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While the mage removed his illusions, Elder Naran reversed whatever method he had used to suppress his size, and within moments he had regained three feet of height. Then, he changed into another robe — one that not only fit his normal size but also featured elegant golden embroidery.

"Now let’s see what weight our status as Elders still carries," he said, stepping forward into the narrow pass.

Arran followed behind the others as they headed toward the closed gate that lay at the end of the pass, over half a mile ahead of them.

"What if they don’t let us in?" he asked Brightblade, who was walking beside him.

"Then we’ll have to fight our pursuers," she answered. Although there was no fear in her voice, her previous levity had all but disappeared.

"Can’t you break through?"

"The Valley’s defenses aren’t so easily broke," she replied. "Countless generations of mages have strengthened both the gate and the wall, and this pass contains a formation that suppresses magic."

At this, Arran frowned. "A formation?"

"Try to use a spell and see what happens."

Arran did as she said, and he tried to form a fireball in his hands. Yet immediately, he discovered that it was impossible — the moment the Essence left his body, it dissipated into the air around him.

"So you’re defenseless here?" he asked, shocked.

She smiled in response. "We still have our swords. And although we can’t use magic here, neither can the Iron Mountain traitors." She hesitated, but then continued, "Of course, if the defenders are traitors as well, we have a problem."

"How bad a problem?" Arran asked, although from her expression, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"The formation was created to defend the Valley, not its enemies. It blocks those in front of the gate from using magic, but the defenders aren’t suppressed." She smiled wryly. "Anyone on top of the wall can attack us at their leisure, and if they do, there’s little we can do to stop it."

Arran’s eyes widened in shock. "That means—"

"Don’t assume the worst just yet," she cut him off. "The traitors likely sent most of their numbers with the Iron Mountain army, and even then, they did not fully control it."

Her words, reasonable though they were, did not fully reassure Arran. But then, he did not have any options other than following Elder Naran — there were enemies behind them, and Arran had no illusions about his fate if he was caught.

They had crossed most of the distance to the gate while talking, and now, Arran saw that there were only a hundred paces left to go.

Although he had been here before, with the gate closed it was as if the hundred-foot wall had grown even taller than he remembered, its smooth stone surface stretching up into the sky like the impenetrable barrier it was.

Behind the parapet at the top of the wall stood a line of mages, their eyes focused on the small group in front of them. Though it was hard to see from a distance, to Arran’s eyes, they seemed extremely nervous.

Elder Naran motioned for their group to stop, then called out in a booming voice, "Open the gate!"

Several moments passed without a response, and the Elder’s expression turned angry.

"Open the gate!" he called again. "Right now!"

This time, a response came. "Lord Elder," one of the mages atop the wall replied, his voice so weak it could barely be heard. "We have orders not to open the gate for anyone."

"Who gave these orders?" Elder Naran’s voice thundered through the pass, and he made no attempt to conceal his anger.

"Lord Elder, the orders came from Elder Feng’s steward himself."

"You would deny us entry on the word of a steward?!" Although Elder Naran sounded furious, Arran thought he could hear some relief in the man’s voice as well. "The order is hereby rescinded! Now open the gate, or face the consequences!"

"Lord Elder, I can’t... I have to get..." The mage’s panicked voice trailed off as he disappeared from the wall.

For several minutes they stood waiting, until finally, another mage appeared on the wall.

"Lord Elder," he called out, but then, he briefly went silent. "Elders..." The shock in his voice was palpable when he realized that Elder Naran was far from the only Elder in the group. "Open the gate, you dimwits!"

His panicked shout set the other guards into motion, and just moments later, the massive gate slowly swung open.

Elder Naran and the others hurried through the gate at once, and inside, they found the commander who had ordered the gate opened. The man was visibly flustered, and on seeing the group of Elders in front of him, he seemed at a loss for words.

"Have the gate closed," Elder Naran said. "Immediately."

"Of course, Lord Elder," the man replied, bowing deeply.

As the commander scurried off, Elder Naran turned to the group. "That fool will try to open the gate the moment the Iron Mountain traitors show up. I need two of you here to ensure he doesn’t, and to give the traitors a welcome they won’t soon forget."

When the commander returned some moments later and learned that he was no longer in charge, he seemed relieved rather than upset — a feeling that Arran guessed would disappear as soon as the Iron Mountain mages made their appearance.

They departed not long after, their group now even smaller than before. Yet although they had left behind two Elders, Arran knew their chances of success had vastly improved.

The Iron Mountain forces were blocked from following them any further, and even if they somehow found a way to cross into the Valley, it would be too late to make a difference.

All that remained now was to reach the Patriarch and cure him, and whether they succeeded or not would be determined soon. The danger was far from over, with more traitors doubtless lying in wait within the Valley, but the end of their journey was in sight.

They traveled toward the capital much like Arran and Snowcloud had fled it more than a year earlier, running through the day and the night, crossing the rolling fields without pausing for rest or sleep.

Yet this time, with Elder Naran carrying Snowcloud and Arran stronger than before, they moved far faster. After just a single day and night of tireless running, the ancient capital appeared in the distance, every bit as grand as Arran remembered it.

Brightblade nudged Arran, then pointed toward a vast domed building at the far end of the city, with marble-white towers lining its sides. "That’s where we’re going," she said. "The Patriarch’s palace."