Read The Key to Creation for Free Online Page A

and so they remained behind to help defend the mines if necessary. Once they recovered, the prisoners of war would make the return journey to Tierra the following spring. Now that Gremurr was under Tierran control, the mines would not be such a hellish place—at least for Aidenists. For Urecari prisoners of war, it would be a different story.…
    Mateo was glad to be going back to Calay at last, where his new wife Vicka was waiting for him. He had spent too little time with her since their wedding. After remaining aloof for decades through a succession of superficial relationships, he had chosen to settle down with the daughter of the blacksmith Ammur Sonnen. No woman could match Anjine, the standard by whom he measured all others, but Vicka Sonnen came close.…
    He accompanied the lumbering monsters along the rough new road into the Corag mountains, still haunted by the things he had been forced to do in this war. He felt some reluctance to return home, since the guilt weighed so heavily on his shoulders.
    But taking these refugees back to their families, who had surely thought their loved ones dead for so many years, would help heal his heart. Days ago, Jenirod had ridden off with his report for Anjine. Soon the queen would know that Mateo was alive and that he had helped secure a major triumph for Tierra. She would be waiting for him when he came home.
    He and Iaros rode Eriettan horses, while a few of the men rode on the swaying mammoths. In a nervous habit, Iaros stroked his ridiculously long mustache. “That was a victory to be proud of, wasn’t it, Mateo? We did a good thing.”
    “Don’t ever doubt it. God was on our side.” Mateo looked behind him at the hundreds of shuffling Tierran prisoners. “Ask any of those refugees—I think they’ll agree.”
    The lead mammoth raised its long trunk and trumpeted, a sound so loud it echoed up the mountain canyons. Mateo was afraid the noise might trigger an avalanche from the snowy slopes, but Iaros didn’t seem concerned.
    When the group reached the top of the pass, Iaros looked north, beyond the gray mountains. “I’ll be in charge of Iboria Reach for as long as my uncle stays in Gremurr.” He dropped his voice. “But I must confess, the local problems of Iboria don’t seem nearly so pressing, given the state of the war.”
    Mateo smiled wistfully, recalling his year of soldier training under Broeck. “The Iborian people are independent, Iaros. They can take care of themselves.”
    When they halted for a meal, Mateo distributed every bit of their remaining food, so the refugees would have full bellies for the march into Stoneholm. “Give someone else my share. I can do without for now. These people have missed too many meals over the years.”
    A grin appeared between the tails of Iaros’s long mustache. “Then I’ll do without, too.” His stomach suddenly growled, as if to challenge his resolve.
    As the former captives ate, Mateo and Iaros strolled among them, offering encouragement about the long march ahead. They packed up and moved on. An early season snow dusted the path through the high meadow, but the mammoths trampled it down. Some of the prisoners from the northlands shared legends about ancient frost giants, who came with the winter cold and could freeze a man solid in between the words of a sentence, but the day was warm and they laughed at the stories.
    Before nightfall, the group reached Stoneholm, the capital city of Corag, built into the mountain under an overhang. A rider came out to meet Mateo and Iaros. “Our scouts spotted you and rushed back to inform Destrar Siescu. He has prepared a victory feast, which awaits you when you arrive.”
    “A feast is well and good,” Mateo said to the messenger, “but they’ve been on low rations for quite a while, so bland and wholesome food would be best. Also, make sure there are lodgings, or at least tents and campfires for everyone.”
    “It’s already done. Destrar Siescu sent word