Napoleon said, “Report, old friend.”
“We covered eight miles, sir. No sign of enemy forces. The weather improves at the lower elevations, as does the depth of the snow. It will only get easier from here.”
“Good . . . very good.”
“One note of interest,” Laurent said, placing his hand on Napoleon’s elbow and steering him a few feet away. “We found something, General.”
“And would you care to elaborate on the nature of this something?”
“It would be better if you saw it for yourself.”
Napoleon studied Laurent’s face; there was a glint of barely contained anticipation in his eyes. He’d known Laurent since they were both sixteen, serving as lieutenants in the La Fere Artillery. Laurent was prone to neither exaggeration nor excitability. Whatever he’d found, it was significant.
“How far?” Napoleon asked.
“Four hours’ ride.”
Napoleon scanned the sky. It was already midafternoon. Over the peaks he could see a line of dark clouds. A storm was coming. “Very well,” he said, clapping Laurent on the shoulder. “We’ll leave at first light.”
As was his custom, Napoleon slept five hours, rising at six A.M., well before dawn. He had breakfast, then read the overnight dispatches from his demi-brigade commanders over a pot of bitter black tea. Laurent arrived with his squad shortly before seven and they set out down the valley, following the trail Laurent had broken the day before.
The previous night’s storm had dumped little new snow but fierce winds had piled up fresh drifts—towering white walls that formed a canyon around Napoleon and his riders. The horses’ breath steamed in the air and with every step powder billowed high in the air. Napoleon gave Styrie his head, trusting the Arabian to navigate the path, while he stared, fascinated, at the drifts, their facades carved into swirls and spirals by the wind.
“A bit eerie, eh, General?” Laurent asked.
“It’s quiet,” Napoleon murmured. “I’ve never heard quiet like this before.”
“It is beautiful,” Laurent agreed. “And dangerous.”
The cave’s entrance continued for another twenty feet, narrowing as it went until they were walking hunched over. Suddenly the tunnel opened up and Napoleon found himself standing in a cavern. Having entered ahead of him, Laurent and Pelletier stepped aside to let him through, then raised their lanterns, shining the flickering yellow light on the walls.
Measuring roughly fifty by sixty feet, the cavern was an ice palace, the walls and floor coated in it, several feet thick in some places; in others, so thin Napoleon could see a faint shadow of gray rock beneath. Glittering stalactites hung from the ceilings, so low they merged with the floor’s stalagmites to form hourglass-shaped ice sculptures. Unlike the walls and floor, the ice on the ceiling was roughened, reflecting the lantern light like a star-filled sky. From somewhere deeper in the cave came the sound of dripping water, and more distant still the faint whistling of wind.
“Magnificent,” Napoleon murmured.
“Here’s what Pelletier found just inside the entrance,” Laurent said, moving toward the wall. Napoleon walked over to where Laurent was shining his lantern on an object on the floor. It was a shield.
Roughly five feet tall, two feet wide, and shaped like a figure 8, it was made of wicker and covered in leather painted with faded red and black interlocking squares.
“It’s ancient,” Napoleon murmured.
“At least two thousand years is my guess,” Laurent said. “My history isn’t what it used to be, but I believe it’s called a gerron. It was used by Persian light infantry soldiers.”
“Mon dieu . . .”
“There’s more, General. This way.”
Winding his way through the forest of stalactite columns, Laurent led him to the rear of the cavern and another tunnel entrance, this one a rough oval four feet tall.