THE SNOWS CAME HEAVIER BY NIGHTFALL, and the Northern Empire of Valkalon was awash in a sheen of soft silver. The distant planes in the horizon were a stark white against the grayness of the land and only a few Snow lions were seen searching through the ice underneath for any wayward fish that played close to the surface. Such unfortunate fish would undoubtedly serve as their dinner.
The families who kept the silver-streaked cats as pets had arisen at the first stroke of amber in the sky to attend the Emperor's summons.
The High Lord of the Ice Realms, the White Bear, Leonidas Bane had sent word through his Vizier, Tammün Ruz. With his stamp of his royal signet graven upon the delivered scrolls, the Icelanders had pushed up their sturdy tents of hard white khakis to answer the call.
