The sound of hooves echoed in the chill morning air as Yalamber rode alongside Captain Tsering, commander of the northern patrols. Mist clung to the valley floor, curling around the pines like restless spirits.
"This road," Tsering said, glancing at the narrow, uneven path, "is older than our kingdom. Traders, armies, pilgrims all have used it. It leads not only to our border, but to opportunities… and threats."
Yalamber kept his eyes forward. This was his first journey beyond the comfort of the palace walls, and every shadow along the tree line made his grip on the reins tighten.
They passed hamlets where farmers paused from their work to watch the small escort ride by. Some bowed respectfully. Others simply stared curiosity and worry in their eyes.
At one village, an old woman pressed a bundle of dried herbs into Tsering's hands. "For the watchmen," she said. "If the mountain clans truly stir, they'll need all the strength they can get."
The captain accepted it without a word.
By midday, the road began to climb, offering a glimpse of the northern mountains jagged teeth against the pale sky. At their base, Yalamber saw the faint outline of a stone tower.
"That's the first watchpoint," Tsering explained. "Beyond it lies the high pass into the lands of the Chyarung clans. Fierce people. They respect strength but have little love for Kiranti."
The prince frowned. "Have we wronged them?"
"Not directly," Tsering replied. "But alliances shift. The Chyarung fought alongside us once, against the Khungri tribes. Now, they trade with them. Tomorrow, who knows?"
Yalamber felt the weight of Bhavik's lessons settle heavier on his shoulders. Power, trust, betrayal it was all as changeable as the wind.
When they reached the tower, the guards greeted them with stiff formality. Inside, a map was spread across a rough-hewn table, marked with small carved stones. One of the men pointed to a cluster near the border.
"Scouts report Chyarung banners moving south," he said. "Not yet in our land, but close enough to watch."
Tsering's jaw tightened. "Close enough to test us."
That night, as they camped near the watchtower, Yalamber sat by the fire listening to the low murmur of soldiers' talk. Stories drifted between them of strange merchants from the eastern passes speaking a tongue none understood, of a southern chieftain's son taken hostage in a border dispute, of an unseen power across the plains uniting tribes under a single banner.
The prince realized something unsettling: Kiranti was not an island. Even the smallest kingdom's fate was bound to the shifting currents of the world.
And somewhere out there, those currents were beginning to change.