image [https://i.imgur.com/yFu9mOD.png]

II

Corpses

Drake spit in the snow. ‘Dis ain’ right.’

‘It isn’t.’ Michael sighed. He pulled the hood of his thick, frost-blue cloak over his face so he couldn’t see the cart from the corner of his eyes. It didn’t matter. The horses pulling it neighed, reminding him of its presence all the same.

‘So why?!’ Drake snarled. He glared in the general direction of the estate as if that would help.

‘Because the Warden demands it,’ Michael said.

‘She’s no Warden,’ Drake said. ‘She’s only here cuz her daddy got sick and her brother’s a cuck.’

‘Careful, frostguard,’ a tall man warned. The guard captain was armed in leather gear, and both the sword at his hip and the shield on his back carried the insignia of House Vrost: a shield of ice in the form of a snowflake. ‘You may have your opinions. But disrespecting the Warden will not be tolerated.’

Drake snorted. ‘Ya hear him, Michael?’

Michael remained silent, busying himself with counting snowfall.

Drake clicked his tongue. He whirled on the guard captain and stormed forwards. ‘Ya think yur so tough, huh? Yuv got easy talkin, mate. It’s not yur brothers who she’ll turn.’

‘Back off,’ the guard captain said, hand on his pommel.

Drake revealed yellow, crooked teeth. ‘Ya wanna know sumthing?’ He jammed a finger at the cart. ‘We slip up an’ un of tha demons ever make it past the walls, an’ that’ll be you in that cart. An’ when yar a walking dead, I wonder if ya still speak in defence of that witch!’

‘Back off.’ The captain’s sword half-cleared his scabbard.

Drake held his gaze before lazily throwing up his hands. ‘Yar lucky ya masters here.’

The captain glanced back and struck a salute.

Drake chuckled, doing the same, and Michael followed, too.

His condescending snarl turned into one of concern. Drake had heard tales—stories told in the barracks over wine—heard that the Vrosts were descendants of Frost Giants living high up on the mountains west of the Weeping Lake. He had laughed at the time. Seeing the wanna-be Warden in person, though, he believed them. The woman must’ve been seven foot, which wasn’t the impressive part. There were grunts at Castle Frost that were seven foot. What shocked him was the size. She was that tall yet she wasn’t lanky. Her arms hugged the sleeves of her coat (they must’ve been the girth of his thigh), and her boots left an imprint in the snow that could swallow his foot.

The maid at her side looked like an ant in comparison. The horses were more like dwarves. They stamped their feet, nothing but the reins Michael was holding and the weight of the cart keeping them from hightailing out of here.

‘Captain,’ the giantess said with a gruff voice. She turned to the others. ‘Frostguards. I hope your journey from Castle Frost wasn’t perilous.’

‘Not at all, Warden!’ Michael said, hand still in the position of a salute. ‘But we would like to return before dark. If we may request your approval of the…contents of our shipment.’

The giantess placed a hand on the side of the carriage, making the horses whine, and lifted the snow-covered flap sparing the bodies from the elements. Her gaze stayed trained on the contents for a moment. ‘When did they die?’ she asked, lowering the flap.

Drake swallowed his lips. He thought he’d seen sympathy for a second. But he’d expected too much of a witch.

‘Three days ago, Warden,’ Michael said like the good dog that he was. ‘They fell during a ranging expedition out into The Wailing Forest.’

‘I see,’ she said.

‘That all?’ Drake barely kept his words from coming out as a snarl.

She fixed him with a look. ‘Yes.’ Then turned to her house pet. ‘Captain, please take them out back.’

‘Right away, Warden.’ He took the reins from Michael.

The giantess watched him go before turning around. ‘You,’ she said, looking at Drake. ‘Name and rank.’

‘Drake Greyhound, Ma’am, Ice Ward,’ he saluted despite himself. Why am I even saluting? She ain’t the Warden.

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Ice Ward was the lowest rank after novice. Drake hadn’t manned the walls for more than a year.

‘Ice Ward Drake,’ she repeated. ‘You should be more careful.’ She glanced at the dark spot in the snow next to him, then fixed him with a stare so cold his hackles rose. ‘The wind carries voices further than you think.’

Drake swallowed. ‘Noted, Ma’am.’

‘Warden,’ she said. ‘I won’t correct you a second time.’

‘Yes, Warden.’ Drake quickly saluted.

She grunted. ‘You can wait at the gate. The captain will return your cart after offloading the bodies.’

Then she was gone, following in the steps of the guard captain.

‘Thanks,’ Michael said, shaking his head. ‘Because of you we need to wait out in the cold.’

‘Oh shut yer trap!’ Drake snarled low enough the witch wouldn’t hear.

He spit in the snow again. Hopefully she doesn’t remember my name.

image [https://i.imgur.com/z6G5s0x.png]

The captain hauled the last of the five corpses into the shed. Tables with tools and shelves with equipment belied its history as a tool shed. But it had been repurposed. A spherical crystal hung from the ceiling like a chandelier, releasing mist that clouded the air. My breath came out as mist, too.

These were freezing temperatures.

The guard captain dropped a man with a gash across his entire face on a table in the centre. Then he paused. The captain closed his eyes and placed a hand against his heart. Leaning on the wall to the side of the entrance, I waited for him to finish.

After closing his prayers, the guard captain took a silver coin from his pocket and put it on the man’s forehead.

‘A custom?’ I asked.

The guard jumped like he’d forgotten I was here. ‘Yes, Warden! It’s an old Bear Tribe custom.’

I hummed. ‘Only the one coin?’

He shamefully shook his head. ‘I don’t have any smaller change on me. One will have to do.’

I nodded.

He shifted in place in the quiet left between us. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Warden?’

‘No. You may leave. Return the frostguard’s their horses and cart. I don’t want them returning late.’

The door to the makeshift freezer closed, and then I was alone with the corpses.

I breathed in deep—the cold and partially stale air of the shed stung, and there was the obvious smell of rot. It calmed me. I could taste the chill in the air that was more than physical: a thick and dark energy waiting for me to command it. In this foreign place, Death was the sole thing truly familiar to me.

My eyes went to the words.

Miasma =

895/895

‘Miasma,’ I said. The term echoed slightly when I pronounced it. Letting instincts guide me, I extended my hand in front of me, holding my palm out to the sky. For a while I just stood there. I listened to the slight moaning of the crystal, the shrill cry of the wind outside that pierced through the walls.

‘Gather.’

Nothing. I kept my hand outstretched. My attention heightened, the background noise fell away, and I sensed for a flow inside myself that reflected the dark energy I sensed in the room.

‘Gather.’

This time, a dark sphere of rippling shadow coalesced in my palm. I exhaled at the sight. My breath was colder—more sinister—than before, and my mind practically begged for me to wield the well of power and shape it into…

Something dead. Something unliving. And wouldn’t you know, there were five deceased beings right in front of me. But I didn’t do it. I allowed the sphere of dark energy to fade.

There was no use in raising these dead right away. They would do nothing but sit here. Worse—despite my skill, I was in an unfamiliar body—I could lose control of them and they could attack the servants.

‘I’ll return later.’

Before doing anything else, I wanted a better overview of the world I was in. They had called me Warden, and I had adopted the title to blend in, but what exactly did it mean?

image [https://i.imgur.com/z6G5s0x.png]

The maid who’d brought news of the frostguards dropped a thick tome on my desk.

‘There was only a single volume relating to the history of the Duchy in our library, Milady.’

‘That is good enough. You may return to your tasks.’

‘Yes, Milady.’ She curtsied and hurried out of the room.

I rubbed a hand over the bound leather. ‘A Compendium of the Duchy of Vrost,’ the title read. There was no mention of an author.

The first page showed a map. My eyes fell on a long line to the north, which must be the fortification I had seen. It was known solely as The Wall and spanned the entirety of the northern border, being around 480 kilometres in total.

I had a few questions. One: How had it been built? A wall that tall and wide would take more than just human hands. Two: Why had it been built? Walls kept others out.

Who was the North defending from?

The map didn’t answer. It did, however, enlighten me to something else. The overview was a zoomed-in version of the entire continent so everything beyond the borders was blank. But the Duchy of Vrost was clearly visible. I flipped a page to a more detailed version of the Duchy. The wall, it turned out, was under my family’s authority, together with the many towns around it and two more notable cities: Frostholm to the east, and Vrost to the south, in the middle of the Duchy.

We had more under our control. Multiple woods and mountain ranges, a large stretch of frozen, uninhabitable ground called the Frozen Wastes, and a road that went down south and passed our border. At a guess, I’d say we made up around thirty percent of the entire North.

‘Expansive,’ I said.

But sparsely populated. Keeping a region as big as this safe was quite the task. Luckily, we had help.

I searched for Castle Frost and found it midway along the wall. It was part of a row of similar strongholds stretched along the border. I looked out the window. I couldn’t see Castle Frost, but I could judge from the route the two frostguards took which direction it was in. If they wanted to return before night on horseback while dragging a cart, it couldn’t be far. I also saw silhouetted signs of civilisation. I was near what looked to be a town.

My fingers traced the route. That must be Snowspire.

‘They certainly have the ice theme down.’

Next, I tried finding the woods the frostguard mentioned. The Wailing Forest was directly beyond the wall, being several hundreds of kilometres in scope. The entire area was marked in black, and an asterisk, which was explained in a footnote, noted that no sane man had ever set foot in the forest willingly—it urged the reader to follow this advice.

‘Fascinating.’

The fact I had truly been transmigrated into another world caught up to me.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I had gone to sleep expecting death. Instead, I found myself with what was maybe a second chance at life. The one thing I couldn’t understand was: Why? Lucian and my children were gone, and there was nothing I had left undone.

A brooding sensation I had never experienced before gripped my heart.

What purpose did I have in this world, if any?