Free The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) by James Berardinelli

stretch of the road, which wasn’t a surprise. Most of the inn’s visitors were headed south and it was unlikely anyone would emerge from the pass this early; travelers this close would have pressed on at night to reach The Gateway. In Vagrum’s opinion, they might not encounter another soul in the pass - too few were willing to risk a Winter squall. There came a point when the rewards of succeeding were overbalanced by the price of failing. Having the road to themselves wasn’t all bad, especially in those places where the path constricted to allow only single file passage. If they were being pursued or shadowed, there was no indication of it, but all four were vigilant, constantly scanning the nearby terrain for any indication of others. If someone wanted to track them down, Widow’s Pass, with its lack of hiding places and alternate routes, was the perfect place to do it.
    The Broken Crags were thus called because many of the tallest mountains were topped not with clean, symmetrical peaks but with jagged, irregular pinnacles that bespoke some long ago catastrophe. This close, they looked like any imposing mountain range with their crowns hidden from view, but farther to the south where they dominated the northern horizon, Alicia had come to understand the origin of the name.
    As they moved into the mountains, the sun disappeared, hidden behind an unyielding wall of rock. “We won’t see direct light for days,” said Vagrum. “It’s too late in the year for the sun to get above the mountains. Out in the world, the days are short and the nights long. It’s worse in the pass and too dangerous to move once dusk begins. At best, we can expect nine hours of travel per day. That’s one reason it’ll take nearly a week to reach the other side. I musta been outta my mind agreeing to make this trip the last week of the year.”
    The first two days passed relatively uneventfully, although sleeping was difficult. A small campfire lent a little warmth but, with only dead, stringy scrub to feed it, it never burned heartily enough to be truly beneficial. Sleeping on the cold, unyielding ground, with only a layer of wool between her and the icy rock beneath, Alicia thought she had never been more uncomfortable - a phrase that had regularly come to mind during this journey. They ate dried rations and drank snowmelt, which was abundant even after the recent mini-thaw. The good weather held, which was a boon but, in large part because of the road’s steepness, progress was painfully slow. At least the passage was wide - until the third day.
    It was mid-morning when they came to a sudden, dramatic narrowing of the trail. The implacable rock walls to either side remained in place but fissures opened on either side of the road.  The horizontal distance between the edge of the path and the mountainside was less than twenty feet on one side and a little more on the other, but the vertical drop was dizzying. The chasms fell away into an abyss of darkness that might have been a mile deep. For as far ahead as they could see, the path was no more than six feet wide, with a surface that was slick from packed refrozen snow and ice. The edges showed signs of crumbling; only the middle four feet represented safe ground.
    “They call it ‘the bridge.’ There’s another one just as bad further along. They go from the side of one mountain to the side of another, and there ain’t no way around ’em unless you can fly. When men die in this pass, it’s either here or at the other one.” Vagrum’s words weren’t comforting, nor were they intended to be.
    Staring at what awaited them, Rexall asked, “How the hell do they get wagons across?”
    “They use special ones - skinny and extra long. During the warm months, traders do a brisk business on both sides of the pass buying regular wagons and selling the ‘Widow Crossers,’ as they’re called, and vice versa. Each sale nets a tidy profit. And there are always plenty of laborers on