CHAPTER 39: DARKER SKIES

Argrave stared up at a sheer wall of ice, the two suns above raining light down. The light travelled through the wall, illuminating it and sending rainbow-colored rays in odd directions. Though the light made it seem magical, Argrave was searching for enchantments without success. It was a wonder such a thing could persist throughout the ages without help from magic; a hundred-foot-tall wall made of ice could not be a simple endeavor.

He reached a hand out and touched the blue ice. Even through his gloves, he could feel the cold. It emanated outwards, and he pulled away his fingers as though he’d just touched dry ice. Even with the sunlight above, it did not melt, it did not morph, and it did not fall, protecting against the snow for thousands of years. Perhaps there was some irony in that; the greatest bulwark against the cold was cold.

Argrave heard footsteps behind, and he turned to spot Anneliese. The capital of Veiden lay before him; unlike the previous city of Katla, the eponymously named capital Veiden was made of stone. It was ancient, too. The buildings were carved, each one depicting some sort of historical scene. It looked more a ruin than a city, yet snow elves abounded nonetheless, joyfully participating in the suffering of the world.

“I’ve found their home,” Anneliese began, walking to him. “Galamon’s family lives not so far from here, according to the locals. Do you truly intend to visit them?”

“I do,” Argrave nodded, tapping his cane against the ground. He gestured for Anneliese to lead onwards, and they moved through the city slowly.

“I didn’t expect this place to be so… developed,” Argrave commented. “I hear the word ‘tribe,’ the mind thinks of backwards people. But this place is truly just a civilization separate from Berendar. I suppose a people capable of sailing and using steel have no reason to be simple.” He gazed at some of the stone carvings as he passed.

“The city of Veiden was carved from a glacier formed atop a mountain,” Anneliese spoke quickly. “Thousands of years of history have been etched into the stone here. Even then, we Veidimen were using steel. We have never been a technologically stunted people; we have only been divided and lacking resources. Now, that has changed.”

Argrave turned his head to Anneliese. He was very curious about her motivations, her goals, her likes, her dislikes. She liked to stay neutral and passive in conversation, but she seemed to genuinely care about Veiden. They shared a common interest; a fascination with the world of ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ Hers was more scholarly, granted. I suppose I have plenty of time to learn about her, Argrave thought.

“Here,” Anneliese pointed, stopping them both. “That building.”

Argrave turned towards where she was pointing. It seemed a fairly nice home—large enough for a family to live, certainly. It was square and stone like most other buildings in this city, so it was difficult to judge if it was exactly well-off. Argrave stepped forward towards the stone door at the entrance, lifting his cane and tapping it thrice.

After a few moments, he heard faint footsteps on the other side of the door. A woman’s voice called out, “Who is it?”

“Hi. Is this the residence of Galamon’s wife?” Argrave called out.

After a few moments, the door peeked open. A deep purple eye sized him up. “You… aren’t a Veidimen.”

“I’m a friend of your husband’s.” Argrave tapped his chest. “I wanted to meet his family, see how you’re holding up.”

She opened the door wide, some amount of confusion and shock on her face. She looked rather young, and her face had a kind innocence to it, as though retaining all its childlike naivete. Her hair was a bright gold color and kept short. “You mean… on the human continent? You spoke to him?”

“He’s my retainer, though he’s presently not here for reasons I’m sure you can surmise.” Argrave nodded. “May we come in?”

Her eyes darted around, her mouth agape in surprise. “I never thought… Galamon, how is he? Did he look well? How has he been doing?” the questions poured out as her wariness immediately faded. “Oh, forgive me. Come in. My name is Muriem. My son is downstairs, I should…” her voice faded away as she ran into the house.

Argrave looked to Anneliese while laughing lightly through his nose, and then he entered, cane clicking against the stone. He tried to shut the door casually, but he found it unmoving. He had to push it shut with his whole body.

Muriem walked back into the room from the basement. Behind her, Argrave saw a familiar-looking dour face. He was rather taken aback by how similar the snow elf looked to his father, Galamon. Argrave reckoned If the boy were to get some age lines, some scars, and possible post-traumatic stress disorder from years of intense war, he’d be Galamon’s double.

“Have a seat,” Muriem beckoned. “Please. I’ll prepare drinks.”

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Nikoletta pulled Mina’s arms off her, and said, “Come on,” pulling her friend along with her as they rushed to the side of the bald old man that had just devastated the enemy mages. He was barely taller than Mina, but considering what he’d just done, Nikoletta approached with cautious deference. “Thank you for the assistance, but… who are you, sir?”

“The Tower Master,” the short old man replied. “You are the young lady Monticci. I’d advise you to be careful. The warriors fell into the ocean, but many of those mages will surely not fall so easily.”

“Master Castro?” Nikoletta said aloud. “Thank the gods you came…” she brought a still trembling hand to her mouth. “Thank the gods…” She knelt down, feeling queasy.

“As I said, young lady, the battle is not over,” he advised kindly. “That one spell has expended my magic greatly. Now, we still have to deal with the rest. I have innumerable questions, but I will not hector you just yet.”

“Right,” she said, nodding as she looked at the ground. “Right. I’m the ducal heir of House Monticci. I can’t be stopped by just this.” She stood. “There are invaders outside the walls, attacking the garrison with throwing weapons. Should I—”

A crack echoed through the air, and in the time it took Nikoletta to blink, she saw a jagged cut of lightning through the air. It struck her armor and the enchantments shone brightly, allowing only some lightning through. That they persisted despite how much damage Nikoletta had taken was a testament to the armor’s craftsmanship.

The Tower Master pointed his hand, and a thin needle of fire shot out of a quickly formed spell matrix followed by a scream of agony.

“Nicky,” Mina spoke, her voice shaky. “We should get to safety. The forces are broken, and we’ll just be baggage to the Tower Master.”

“I can’t just abandon things, run away. I have a duty as the ducal heir!” she shouted at Mina.

“What good can we do here?” Mina urged.

“I-I don’t… damnit.” Nikoletta’s voice cracked.

“She is somewhat right. Here, only the titans walk still. You may be of some minor help, but I would feel more comfortable if the death of Duke Enrico’s daughter was not a potential outcome of every spell tossed my way.” The Tower Master did not take his eyes from the scene before him.

Nikoletta took deep breaths, considering things. Eventually, she nodded. Her eyes drifted to the building close to what remained of the docks. “But my father is in the customs office. I cannot leave him there.”

“I felt a B-rank mage near him, and I am not incautious. He should be fine. Now go, young lady,” Castro commanded.

“Come on, Nicky.” Mina tugged at her arm.

“Fine,” Nikoletta conceded, nodding. “But not to safety. Back to the wall. Those elves outside will need to be dealt with.”

The Tower Master reached into his robes and pulled free a decadent black whistle. “If you’re so committed to that idea, take this. With it, you can call my wyvern. Blow it twice and point at the invaders. My Gray Owl is smart; he will know from that alone.” He tossed the gilded whistle towards Nikoletta, and she caught it.

She examined the whistle in her hand, and then clenched it tight. “Thank you, Master Castro. House Monticci owes you the greatest debt imaginable. Mina, let’s go.”This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

Mina hesitantly nodded, and then the two ran away from the docks, weaving into the city. Some of the people that had previously locked themselves in their homes were emerging, moving about in panic from the tremendous impacts. Most ran away from the docks. Mina and Nikoletta had great difficulty moving unimpeded.

As they ran, the archers that Nikoletta had called for pushed their way past. Nikoletta opened her mouth to call out to them, but then decided they would still be best suited near the docks than at the walls. The wyvern would be a game-changer. She clenched it tighter in hand, her other hand holding Mina by the arm so they were not separated.

Soon enough, they broke free from the crowds and made their way to the walls once more. Nikoletta ran up the stairs, winded but persistent in her path to the top. When she made it to the top, she paused to catch for breath while surveying the scene. There were a lot more dead now than when she left—axes, javelins, and arrows sticking out from their cold corpses.

The red-haired mercenary, Melanie, turned her head back to look at Nikoletta. She’d taken up a bow, her sword resting at her feet.

“The pay piggy returns,” Melanie shouted, releasing the bowstring. She ducked behind one of the parapets.

“Watch your words,” Mina bristled, but Nikoletta stopped her.

“Mina,” she huffed, far too out of breath for a long reprimand. “Later.” She stepped forward, minding that she did not reveal her head above the parapets. “What’s happened?”

“I’d like to ask you that,” Melanie countered. “Explosions, giants—a damned boat landing on the wall. We had to deal with some mage who landed up here. Well, I did,” Melanie amended. “Mages always have terrible reaction time.”

“The docks are ruined. I think things are under control, but…” Nikoletta shook her head. “I think now is the time to wrap things up here.”

“Hoh?” Melanie made an incredulous noise. “The prissy young lady’s got a trick up her sleeve, does she?”

Mina kicked her shin, but it hit Melanie’s plate boot. The mercenary shot a cocky grin in return. Nikoletta ignored the mercenary’s conduct, looking up to the sky at the gray wyvern. She took the whistle in her hand, holding it tightly. She could feel the sweat beneath her leather gauntlets. Nikoletta watched the line of invaders arrayed outside, thinking things through in her head.

“Protect me for a little bit,” she directed, rising to her feet. She brought the whistle to her lips and blew it twice. The sound was rather ordinary, and at once, it was superseded by a great roar from the sky. Nikoletta kept her eyes fixed on the mages grouped together near the center and pointed her finger right at them.

Nikoletta did not tear her gaze from the invaders. They stayed huddled near each other at a fair distance, waiting for their opportunity to move in. Then, like a ripple passed through them, their heads turned to the left. Their unity started to shatter as many moved away, shouting. Then, they all ran in panic.

A gray blur passed by, sliding against the ground and leaving a great cloud of grass, wheat, and dirt in its wake. It cruised by countless of the snow elves, crushing and ripping them apart with ease. When its momentum finally slowed, it took off running and jumped to the skies, great wings bringing it ever upwards.

“Hot damn,” Melanie said, watching the scene. She stood up, nocking another arrow. “No time like the present, boys!” she shouted, rallying the troops. “Let those marble bastards know what you’ve been through!” she pulled back the arrow and fired.

Nikoletta watched the wyvern until it was far, far in the air, and then blew the whistle twice again, her finger pointing near the bulk of them. The wyvern brought its wings together till it resembled a dart in the sky and dropped towards the earth with terrifying speed. Once more, it crashed into the earth, sliding and tearing. It caught a mage in its jaws.

But the snow elves did not remain idle. A few stepped forward, grabbing the wyvern’s wings to hold it down. One of the mages shot up into the sky and fired a spear of ice, impaling the creature’s wings. With all the efficiency of a butcher, the warriors climbed atop the reptile’s wings and cut its webbings. The beast roared out in pain, tearing its wing free from the ice spike. It thrashed about, trying to keep the tide of slowly approaching warriors at bay.

“Keep firing!” Melanie shouted once more.

Arrows soared at the Veidimen in droves, piercing their backs as they dealt with the wyvern. The elves encircled the wyvern, holding javelins in front of them. Even when the beast swung its wings to batter its foes, their spears would stab the creature. The snow elves leapt in with all the ruthlessness of a wolf pack, slowly wearing away at the creature with a mechanical efficiency. Mages attacked from the back, opening great wounds with potent ice magic. It seemed a practiced tactic.

Another volley of arrows thinned the snow elves’ numbers considerably. The wyvern broke free from the encirclement, killing many. It tried to break into a run and fly, but it only jumped and crashed miserably. More of the Veidimen came to finish it off, and it swatted them away with its tail, roaring.

Finally, an ice spike hurtled through the air, catching the creature in the eye. The creature reared back and then fell to the fields outside Mateth, lifeless. Nikoletta felt a great deal of despair for the wyvern’s death, but beneath it was a fierce relief as she felt the snow elves’ numbers had thinned enough that they were no longer an issue.

One of the snow elves pulled free a horn, blowing into it thrice. It was returned at another portion of the wall. Nikoletta watched cautiously, expecting the worst. When the Veidimen started moving away, she could not process what was happening immediately.

It was not until a lone soldier shouted out, “VICTORY!” that Nikoletta began to consider the possibility.

She stepped to the parapets, watching them leave. She felt a great rush in her chest as some new emotion found its way into her heart. She clenched the black whistle in her hand, raised a fist to the sky, and joined with the shouts of victory.

Much had been lost. All of Mateth’s fleet was lost at the sea. The bulk of their military force was dead, the majority of them having been well-trained knights. The docks had been completely destroyed and rebuilding them would cost a fortune in gold—a commodity which would be very precious in the wake of the civil war. They owed a huge debt to Master Castro, both in his assistance and his wyvern. Their losses were not small, but above all that, one simple truth prevailed.

Mateth had not fallen.