closed, fingertips pressed to the wooden amulet at her throat. I moved quietly to sit beside her, not wishing to disturb her communion with whatever gods spoke to her.

  Without opening her eyes, she reached for my hand.

  "What do you see?" I asked softly.

  She was silent for so long I thought she would not answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was distant.

  "I see paths dividing. Rivers of blood. A circle of iron. And you, standing in an arena of sand, surrounded by shadows that wear the faces of men."

  A chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air crept along my spine. "What does it mean?"

  Her eyes opened, finding mine in the gathering darkness. "I do not know, Spartacus. The visions come as fragments, pieces of a future not yet written."

  "Do you see our village? Our people?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing clear. But they are survivors, as we are. The Maedi have faced Roman aggression before."

  "Not like this," I said. "The destruction of Garsis was different. Something has changed."

  "Rome itself is changing," she replied. "Their republic devours itself while their armies devour the world."

  I had heard rumors of civil strife within Rome, generals turning against each other, politicians assassinated in the streets of their great city. Such tales reached even our remote village through traders and travelers. But these distant Roman problems had seemed irrelevant to our lives until now.

  "Their chaos becomes our suffering," I said bitterly.

  Sura squeezed my hand. "Sleep, husband. I will take first watch."

  I wanted to protest, to insist she rest, but exhaustion pulled at me like a physical weight. I had not truly slept since we fled, allowing myself only brief moments of rest while others kept watch. Tonight would be no different, but perhaps a few hours of deeper sleep would clear my mind.

  "Wake me when the moon reaches the peak," I instructed, settling against the trunk of a pine.

  Sleep came swiftly, but brought no peace.

  I dreamed of my father. Not as I had last seen him, old and weakened by the lung sickness that took him, but as he had been in his prime. Broad shouldered and stern faced, with the intricate blue tattoos of our tribe marking his arms and chest.

  "You run from Romans?" he asked me, his voice heavy with disappointment.

  "I run to protect our people," I answered. "What would you have me do? Fight an entire legion?"

  He laughed, the sound like stones grinding together. "No man fights a legion alone, boy. But no man lives free by running forever."

  The dream shifted. My father was gone, and I stood at the edge of a vast pit filled with bodies. Men, women, children. Some wore Thracian clothing. Others were dressed as Romans. Still others wore nothing at all, their skin marked with strange scars and brands.

  A voice spoke behind me. "Choose."

  I turned to find a Roman in elaborate armor, his face concealed by a gilded mask shaped like a hawk.

  "Choose what?" I asked.

  "Your death," the Roman replied. "All men die. The only choice is how."

  I woke with a gasp, my hand already reaching for my knife.

  "Peace, brother," Drenis whispered from his position a few paces away. "Just a dream."

  I released my grip on the knife and sat up, focusing on steadying my breathing. The camp was still. Sura had taken her watch position on a fallen log at the edge of our shelter, her back straight, her attention fixed on the valley below.

  I rose silently and moved to join her, wrapping my fur cloak tighter against the biting cold.

  "The moon has not yet reached its peak," she said without turning. "You should rest longer."

  "I have rested enough."

  She glanced at me then, her eyes reflecting the starlight. "Dreams?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell me."

  I described the dream, watching her face as I spoke. Her expression remained neutral, but I saw how her fingers tightened around her amulet when I mentioned the pit of bodies.

  "Your father speaks the truth," she said when I had finished. "We cannot run forever."

  "What would you have us do? Return to the village and surrender to Rome?"

  "No." She shook her head firmly. "Never that. But there are other tribes, other warriors who resist Roman expansion. If enough stood together..."

  "They would die together," I finished. "Rome conquers through division. They have done it for centuries."

  "And yet they have not conquered all of Thrace."

  I could not argue with that. The mountains and forests of our homeland had sheltered resistance for generations. But I had seen what happened at Garsis. Something fundamental had changed in Rome's approach.

  "We need to reach the caves tomorrow," I said, changing the subject. "We are too exposed here."

  Sura nodded. "I sense something as well. A presence in these mountains that watches us."

  I scanned the darkness beyond our little camp. "Romans?"

  "Perhaps. Or something else entirely."

  Before I could question her further, a soft sound caught my attention. Not the wind, not an animal. The deliberate placement of a foot on stone.

  I touched Sura's arm in silent warning and slowly reached for my bow. She understood immediately, moving back toward the others to wake them with a touch rather than words.

  I nocked an arrow and waited, eyes straining to penetrate the darkness. There, a shadow moving against shadows, working its way up the slope toward our position. Too small for a bear, too careful for a deer. A man.

  And where one man scouted, others followed.

  I sighted along the arrow, tracking the figure's progress. When he paused to survey the ridge where we were camped, I released. The arrow flew true, taking him in the throat. He fell without a cry.

  But the damage was done. We had been found.

  "Move," I hissed to the others, now fully awake and gathering their meager possessions. "Quickly and quietly."

  "Romans?" Zenas asked, his young face tense.

  "A scout," I confirmed. "Where there is one, there are more."

  We slipped away from our camp, moving upslope through the trees. The darkness that had been our enemy now became our ally, concealing our passage from any watchers below.

  "The caves," Drenis suggested, his voice barely audible.

  I nodded. Our best hope was to reach better shelter before dawn exposed us on the mountainside. We increased our pace, despite the treacherous footing.

  An hour passed as we climbed, then another. The clouds that had threatened earlier now enveloped the peaks, bringing with them a fine, stinging snow. It would hide our tracks, but also made navigation more difficult. I relied on Drenis's instincts as much as my own limited knowledge of these high reaches.

  As false dawn lightened the eastern sky, we found the caves.

  They were not large, merely a series of shallow openings in a cliff face, but they offered protection from the worsening weather and prying eyes. We crawled into the largest, grateful for the solid rock at our backs.

  "Will they follow?" Lydia asked, helping her brother arrange their packs.

  "Yes," I said, seeing no point in false comfort. "But the snow will slow them. And they will be cautious after finding their scout dead."

  "We should move on as soon as there is full light," Drenis argued. "Put more distance between us and them."

  "No," I countered. "The storm is growing stronger. We stay here until it passes."

  He frowned but did not challenge me further. The tension between us had been building since we fled the village. Drenis was a warrior of the old school, trained to face enemies head on. Running did not sit well with him, even when it was the wisest course.

  I understood his frustration. It gnawed at me as well, the knowledge that we had been reduced to fugitives in our own lands. But I had seen what happened when pride overrode pragmatism. The dead of Garsis were testament to that.

  Sura organized our supplies while I kept watch at the cave entrance. The snow was falling more heavily now, driven by gusting winds that scoured the mountainside.

  "No one will move in this," she said, joining me. "Not Roman, not Thracian."

  "Let us hope you are right."

  We settled in to wait out the storm, conserving our energy and what little food remained. The others dozed, but sleep eluded me. I kept seeing the scout's body falling, another death added to the tally that had begun in our village. How many more would follow before this journey ended?

  The storm raged through the day and into the night, confining us to the cave. By the second morning, the snow had stopped, though heavy clouds still clung to the peaks. We ventured out cautiously, searching for any sign of pursuit.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The mountain had transformed overnight, blanketed in white that softened its harsh contours. Our tracks from two days earlier had vanished completely. If anyone had tried to follow us during the storm, they would have found only snow and wind.

  "We need food," Drenis stated, surveying the valley below us. "The women's stores are nearly gone."

  I nodded. "You and I will hunt. Zenas stays with the women."

  The young man bristled at this. "I am a better tracker than Drenis."

  "And a better protector than either of us if Romans find our shelter," I countered. "Guard them well."

  His pride soothed by this responsibility, Zenas accepted his role. I instructed Sura to keep everyone inside the cave, venturing out only if absolutely necessary.

  "Be careful," she told me softly as Drenis and I prepared to leave. "I still feel we are watched."

  I touched her cheek, a rare display of affection that surprised her. "Two days. If we have not returned by then, lead them east toward the Black Sea. The fishing villages there might shelter you."

  "We leave together or not at all," she insisted.

  "Sura..."

  "No, Spartacus. I did not follow you into exile only to be abandoned at the first sign of danger."

  Her determination both frustrated and filled me with pride. I had chosen my wife well, or perhaps she had chosen me. Either way, I knew better than to argue when her mind was set.

  "Two days," I repeated. "Then we all go east together."

  She nodded, satisfied with this compromise.

  Drenis and I descended into the valley, moving carefully through the deep snow. Game would be scarce after the storm, but not impossible to find. Animals needed to eat, regardless of weather.

  We moved in silence for the first hour, each lost in our own thoughts. Drenis broke it finally, his breath clouding as he spoke.

  "You know we cannot keep running."

  "I know," I admitted.

  "The Romans will not stop hunting us. Not after what happened at the village."

  "What would you have us do? Six against an empire?"

  He stopped, turning to face me. "Rally the tribes. All of them. Maedi, Bessi, Dii, Dentheletae. Every tribe from here to the sea. United, we could drive Rome from our lands forever."

  I had considered this, of course. But the tribes of Thrace had been divided for generations, fighting each other as often as they fought Rome. Old hatreds ran deep, blood feuds spanned decades.

  "A dream, old friend," I said. "A worthy one, but still a dream."

  "Dreams have power," he insisted. "Your wife knows this. Why do you think Rome fears the seers so much? They understand that dreams become action, and action changes the world."

  Before I could respond, a sound caught my attention. The soft crunch of snow beneath a careful foot, not our own. We froze, scanning the forest around us.

  Twenty paces away, a figure emerged from the trees. A man dressed in Thracian furs, his face weathered by sun and wind, a bow held casually in his hands. Not aimed at us, but ready.

  "You argue loudly for men being hunted," he observed in our dialect.

  Drenis had his spear half raised, but I placed a restraining hand on his arm. The stranger was alone, and he had revealed himself rather than attacking from concealment. Not the behavior of an enemy.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  "I might ask the same," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "This is Bessi land you trespass on."

  I had not realized we had crossed tribal boundaries. The Bessi were our neighbors to the north, neither allies nor enemies of the Maedi in recent memory.

  "We did not know," I said honestly. "We seek only game to feed our people."

  "Your people," he repeated, studying us with interest. "Six refugees hiding in bear caves? Yes, I have seen your camp."

  My hand moved closer to my knife. If he had seen our shelter, he knew about Sura and the others. "What do you want with us?"

  "Nothing. But my chief might want much." He lowered his bow completely, a gesture of temporary trust. "I am Tarax of the Bessi. You are Spartacus of the Maedi. Your reputation travels faster than your feet."

  Surprise must have shown on my face, for he laughed.

  "Word spreads quickly in the mountains. The warrior who killed Roman soldiers to protect his seer wife. The man who defied Rome's demand for auxiliary troops."

  "Tales grow in the telling," I said cautiously.

  "Perhaps. But Rome believes this tale enough to put a price on your head. Dead or alive, though preferably alive." He grimaced. "They wish to make an example, it seems."

  This confirmed my worst fears. We would never be allowed to simply disappear into the wilderness. Rome's pride would not permit it.

  "Why tell us this?" Drenis asked. "Why not claim the reward?"

  Tarax spat into the snow. "I am Thracian. We do not sell our own to Rome." He gestured toward the north. "Come. Hunt with me, and we will speak of things you should know."

  I exchanged a glance with Drenis. We had little choice but to follow, though I kept my hand near my weapon. Trust came slowly in the mountains.

  Tarax led us to a sheltered glade where deer had pawed through the snow to reach the vegetation beneath. With practiced coordination, we positioned ourselves to ambush the small herd. Three arrows brought down two deer, enough meat to sustain our group for several days.

  As we field dressed the animals, Tarax spoke of Roman movements throughout the region. The news was grim. Villages across Thrace were being given the same ultimatum ours had received: provide men for Rome's auxiliaries or face destruction.

  "Some comply," he said, his knife expertly separating meat from bone. "Their young men march away in Roman armor, to fight Roman wars in distant lands."

  "And those who refuse?" I asked.

  His expression darkened. "The same fate as Garsis."

  "You know of this?"

  "All Thrace knows by now. Rome makes no secret of such examples."

  I worked in silence for a moment, processing this information. "Why? Why now? Rome has controlled parts of Thrace for generations without such measures."

  Tarax wiped his bloodied hands in the snow. "Civil war looms in Rome. Their generals gather armies for the coming struggle. Every tribe they subjugate provides more bodies for their legions."

  Civil war. Sura had spoken of this, Rome devouring itself. It made a terrible kind of sense. A Rome turned against itself would need to secure its frontiers, eliminate potential threats before they could exploit Roman division.

  "There is resistance," Tarax continued. "Not all Thracians bend the knee. In the high valleys, beyond the Roman roads, warriors gather. Bessi, Maedi, Dii, even some Dentheletae, setting aside old grudges to face a common enemy."

  Drenis straightened, vindication in his eyes. "How many?"

  "A few hundred now. More with each village Rome destroys."

  Not an army, not yet. But a beginning. I thought of Sura's vision: paths dividing, rivers of blood. Was this the choice before us? Join this desperate resistance or flee toward the uncertain promise of safety in the east?

  "My chief would welcome warriors of your skill," Tarax said, addressing me directly. "Your name carries weight already. Your presence would bring others to our cause."

  "Or bring Roman attention to your hiding place," I countered.

  He shrugged. "Rome already hunts us. The only question is whether we face them separately or together."

  We finished preparing the deer in silence, each lost in thought. With the meat wrapped in hide packages, we began the climb back toward the caves.

  We were halfway up the slope when I spotted them. Three figures moving through the trees below, following our tracks in the snow. The distinctive shape of Roman helmets marked them unmistakably.

  I signaled to the others, dropping to a crouch behind a fallen tree. Tarax joined me, assessing the situation with a hunter's calm.

  "Scouts," he whispered. "A larger force will be nearby."

  "How did they find us through the storm?" Drenis hissed.

  "They did not need to," Tarax replied. "They have been searching every valley, every cave system. It was only a matter of time."

  I studied the Romans' approach. Three men, moving confidently but cautiously. They had not spotted us yet.

  "We cannot lead them back to our shelter," I said. "We end this here."

  Tarax nodded, already stringing his bow. "I will take the one on the left. You two?"

  "The leader," I indicated. "Drenis, the one on the right."

  We positioned ourselves carefully, using the terrain and snowfall for concealment. The Romans advanced steadily, unaware of the death waiting above them.

  At my signal, three arrows flew. Two found their marks. The Roman on the right merely stumbled, the arrow glancing off his helmet. Drenis cursed and charged forward, spear ready. I followed, drawing my sword.

  The wounded Roman turned to face us, short sword already in hand. He was young, barely a man, his face twisted with pain and fear. But his training held. He parried Drenis's spear thrust and counterattacked swiftly.

  I came at him from the side, my sword sweeping in a low arc toward his legs. He jumped back, losing his balance in the deep snow. Before he could recover, Drenis's spear took him in the throat.

  "Quickly," I ordered, already moving to check the other bodies. "Strip them of anything useful."

  We worked swiftly, collecting weapons, food, and a message pouch that might reveal Roman plans. As we finished, a distant horn call echoed through the valley. The patrol, calling for their scouts.

  "They will come looking when these three fail to return," Tarax warned. "We must move now."

  We hurried upslope, no longer concerned with hiding our tracks. Speed mattered more than stealth now. When we reached the caves, Sura and the others were already outside, alerted by the horn call.

  "Romans?" Zenas asked, taking one of the meat packages from Drenis.

  "Yes," I confirmed. "A patrol in the valley. These three were just scouts."

  "We must leave immediately," Tarax urged. "I know paths through the high country that Roman armor cannot follow."

  I made a swift decision. "Gather everything. We leave in ten minutes."

  As the others prepared, I examined the message pouch taken from the dead Roman. Inside was a small wooden tablet covered in Latin script. I could not read the language, but Sura had learned some from a trader who visited our village.

  "What does it say?" I asked, showing her the tablet.

  She studied it, brow furrowed in concentration. "Orders. They seek... fugitives from multiple villages. A full century has been deployed to this region. They are to capture leaders alive if possible." She looked up, her expression grave. "They name you specifically, Spartacus."

  This confirmed what Tarax had told us. Rome wanted me as an example. The others were gathering their few possessions, preparing to move out. I pulled Drenis aside.

  "We need to split up," I told him quietly.

  His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

  "They hunt me specifically. Anyone with me faces greater danger."

  "All the more reason to stay together. Our strength is in numbers."

  "Our vulnerability as well," I countered. "Six people leave more tracks than two or three."

  He considered this, reluctance clear in his weathered face. But survival in the mountains had taught him the value of pragmatism over sentiment.

  "What do you propose?"

  "You take Zenas, Lydia, and Kora east, as we discussed. Toward the Black Sea. Tarax says there are paths through the high country that Romans cannot follow."

  "And you?"

  "Sura and I will go with Tarax. To the resistance."

  Drenis studied me for a long moment. "You choose the more dangerous path for yourself."

  "I choose the path Rome has set before me," I replied. "They will not stop hunting me. Better to join those who can fight back than endanger those who seek only escape."

  He clasped my forearm firmly. "The tribes have needed unity for generations. Perhaps the gods have chosen you to forge it."

  I did not share his faith in divine purpose, but I recognized the wisdom in his words. If Rome could be driven back, it would require unprecedented cooperation among the tribes of Thrace.

  "Watch over them," I said, nodding toward Zenas and the women. "Get them safely to the coast."

  "I will guard them with my life," he promised. "And when you have gathered your army of resistance, send word. My spear is yours to command."

  We rejoined the others, who had finished their preparations. I explained the plan, expecting resistance, particularly from Zenas. To my surprise, he accepted the logic without argument.

  "We will meet again," he said with youthful confidence. "When the time comes to drive Rome from our lands."

  Lydia embraced Sura, tears in her eyes. "Guard him well," she whispered. "He listens to you when pride would make him deaf."

  Sura smiled. "Sometimes."

  Tarax had been consulting a small leather map drawn with charcoal markings. "We should move now. The storm is building again in the west. It will cover our tracks, but also make travel more dangerous."

  Indeed, dark clouds were gathering over the western peaks, promising another assault of wind and snow. We made our farewells quickly, none of us giving voice to the fear that this might be our final parting.

  As Drenis led his group along a narrow ridge toward the east, Tarax indicated a steeper path that would take us north, deeper into Bessi territory.

  "Three days' hard travel," he said. "If the weather holds, we can reach the encampment by the full moon."

  We had barely begun our ascent when the storm struck with surprising ferocity. Snow whipped horizontally, stinging exposed skin and reducing visibility to a few paces. We pressed on, following Tarax's lead, fighting against the strengthening wind.

  An hour into our journey, the mountain itself seemed to turn against us. A deafening crack split the air as a slab of snow broke free above us, cascading down the slope in a churning white wall.

  "Avalanche!" Tarax shouted. "Move!"

  We sprinted toward a stand of trees, our only hope of anchoring against the oncoming mass. The snow hit with the force of a battering ram, knocking me off my feet. I tumbled, disoriented, grasping for anything solid.

  My hand found Sura's cloak. I pulled her close as the snow carried us downward, the world reduced to cold and chaos and the desperate need for air.

  When the slide finally stopped, I was buried to my chest, one arm still wrapped around Sura. She was conscious, gasping for breath, blood trickling from a cut on her forehead.

  "Tarax?" I called, scanning the devastated slope. No answer came.

  We struggled free of the snow and searched frantically for our guide. Nothing. The avalanche had reshaped the mountainside, leaving no trace of the path we had been following or the man who led us.

  Worse, the rumble of the snow had drawn attention. Looking down toward the valley, I saw movement. A column of men, at least two dozen, their armor marking them as the Roman patrol whose scouts we had killed.

  They had seen the avalanche. Now they moved toward it, like predators investigating a wounded animal.

  "We have to move," I urged, helping Sura to her feet. "Can you walk?"

  She nodded, though pain flashed across her features. "My ankle. Twisted, not broken."

  I supported her as we stumbled toward the tree line, away from the approaching Romans. The storm intensified, a blessing and a curse. It would hide us from pursuit but made travel treacherous, especially with Sura injured.

  "We lost the supplies," she noted as we paused in the shelter of a dense pine grove. "The food, the weapons."

  "We still have these," I said, indicating my sword and knife. "And knowledge of the land they lack."

  But in truth, our situation had deteriorated dramatically. Without Tarax's guidance, we had little hope of finding the resistance encampment. Without supplies, surviving the storm would be challenge enough.

  Sura read the concern in my face. "What path now, husband?"

  I studied our surroundings, trying to orient myself in the blinding snow. North still seemed our best option, away from the main Roman presence and toward potential allies. But with Sura injured and a patrol behind us, the journey would be far more dangerous than planned.

  "We keep moving," I decided. "Find shelter for tonight. Tomorrow, we reassess."

  She nodded, trusting my judgment as I trusted her visions. Together, we pushed deeper into the storm, two figures soon swallowed by the swirling white.

  Behind us, Rome hunted. Ahead, uncertainty waited. But we moved forward, because the alternative was unthinkable. Freedom lay somewhere beyond this mountain, beyond this storm. We had only to survive long enough to find it.

  I could not know then how elusive that freedom would prove, or how high its price would be. Could not foresee the arena sands that awaited me, or the legions that would one day tremble at my name.

  In that moment, I was simply a man protecting his wife, a warrior without a tribe, a fugitive in my own land. And yet, with each step through the deepening snow, I moved closer to the destiny Sura had glimpsed in her visions.

  The mountain's shadow would follow us long after we left its slopes. But shadows, like empires, are not eternal. Even Rome's long reach had its limits. This, above all else, gave me hope as we vanished into the heart of the storm.