Chapter 10

The blizzard was still howling away when Ilyshn’ish returned to the village. With the massive flock of Skrili long gone, Ghroklor’s warriors had mustered up enough courage to investigate the surface and she found several of them loitering at the entrance of her tunnel.

“Good morning,” Ilyshn’ish said.

Shouts of alarm filled the air as the warriors jumped in collective fright, shedding some of the ice that had caked on their fur. A few turned to fight while some others dove into the nearest snowdrift.

“W-Winter Moon,” a Nar warrior with puffed-up fur said. “You’re back.”

“That I am!” She replied cheerfully.

“Were you able to find out anything useful?”

“I believe so,” Ilyshn’ish said. “We may even be able to leave soon.”

“Then I shouldn’t keep you here,” the warrior said. “Ghroklor’s in his headquarters – I’m sure he’d like to hear your findings.”

Ilyshn’ish entered the tunnel after expressing her thanks. On the opposite end, the Krkonoše were nowhere to be found. They didn’t like being around too many people, so they had probably relocated after the tunnel near their spot turned into a thoroughfare.

“Winter Moon,” Ghroklor said from the command post’s central table. “Good to see you back unscathed. What did you discover?”

“Plenty,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “You’ll be pleased to know that you can leave anytime.”

“How can that be? The ferocity of this blizzard has not abated in the slightest. We can barely see in front of our faces out there!”

“The fringe of the storm is five kilometres away, at worst,” Ilyshn’ish told him.

Ghroklor’s fur rippled in relief as he sighed.

“That’s heartening to hear,” he said. “I’ll let the warbands know. We’ll leave as soon as this ridiculous weather finishes blowing over.”

“It won’t,” Ilyshn’ish told him.

Ilyshn’ish resisted the instinct to flinch as every carnivore in the building fixed a curious look upon her. Ghroklor leaned back from the table.

“But you just said–”

“I said that the fringe of the storm is five kilometres away, at worst,” Ilyshn’ish said.

“…you’re not making any sense.”

“The blizzard is happening here,” Ilyshn’ish explained. “All you have to do is go where it isn’t.”

One of the mystics holding council with Ghroklor flicked her ear with a scoff.

How rude.

“Weather doesn’t work that way,” she told her. “The elemental spirits of water are guided through the skies by the elemental spirits of air. Weather travels; it is as restless as the elements that drive it – it does not simply decide to sit still on a whim.”

“It isn’t exactly a whim, but…well, I suppose you won’t believe me until you see it with your own eyes. I can empathise with that.”

Ilyshn’ish reached out and grabbed Ghroklor, dragging him out of his command post.

“Wait, what are you–”

The Nar Commander tried to resist her guidance, so she picked him up and cradled him in her arms. Ghroklor seemed to wilt under the whispers and veiled glances cast in his direction.

“Winter Moon, I can walk on my own.”

“Is that so? It didn’t look like it just now.”

She continued carrying him until she located the Krkonoše. As she suspected, they had created a new resting place even further away from the activity of the warbands than before. Pebble and Pinecone twitched their noses at the sight of her entering the Nar Commander in her arms. Vltava was more interested in pawing at the snow nearby to get at some tufts of moss on the wall.

Ilyshn’ish set Ghroklor back down. Before he could move, she snatched up Vltava and placed him on the Nar’s head. Ghroklor went cross-eyed as he tried to look up at him.

“Why–”

“Do not upset Vltava,” Ilyshn’ish warned Ghroklor. “If Vltava becomes upset, you will also become upset. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Pebble asked.

“Back to the previous town,” Ilyshn’ish answered. “Ghroklor is coming with us.”

Atop Ghroklor’s head, Vltava sat down and made himself comfortable. Pebble and Pinecone put their belongings away and they were on their way down the tunnel in less than a minute. The sentry she had spoken with before visibly brightened as they emerged from the passage.

“Ghroklor,” he said. “Winter Moon mentioned that we might be able to get out of here. What’s the word?”

“We’re in the process of confirming her findings,” Ghroklor said. “Don’t let your guard down.”

“Yes, sir.”

After sounding somewhat confident about what he was doing, Ghroklor carefully turned and started pushing his way through the snow behind Ilyshn’ish and the Krkonoše. All the while, he tottered back and forth in an effort to balance Vltava on his head. One hour – and a half a kilometre later – Pinecone finally said something.

“Winter Moon, you should clear a way for Ghroklor.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because it will take us a month to reach the next village at this rate,” Pebble said. “These Tiger Beastmen are ill-suited for environments like this.”

“My question is how you can move so easily in this,” Ghroklor gestured at the snow around him in disgust.

“It’s not so much that we’re moving in it as we’re moving on it,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “We’d be going much faster if you didn’t insist on forcing your way through.”

Though not nearly as much snow had accumulated along the riverbank as it had in the village, it was still as deep as Ghroklor was tall in some places. The Nar carefully clambered atop the hardened snowpack, but fell right through the moment he shifted his weight again.

“Skill issue,” Vltava said from atop his head.

Ilyshn’ish supposed that it was probably the case. Having lived in the Azerlisia Mountains for most of her life, pretty much everything she saw possessed physical traits and abilities that allowed them to thrive in the wintry weather. Ghroklor, on the other hand, had none of them. With a drawn-out sigh, she hopped down to join the Nar Commander in his frozen trench.

“Wait, what are you–woah!”

Ghroklor let out a startled shout when she crawled between his legs to carry him on her shoulders. She hopped back on top of the snow and set off down the valley at a leisurely jog. Pebble and Pinecone loped after her.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Ghroklor said after he finally managed to relax. “How are you not falling through under our combined weight?”

“I believe the others already explained why,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “Your race is simply unsuited for this environment and you haven’t developed the skills to traverse this type of terrain.”

“And how would one go about doing that?”

“I’m not sure why it’s so puzzling. You can imbue your claws with the strength to shred steel and penetrate magical protections, yet it never occurs to you that this same capability could allow you to achieve other supernatural feats?”

“Is that what you’re doing? Imbuing your feet with Martial Arts that allow you to walk on snow?”

“No,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “Our feet are just bigger than yours. Also, as a race, we are natural hunters.”

“Wouldn’t you say that’s the case for any race of predators?”

“I wouldn’t. To clarify, when I say ‘hunter’, it is in the same sense that you categorise hunters in your warbands. In the outside world, they are more commonly referred to as ‘Rangers’.”

A gust of frigid wind howled over them, causing Ghroklor to teeter to the side. Ilyshn’ish lashed her tail in annoyance as he clutched at her ears to steady himself.

“Cease your squirming,” she told him. “You’re not going to fall off unless I let you.”

Ghroklor released her ears and loosened his legs.

“Then what is the difference between a ‘hunter’ and this ‘Ranger’ you speak of?” He asked.

“I suppose it’s a similar difference to that of someone being able to cast magic as a Spell-like ability inherent to their species and one learning to cast magic as a Druid or Wizard…or the difference between a common Beastman and what you refer to as ‘warriors’. Just because one has claws and teeth doesn’t mean that they can perform Martial Arts, yes?”

“Hmm…”

The Nar fell silent as he pondered her words. He remained that way for the next few kilometres, allowing Ilyshn’ish the ponder the indignity of being ridden by someone other than her mistress. The moment she stepped out of the blizzard, she unceremoniously shrugged Ghroklor off of her shoulders. He somehow managed to keep Vltava on his head.

Ghroklor scanned his surroundings with a thoroughly perplexed expression. They were partway into a shallow canyon, following a narrow trail hugging the carved granite cliffs above the river’s northern bank. The skies above were overcast, but the air was about as warm as it was when they had come up from the lowlands. No sign of snow or even rain marked the terrain and the ground at their feet was dry enough to send up dust with Ghroklor’s every step.

“I told you so,” Ilyshn’ish said.

“I don’t understand,” Ghroklor said. “How is this possible? There’s a wall of snow not a hundred metres behind us!”

“Spare your primitive minds the effort,” a voice hissed. “Instead, lament your foolish choice of a path!”

The overpowering odour of aqua regia preceded the emergence of an Adult Green Dragon’s elongated maw. Her long neck curved down sinuously over the ledge high above as it levelled a pair of malevolent cyan eyes at them.

“What do you mean?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

The Green Dragon jerked to a halt, her foreclaws sending loose rocks tumbling down the slope.

“What do I mean?” Her eyes narrowed in derision, “The tales of your people’s abject stupidity do you far too much credit. You are no more intelligent than the Beasts that you resemble!”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

With a roar that was annoyingly loud in their narrow confines, the Green Dragon launched herself off of the ledge high above. She twisted in midair before spreading her wings wide, preparing to blanket the narrow trail with a cloud of poison breath. Ghroklor looked frantically about for cover, but it was far too late to hide.

“「Web」.”

A web of sticky threads flew out from atop Ghroklor’s head. The spell expanded as it closed with the Green Dragon, who only sneered in contempt. She probably thought she would resist the spell, but ended up being tangled up in it instead.

“What!” The Green Dragon cried.

“That’s what I said,” Ilyshn’ish muttered.

Ilyshn’ish, Ghroklor, and the Krkonoše watched in silence as the Green Dragon’s aggressive dive turned into a careening tumble. She bounced three times off of the canyon walls before plunging into the churning waters below.

“I-Is it dead?” Ghroklor asked.

“I doubt she took any damage from that at all,” Ilyshn’ish answered. “And it isn’t as if Green Dragons can drown. Maybe she’ll catch a cold.”

Ghroklor stared down at the swollen river as if something would jump out and eat him.

“Shouldn’t you be heading back now?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “Your troops seemed eager to leave that inclement weather behind them.”

“By myself? But…”

The Nar Commander glanced about himself, looking a bit lost.

“Speaking of which,” Ilyshn’ish said, “how come you didn’t bring any subordinates with you?”

“Because I don’t have any subordinates to bring with me,” Ghroklor replied.

“…but you assumed command of those warbands, did you not?”

Ghroklor looked up at her in confusion.

“I did,” he said, “but those aren’t my warbands. I assumed command because I was the only experienced leader who was free to focus on leading the entire force. The others each had their own warbands to take care of.”

Was that how it worked? She supposed it did make sense, but it was very different from the armies she had seen elsewhere. Humans were very sticky about hierarchy and it didn’t matter how busy they already were.

“Then I suppose you must return alone,” Ilyshn’ish said.

She reached over and plucked Vltava off of the Nar’s head. Ghroklor cast a remorseful look at the volatile ball of fluff.

“What is it?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Nothing,” Ghroklor answered with a sigh. “I was just thinking that the only part of me that was warm on the trek was my head.”

“Have you perhaps heard of this thing called a ‘hat’?”

“No, what’s that?”

“It’s an article of clothing worn to keep one’s head warm,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Similar to your helmet.”

“Hmm…is that a thing from the outside world, as well? I can’t say that I’ve seen anyone around here use anything like you described.”

Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t recall any Beastmen wearing such a thing. Most lived in a tropical climate and those who didn’t relied on their fur for warmth. Articles that covered the body were generally limited to equipment that protected one from physical harm both on the battlefield and in civilian vocations.

Was the presence of natural arms and armour truly that great of a barrier to innovation? That shouldn’t have been the case. Even as a Dragon, she would surely use any useful magical equipment if she came across it. Unfortunately, she hadn’t found any – that she could get her claws on and keep, at any rate – until just before her involuntary induction into the Sorcerous Kingdom’s postal service.

“Winter Moon,” Pebble said, “perhaps you should go instead to expedite matters. Besides, Ghroklor seems the sort to get eaten when one isn’t looking. That may lead to unwanted complications.”

“That may be true,” Ilyshn’ish said, “but those warbands won’t simply take me at my word.”

“I’m not as fragile as you people seem to think I am,” Ghroklor protested while gesturing to his armour. “I’ve fought on the Jorgulan Frontier for five years now and I’ve participated in the slaying of at least thirty Dragons. Three of them were solo kills…”

His voice trailed off as Vltava walked over to stand in front of him. Ghroklor’s tail drooped. He sent a nervous glance to Ilyshn’ish before meeting Vltava’s three-eyed gaze with his own. Vltava let out a bleat.

“「Fly」.”

“Wh–”

Ghroklor’s unfinished question turned into a scream as Vltava spun around and launched him into the air with a kick of his hind legs. A few seconds later, the Nar Commander vanished into the veil of blowing snow far behind them.

“Right,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Let’s keep going, shall we?”

The canyon ran for a few more kilometres, eventually broadening into a wide valley where the previous town was located. It didn’t look like the mountain tribes had taken advantage of the weakened defences, but several of the townsfolk rushed out to meet them nonetheless. A Con Elder with somewhat mangy fur stepped out from the small crowd that was forming.

“You…you left with the warbands,” he said. “Why have you returned alone? Where is everyone else?”

“They got snowed in,” Ilyshn’ish gestured loosely at the pass above the town.

“Snowed in?” The elder’s nose twitched curiously, “We’ve been expecting that foul weather to roll in from the north, but nothing’s come over yet.”

“The valley beyond the canyon has been thoroughly buried,” Ilyshn’ish told them. “It took some effort to convince the warbands to leave.”

“You mean to say they’re returning to us?” The Elder asked.

“I at least assume so,” Ilyshn’ish answered.

A collective sigh of relief rose from the townsfolk. That relief, however, seemed to be tempered by some other fear.

“Did something happen while we were away?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “The people seem burdened by worry.”

“Not exactly,” the Elder answered. “It’s an ongoing problem with the herds. Our Nug are supposed to be grazing in the highlands around this time and that’s been impossible with everything that’s happening. Fodder’s getting scarce and some of the animals are getting sick. We were hoping that things would get back to normal once the warbands pushed the mountain tribes back out.”

Ilyshn’ish eyed the herds of Nug grazing on the slopes of the valley. They were actually closer to Nuk, but the denizens of Rol’en’gorek were used to referring to the entire family of Magical Beasts by what was most common in the jungle basin. As the Elder mentioned, it looked like the area was being overgrazed and the animals were wasting away as a result. Even from a distance, they didn’t look like anything she’d want to stick in her mouth.

“Is it only this part of Rol’en’gorek that’s experiencing trouble with the mountain tribes? With what’s happening around here, I think your only real options are to cull the herds or send them west.”

“We’re considering both,” the Elder replied. “But you must understand that it isn’t a decision to be made lightly. We wanted to be absolutely sure that it was necessary before we did something that would harm future generations.”

“Well, the chiefs should be back at some point. You’ll just have to wait until they come down from upriver. Oh, speaking of which, has anyone seen a Green Dragon float by?”

The assembled Con cast nervous gazes to the overcast sky. Didn’t she just say ‘floated by’?

“A-A Green Dragon?” The Elder said, “You saw one?”

“We did,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “She fell into the river. Well, if you haven’t seen anything, don’t worry about it.”

For some reason, her words unsettled the townsfolk even further. They weren’t very good at listening.

A bit after dawn – not that most people could tell – the warbands from the snowbound village started to arrive. Rather than follow the route along the river, they had for some reason opted to come back over the pass. The Nar and Urmah looked particularly miserable as they dragged themselves in. Except for one of them.

“Winter Moon!” Ghroklor’s voice came from above as he flew in to settle on the ground before her, “I flew! Can you imagine how amazing it was?”

“Perhaps.”

“Ah, of course. You must have tried it at least once or twice. Still–”

Ghroklor’s voice cut off as his enchantment was dispelled and he dropped to the ground. The loss of his flight capability wasn’t enough to dampen his excitement, however. Ilyshn’ish maintained a polite distance from Ghroklor as he continued to enthuse all over her.

“Shouldn’t basic flight magic be well within the capabilities of your mystics?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “I can’t imagine that they haven’t developed it in all this time.”

“Hm, well, about that…” Ghroklor answered, “I believe it was common many generations ago, but it ultimately proved impractical. We thought to use it to fight our foes in the east, but, never mind being able to fight the Dragons in the skies, our people were shot down by enemy hunters. Our mystics dedicated their time and effort to other things after that.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Maybe she had spent too much time amongst the Humans. They tended to believe that flight was an undeniable advantage in combat, but that was only because air supremacy was so easily achievable in their territories. Human modes of flight were and flight magic in general was mostly crude and sluggish, however. Even with what they considered a highly-trained and professional ‘air force’, the Baharuth Empire was helpless the moment a true ruler of the skies appeared.

The town’s leadership found Ghroklor shortly after his arrival, which led to a conference between the dozens of chiefs present. Ghroklor himself said little, as the discussion was deemed a matter for the local Con Lords. They gathered at an enlarged version of the wooden platforms that could be found in every village while the common townsfolk watched the proceedings from nearby.

“We must disperse the population,” one of the chiefs stated. “It will be too late if we wait for this terrible weather to advance. Local logistics will be frozen and the people will starve in no time.”

“But can our neighbours support a move of that magnitude?” Another chief said, “Organising supplies for our warbands is one thing – we’re talking about feeding over ten times the number with this migration.”

“Falling back to the lowlands isn’t an option,” a Nar chief from a visiting warband said. “We’re barely scratching by due to the flooding. A population shift of this scale will only bring chaos and starvation.”

“That would be the case wherever we go!”

“What if we go on the offensive while the people migrate? The lowlands aren’t at risk of invasion from them, so we can turn the defence we’re conducting here into offence. We’ve already been supplementing our provisions that way anyway.”

A brief debate ensued. The leadership agreed that moving east along the foothills was the best option, but they couldn’t agree on how much logistical support was required or how many they would lose along the way.

“In any case,” one of the chiefs said. “We must cull the herds before moving. The other tribes won’t tolerate us bringing them into their territories. Can we pack the meat in ice? There’s no time to preserve it properly.”

“No time?” An elder said, “You speak as if we’ll be forced out within the week. A migration may not be necessary at all and completely culling the herds will doom us in that case!”

“We can at least go ahead with our measures to maintain their health,” another Elder offered. “Not only must we ensure there’s enough grazing for our animals, but we must get rid of the sick ones before whatever it is they have spreads.”

“Sickness?” Ghroklor growled, “What sickness?”

“Without food, our animals weaken. Sickness is inevitable.”

A low murmur rose as the chiefs resumed discussing their options. Ilyshn’ish yawned as the meeting dragged into late morning, at which point a light flurry started to fall. Ghroklor cursed as he turned his attention from the gathering to the darkening sky.

“We need to move,” he said. “This isn’t going to get any better.”

“It’s just a light dusting,” one of the elders said. “This is nothing to be concerned about around here.”

“You fools!” Ghroklor roared, “Nothing about what’s been happening is natural! I have no choice but to believe that someone or something has been manipulating the weather to drive us out of our territories.”

The elder let out an incredulous laugh.

“Manipulating the weather? That’s preposterous. To be certain, minor phenomena can be conjured by our mystics, but there’s no way anyone can influence the weather.”

“Look here, you,” Ghroklor snarled. “This is–”

Ghroklor’s head bobbed slightly as Vltava hopped onto him. The townsfolk locked their gazes on the fluffy little morsel, who issued a loud bleat.

The grim clouds over the town receded like a wave on the shore, leaving a clear azure sky. Sunlight warmed the rocks and a pleasant breeze blew over the Beastmen as they gaped up at Vltava.

“Impossible…”

“A god…”

“A god!”

“A great spirit of nature has descended upon us!”

Ghroklor froze as the crowd pressed in on him. Voices of deference rose as the Beastmen held up offerings of twigs, bark, and dried pine needles.

“Preposterous,” Ilyshn’ish muttered.

The offerings weren’t even that impressive. She would have demanded at least precious metals or gemstones.

Unfortunately for Vltava’s new devotees, reality set in a few hours later. Early in the evening, the ominous clouds rolled back in just as suddenly as they had vanished and snow started to fall again.

“Well,” Pebble said. “That answers that question.”

“What question might that be?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“The speed of the opposing party’s response indicates how they are influencing the weather. A single caster can instantly respond to their spell being countered. This response suggests that a ritual is being enacted.”

“What if they were just hoping for us to go away before trying again?”

“In a few hours? That’s highly doubtful. Now that you mention it, their response also shows that they have no experience with opposition to their tactics.”

“How do you figure?”

“Vltava’s quick reversal to their Control Weather effect establishing itself over the town should have made it clear that someone capable of casting Sixth-tier magic was opposing them. If they must rely on ritual magic to alter the weather, they shouldn’t have done anything to attract the wrath of a powerful caster.”

It seemed that Frost Dragons weren’t unique in the fact that they more often than not learned things the hard way.

“Oh great spirit of nature,” someone cried, “save us from our plight!”

“What have we done to earn your wrath?”

“What must we sacrifice?!”

Ilyshn’ish went over and plucked Vltava out from under his pile of meagre offerings. She shook him around a bit to remove the random pieces of debris on his coat.

“So,” Ilyshn’ish said, “what do we do now?”

“This is the anomaly that we have come to investigate,” Vltava said. “We will address the problem at its source.”