When snow became involved that was a different story.
It began with a few snowflakes that made everybody smile and made the animals blow at. By the next day, the flakes were falling, covering the ground. People started to slip, and the animals began to pant more heavily. The powder continued to fall, and carts started to struggle as their wheels carved ruts through the snow.
The refugee column had ground to a crawl, the road ahead completely covered by knee-high drifts of white.
Soaked with sweat and yet shivering with cold, Frances helped up an orc child who’d slipped. The orc didn’t even give her a second glance, and only ran up to rejoin his parents. She guessed that a few around her were giving her wary looks, but worry about the weather and their pursuers meant that most listened to her.
Straightening, Frances narrowed her eyes toward the west. Already, fresh snow was falling on top of the ruts and footsteps left by the refugees. There wasn’t any sign of the enemy, at least not yet.
She jogged forward, making her way past trudging Alavari toward the front of the column, eyes searching for a mane of dark-red hair. As she ran, she could spy from the snow, items that had been thrown to lighten the load. They included items as innocuous as extra bedding, and creature comforts such as cutlery, spare plates, and bowls. To Frances’s dismay, she even spied amongst the discarded items, a blue wooden toy horse.
Tearing her eyes away from the sight, the young mage found Timur, bobbing his head as a human lady yelled at him, her centaur husband trying to hold her back.
“I know ma’am, but we can’t keep this porcelain. I know that it’s important to you but it’s slowing us down.”
The woman shook her head, a beautiful purple vase painted with flowers wrapped in her arms. “It’s all I have left of my mother’s work, Your Highness! Please don’t make me let it go. It’s just one small thing.”
Timur, letting his arms fall to his side, tried to speak, only to shake his head. “I’m sorry, but we can’t spare anything that’s not essential.”
“It’s just one vase, even if it slows us down a little that will be fine right?” the woman’s centaur husband asked.
Shaking his head, Timur gestured to the slow-moving carts. “I’m afraid not sir. You can see how slow we’re going right now. We can’t spare anything at this point.”
The centaur sighed and nodded, but the human woman shook her head. “Please, Your Highness. I can see what you mean, but can you make one exception? Just one?”
Timur averted his gaze, his expression torn. Frances, her eyes narrowed, marched in beside her boyfriend.
“I’m sorry, but if you keep that vase you will endanger those that are guarding you. The slower we go, the more chance we will have of getting into a fight that we will probably lose. Do you really want that for you and your family?”
The woman met Frances’s narrowed eyes and was unable to keep facing her. Her eyes wet with tears, she placed the vase gently on the roadside and ran as if she was fleeing. Her husband, sighing, ran after her.
“Did you have to do that, Frances?” Timur asked.
“Yes. We don’t have the time,” she said, continuing to walk along with the convoy.
Timur grimaced, “I could have convinced her. You could have just let me talk her out of it.”
Frances frowned, “Really.”
Her prince hesitated. “Alright maybe not, but you were too harsh with her. That’s all she had to remind her of her mother,” said Timur.
Gritting her teeth, Frances forced herself to breathe in the bitingly cold winter air. She didn’t pull away from Timur, but she didn’t respond either.
The trogre frowned. “Frances? What’s wrong?”
“Too much.” Frances waved her hand. “Timur, just let me think. We need to slow them down or else we’re dead. Unfortunately, I don’t have my magic.”
“Wait, what about the other mages in our convoy?” Timur asked.
Frances’s head whipped around. “Oh, you’re right. We need to talk with them, now!”
----------------------------------------
“A trap? Shouldn’t we be saving our magic for other things?” Dayren asked.
Frances frowned. They’d gathered Dayren, Aloudin and some of the other refugee leaders. All of them looked exhausted, and none of them were giving her friendly or fond looks.
“What other things?” she asked.
“Say we end up fighting our pursuers, we’d need our magic then,” said a troll woman with a wand strapped to her belt.
“Yes, but do you really want to fight them? How many of you have combat experience?” Frances looked around the different mages. Troll, orc, goblin, and ogre all stood quietly, defiantly glaring back at her, but none of them replied.
“Our pursuers won’t be mages, though,” said Dayren.
Aloudin shook his head. “That won’t matter. If the conditions are right, an untrained force of mages can be easily overpowered by a trained cavalry force.”
A human man with the group nodded. “I agree. We’re traveling with our families and children. We can’t risk a battle.”
Dayren and several of the other mages exchanged glances and slowly nodded.
“How do you plan to slow them down?” asked Blazey, the orc blacksmith.
“Make traps, lots of them, both magic and mundane. It’ll force them to slow down,” said Frances.
“And why should we trust you?” The female troll mage trudged up to Frances. Timur almost moved, but Frances held up her hand. “You may be the Stormcaller, but you’re only eighteen and you don’t even have access to your magic now. How could you possibly help us?”
Frances didn’t raise her voice, and instead, fought to keep her tone level. “I’ve fought Alavari for four years, and at Erlenberg, my battalion and I delayed General Antigones’s Black Banner Army for days. You heard the songs, you know me by reputation. Is there some issue you have with me? If so, can we address that after this meeting?”
The troll flinched, but said nothing. She only backed away, allowing Frances to turn to her boyfriend. “Timur, with your permission, can I have a team of twenty, including five mages?”
The prince almost nodded, only to freeze.
“Wait, Frances, what exactly are you going to do?”
Frances frowned. “Destroy the road behind us and lay traps using the snow as cover. Spike pits, pitfalls, and the like. I spied several spots where we can even set up several avalanches. I also have a few vials of Crownfire I can plant in the snow and have them detonate.”
“On both roads?” Timur asked.
Frances nodded, her heart sinking as her prince shook his head. “No, we can’t do that. You’ll hurt civilians using the road if we do so.”
“We can mark the traps!” Frances exclaimed.
Emotions flashed across Timur’s features, one after another. Looking away, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Frances, but I won’t risk it.”
She wasn’t sure what made her turn on her heels and storm off. It could have been the shock, but it could have equally been the anger and the sheer confusion she felt. All she knew was that she couldn’t stand there.
With the snow as heavy as it was, Frances only made it about two cart-lengths away before Timur caught up.
“Frances, wait!” Timur called. She turned, arms crossed as her prince ran up. “I’m sorry.”
Frances exhaled. “I’m sorry too. I thought I had a good idea.”
“It was a good idea. I just don’t think it’s worth it,” said Timur.
“I know. I don’t agree with you. I think you’re making a horrible mistake, but I see what you’re saying.” The pair held hands, Frances’s head bowed, while Timur looked at her worriedly.
“Are you sure about this decision?” Frances asked.
The trogre winced. “Mostly? I—I just can’t think of any other way.”
Frances sighed. “You’re the prince of Alavaria, Timur. Whatever you decide, I will support you.”
Timur smiled weakly. “I’m glad for that. I just hope I’m making the right decision. There’s so much at stake.”
Frances hugged her boyfriend. “Sorry for leaving the meeting like that.”
“Eh, it’s fine,” said Timur. “You’re feeling bad about not being able to use your magic aren’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s not an excuse.” Frances exhaled. “I’ll go back and apologize.”
“That would be nice, thanks Frances,” said Timur, kissing her lightly on the forehead.
Frances smiled, even if the worry she felt didn’t fade.
----------------------------------------
The going continued to be rough and snow continued to fall on the road. More things were tossed and discarded, but at this point, they’d lightened the carts with everything but essential clothing, tools and food. The only good piece of news was that the steady progress the convoy was making meant that they were getting close to Thornspear.
About four days from Thornspear, Olgakaren and Epomonia returned.
“Anriel and Dwynalina are happy to help us, as are the villagers. They have no love for Thorgoth and have already fought off several raiding parties from Minairen,” said Olgakaren.
“And the tunnel?” Timur asked.
Epomonia brushed snow off her helmet. “Anriel and Dwynalina said they navigated the entire length of it and reached the Greenway, but that was five years ago. There might be rockfalls we’ll have to clear.”
Crossing his arms, Timur closed his eyes. Frances squeezed his shoulder and found that she did not like how still he was.
“Aloudin, Frances, what do you think?” Timur asked, opening his eyes.
The orc captain sighed, “We don’t have any other option other than to push on.”
“I agree with the captain. I just hope we can make it to the village before the cavalry catch up with us,” said Frances.
Wincing, Olgakaren started flapping her wings. “I’ll have a look. Be back in a few hours. Epomonia can you get something hot for me when I get back?”
“Of course Olgakaren,” said Epomonia genially.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Frances blinked, staring at the centaur as she waved the harpy off. She still had mixed feelings about Epomonia and her actions, but she was finding it harder and harder to feel angry about her.
“So, you and Olgakaren?” Timur asked, grinning.
Epomonia blushed and bowed her head. “I—I hope there might be something. I don’t know how she feels about what I did at Erlenberg.”
Frances took a deep breath. “If we survive the war, I can arrange to connect you with someone who will help you in your penance.”
A flash of fear passed over Epomonia’s features that faded into a look of acceptance and relief. “Thanks, Frances,”
----------------------------------------
It was five, not three hours later that Olgakaren alighted on Epomonia’s back. The harpy hungrily drank the hot tea that the centaur held up to her, whilst Timur, Frances and a few of the other refugee leaders waited for her report.
Wiping her beak on the handkerchief Epomonia offered her, Olgakaren cleared her throat. “At the speeds that we’re going, the vanguard of the cavalry after you will catch up in two days’ time. It’s not all bad news, though. The snow’s slowing them as much as they are slowing us. The majority of the vanguard are goblin wolf riders, of which there are only fifty of them. The main body of the enemy won’t catch up with us until four days’ time.”
The refugee leaders stared at the harpy with horror, while Aloudin and Frances exchanged grim looks. As for Timur, he had bowed his head and was wincing.
“How many soldiers are in the main body?” Frances asked.
“About two hundred boar and horse cavalry. We won’t survive a fight with them,” said Olgakaren.
“At our pace, we have four days before we reach Thornspear. They’ll catch us,” said Timur.
“We need to slow them down then. Have we tried laying traps in their way?” Olgakaren asked.
“Lady Stormcaller suggested it, but his Highness decided not to,” said the female troll mage, glaring at Timur.
“Wait, why not?” Epomonia asked, eyes wide.
“I—I thought. I mean, it was stupid of me, but I thought—I was worried the traps would hurt other civillians using the road. I didn’t want that to happen.” Timur ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault—”
Aloudin cut in, his tone firm. “Timur, you didn’t know how severe the threat was. Besides Madame Gisella, weren’t you challenging Lady Stormcaller about laying traps?”
The troll mage winced and fell silent. Aloudin, smiling mirthlessly, turned back to Timur. “Your Highness, we can still lay traps to slow them down. Give the word and we can do so immediately.”
Timur nodded. “Please, and thank you, Aloudin.” He turned to the refugee leaders. “Blazey, Dayren, can you get some mages and laborers to help?”
“Of course,” said Blazey, whilst Dayren also nodded.
“We can also get the young mages to help. It’ll be simple work that they can perform,” said Frances.
“Good idea, let’s go. Hurry!” Timur snapped.
----------------------------------------
Frances nodded approvingly as Blazey and a team of orcs and ogres smashed up the road with hammers. “We don’t have to smash every tile! Just enough to make the ride dangerous! Dayren, how is that avalanche looking?”
“Don’t shout!” the half-goblin mage hissed. He was standing along with Gisella and some other mages on a nearby rise next to the road. A huge pile of snow was rising higher and higher as they poured their magic into the construct. “It’s coming along!”
“Thank you,” Frances whispered. Touching her heels to her horse, she rode to a small crowd of youths and dismounted. Half of them, mostly teenagers were casting magic or drawing on small pieces of paper and card. The others, younger children, were burying said cards into the ice.“Hattie, how are things?”
The half-troll orphan rose from where she was conferring with some other teens. “It’s going alright. No accidents yet.”
“There won’t be. I haven’t taught you all how to activate the cards yet for your safety. I’m going to teach you now,” said Frances.
Hattie exchanged a glance with one of her friends, before frowning. “You don’t think we won’t do something stupid with what you’ve taught us?”
“You’re assuming that you’ll survive to do something stupid. Our pursuers can still catch up to us, even if you lay two hundred of those magical traps. They’re just small bombs after all.” Frances winced, thinking she might have been too harsh. Yet, as she observed the youths, she realized that very few of them had any reaction to her pronouncement.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to say we can’t escape. I’m just saying I’m willing to let you learn this spell, if it means saving our lives,” said Frances.
Hattie nodded. “Alright. So how do we activate these things?”
----------------------------------------
That night, when everybody had slumped into their bedrolls, Frances entered the tent she shared with Timur, and found him cross-legged facing the flap.
“Frances, I’d like to apologize. I should have listened to you days earlier when you suggested the trap.”
His words injected a profound sensation of vindication into Frances that was tempered by the look of shame on her love’s features. She sat down in front of Timur, clasping his hands.
“It’s alright. You were trying to do the right thing.”
The trogre squeezed back, his eyes closed. “We might die because of my decision. How are you alright with this?”
Frances swallowed, trying to bite back some of the frustration she still felt. She instead tried to lean onto her lover’s shoulder and draw him into a hug. Timur embraced her, but tightly, almost desperately.
“You’re not fine with it, aren’t you?” Timur rasped.
Frances pulled back, making sure her boyfriend’s eyes were on her. “I’m not happy, but I know you made an honest mistake. I still love you.”
The trogre winced, but didn’t reply, so Frances just held him, waiting, and watching him think.
“I don’t know how to do this, Frances. They all seem to just trust me because I’m a Prince of Alavaria, but I have never done anything like this before. Y—you don’t have to tell me I can do it. I know you’re here for me. I just… I just…” Timur’s voice trailed off as he hugged Frances even more tightly. “I don’t know. I’m sorry for rambling.”
Frances winced. She wished she could tell her love that everything was alright. She wished she could make him feel better. Only she knew that those words wouldn’t change what he was feeling.
“You don’t need to apologize for that, Timur. Just…relax,” she whispered.
And as Timur hung on to her, she hummed a quiet song under her breath. A soft lullaby that she hoped would bring some comfort to her prince.
----------------------------------------
Three days later, and one month since Goldilora had told her to stop performing magic, Frances lifted Ivy’s Sting, took a deep breath and sang out a low note. Sections of packed snow, crushed by wagon wheels lifted into the air. Satisfied, she let the snow drop back onto the ground, and watch it tumble down the path and off to the side.
They’d long since left the Great Southern Road. Instead they’d headed up a winding road that clambered up alongside the Pekara Mountain Range. This was the road that would take them to Thornspear.
It was tough going for everybody. Several of the older horses had already died of the exertion and the cold. Moreover, the road was paved but narrow. Two carts could move up it at the same time, but the wheel of one of the carts would be teetering on the edge of a slow drop. The restless children had to be watched with eagle eyes and even the adults had to watch their step.
Ironically the only group Frances didn’t have to watch were the orphans. Perhaps it was the seriousness of the situation, or maybe they’d been tired out using their magic to build roadblocks from trees that the adults had chopped, but they did exactly what she told them to do.
Frances pointed Ivy’s Sting at the road behind them and made another note. A earthen barrier slowly rose, forcing itself through the snow-covered flatstones and making a wall that stretched across the road, and that was higher than any horse could jump. If they went around the wall, the cavalry would have to push their way into the deep snowdrifts on either side of the road.
“Frances, how do you feel?” Timur asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She turned to Timur, smiling. “Much better. I still don’t feel back to my full strength, but Goldilora told me to expect that.”
I think you feel much better too, Frances. Ivy’s Sting intoned.
“Thanks Ivy. And thanks for the suggestion about the cards,” said Frances, beaming brightly at her wand.
My pleasure as always.
Timur’s smile suddenly faded. “Frances, do you see that?” He pointed down the road.
Rummaging into her pack, Frances pulled out her spyglass and peered down it. As expected, it was the goblin wolf riders, their small forms were wrapped warmly in black fur-lined winter coats. Their wolves were striding over the road, sniffing carefully.
“It’s the riders, Timur. The traps slowed them down, but not by much.” Frances stowed her spyglass and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We were there not twelve hours ago?”
“Yes, and we had the wagons to worry about. They do somehow have to get past several roadblocks.” He narrowed his eyes. “Hey, they’re coming up on one now.”
Frances put her spyglass back to her eye. The goblins were coming to one of the many similar roadblocks the refugees had dropped in their path. This particular example consisted of trees thrown and stacked in their path.
Of course, having had to get across many different examples of these roadblocks, the goblins approached this one with caution. Frances watched, eyes narrowed as two of the goblins dismounted and pulled out staves.
“Ah, they have two mages. That explains how they’re getting past our traps.” Frances grimaced, while the goblins put up magical shields and started to slowly remove the hidden card-bombs amidst the trees, and breaking the magical Word of Power etched into the trunks.
“That’s a lot of mages for a scout group. Most wouldn’t have more than one. May I?” Frances handed her boyfriend her spyglass. He adjusted the focus and steadied himself by setting one foot on a nearby rock. It was completely unconscious, but Frances found the pose Timur was striking rather cool.
Shaking her head, Frances asked, “You noticed something, right Timur?”
“Yeah. Did you notice their winter coats and their banners?” the prince asked.
Frances pulled her gaze from her boyfriend and narrowed it back on the goblins. “I didn’t see their banner. What is it?”
Timur’s frown deepened. “A four-fingered white hand clutching a sword on a grey field. Have you ever seen that one? Because I don’t recognize it.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t really paid attention to Alavari heraldry to know, Timur. What’s strange about that symbol?” Frances asked.
Timur took his eye off the spyglass. “Well, the fact that it’s holding a weapon. The Four White Fingers is Alavari’s national symbol because it represents every Alavari. After all, all of us either have four fingers, four toes, four claws, or in the centaur’s case four extra legs. It was the one symbol that could unite us all and so it tends to be a symbol associated with peace and welcome. I’ve seen weapons put beside the hand but never the hand holding it.”
Frances nodded. “So how does putting a weapon in that hand change the meaning of the symbol?”
“Depends, but in this case, the hand is holding the sword pointing diagonally downward, which suggests “execution.” That just makes things stranger because I can’t imagine any military unit or noble house wanting to be associated with an executioner.” Timur glanced at Frances, and he must have noticed her lost expression because he pursed his lips. “Think of writing across a big flag, “I’m going to kill you.” That’s what that flag is saying.”
Frances pursed her lips. “Maybe it’s deliberate.”
Timur chuckled. “Possibly, but it is such an extraordinarily tacky way to say it!”
Frances bit back the urge to giggle. “I’ll keep that in mind when designing a flag, Timur.” She turned to jog back up to the refugee convoy, glancing over her shoulder when she realized Timur wasn’t following her. “Timur?”
The prince, who was still looking back toward their pursuers, shook his head. “Sorry, coming. Just had a thought.”
“What was it?” Frances asked as they jogged after the convoy.
Timur quickly caught up with the much shorter Frances, thanks to his long legs, but slowed so he was running beside her. “The grey background of the flag. Grey is a royal color. In fact, my personal heraldic device has grey in it.”
“Timur,” said Frances gently, even though she did wish to hear more about her prince’s heraldic device.
“Right, sorry. Though I wonder what my device would look like if we ever got married—” Timur clapped one hand to his mouth, his eyes wide as he skidded to a halt.
Having stopped, Frances knew she was blushing. She also knew that she was smiling at the picture forming in her mind, both of a visual symbol of her and Timur’s relationship, and of herself standing with Timur at an altar.
“Timur, I would love to discuss that later, but first, tell me what’s strange about that flag,” said Frances.
Her prince stared at her for a moment, before a grin slowly spread across his features. “O—of course. Well, what’s strange about that flag is that only the ruler of Alavaria and his immediate relatives can use grey as it represents the House of Greyhammer. I’ve only seen the Royal Guards use that color and they don’t carry their own banner, but the banner of the person they’re protecting.”
Frances grimaced and started to jog again. “So these soldiers are definitely working for your father?”
Timur nodded. “Yes, the question is who else. If they were working for my father, they’d be carrying his banner, not the one of this unknown relation of mine.”
“I suppose we’ll have to find out when we inevitably end up fighting them,” said Frances, going over battle plans in her mind.
Timur groaned, but didn’t contradict her.
----------------------------------------
Frances was just finishing a loaf of frozen bread with Timur when Hattie ran up to where they were riding.
“Dayren says to tell you that some people from Thornspear want to speak to you and Timur,” said the half-troll.
“Thanks, Hattie,” said Timur, smiling brightly before urging his horse to a gallop. Frances nodded at the glowering child, before following Timur.
The group that was blocking the road consisted of a number of burly villagers armed with spears and bows. Standing in front of them, deep in conversation with Dayren and Aloudin, were two short women both with silver-white hair.
Frances guessed that the woman with the mage’s staff was The Violet Queen Dwynalina. The half-goblin half-troll was wrapped in a black bear-skin cloak and had a vivid bear-claw tattoo across her face. Her heart-shaped face wore a calculating smile.
A similar if grimmer smile graced the woman in a low crouch Dwynalina. Also a half-goblin half-troll, Anriel’s white hair was braided and curled into a bun. A huge longbow was strapped across her back, a two-handed sword hanging from a scabbard at her side.
Anriel was the one who straightened and ran toward Timur. She actually grabbed him and lifted him up in a hug.
“Timur! I heard you have a girlfriend now!”
“I do! I’d love to introduce you to her, I-just-can’t-breathe!” Timur gasped.
“Oh sorry!” Anriel dropped Timur, who took in deep breaths, whilst Frances stepped forward.
“I’m Frances Windwhistler. You may know me as—”
“The Stormcaller. We’re familiar with your reputation,” said Dwynalina.
The elderly mage didn’t glare at Frances. In fact, her expression didn’t change, yet there was something cool about how she addressed her.
Frances took a breath. “Thank you for agreeing to help us. I’m sorry but our pursuers are drawing close. Did you manage to prepare any defenses?”
“We did thankfully, but we haven’t managed to evacuate our town. What do you know about the condition of our tunnel to the Greenway?” Anriel asked.
Frances, and the other refugees glanced at Timur, who frowned. “You showed me part of it once. It’s quite narrow and very steep, but it’s wide enough for a standard cart to pass.”
“Yes, but the problem is that the rest of the tunnel isn’t in such good condition. Since the tunnel seems to have been built using an existing cave system, parts of it have eroded over time or have collapsed into that system. It’s been a rough going mapping the right route through it and leading as many people on,” said Anriel.
“To put it bluntly, we’re going to need a rearguard,” said Dwynalina. “As much as I’d like to burn some of Thorgoth’s troops, I and Anriel can’t be spared. We’re the only ones who’ve been in this tunnel.”
In an instant, Frances realized what the two older women were hinting at.
“What are you saying, Dwynalina?” Timur asked.
Frances sighed and tugged at Timur’s arm. Her prince turned, his eyes wide. She could tell that Timur knew what the two women meant, but he didn’t want to say it.
“I’m going to have to stay behind and hold them off as long as I can,” said Frances.