Chapter 10

Silence blanketed the war room as the conquest of the Frost Giant citadel reached its conclusion. Ilyshn’ish thought that the downfall of the Frost Dragons’ rivals was a generally good thing, but the atmosphere gave her the impression that the others were not pleased with the results. She could not read the expressions of Lord Cocytus and his insectoid vassals, but the five Dwarves seated across from Ilyshn’ish harboured expressions that ranged from grim to aghast.

The force sent by the Sorcerous Kingdom consisted of 50 Death Knights, 10 Death Warriors and 5 Elder Liches. Their total losses amounted to 17 Death Knights, 4 Death Warriors and 3 Elder Liches. The vast majority of those losses were not the result of being slain in direct combat, but from the hazards that came with storming the citadel.

Once it was clear that they would be overwhelmed in a direct confrontation, the Frost Giant defenders changed their tactics. All but three of the Death Knights that had been lost were sent plummeting off of the side of the mountain: a sheer drop of well over a thousand metres. The Death Knights’ last-resort ability – which allowed them to survive a single instance of fatal damage – did not help them, as they struck the cliff face multiple times on the way down.

Two of the Elder Liches, including the one they had sent to declare their intent, had been destroyed by boulders. The third met its end when an unexpectedly strong group of Frost Giants was encountered after the attackers spread out over the vast interior of the citadel.

This group had gone on to smash into the reserves that were brought in to help clean up, decimating them even as they themselves perished. Only four Death Knights and the Elder Lich remained out of what had originally been a full contingent of 10 Death Knights, 2 Death Warriors, and the Elder Lich commander. The sight of the group’s last Frost Giant hurling himself off of the mountain clutching a Death Knight and Death Warrior in either hand was still fresh in their minds.

Of the defenders, none had survived. Roughly a quarter of them had been turned into Squire Zombies by the Death Knights, while the rest of the corpses were slowly dragged away. The two surviving Elder Liches were now making a study of the Citadel and its contents in an effort to devise new tactics for the next assault.

“Savage barbarians,” Lord Cocytus muttered, “or proud warriors? Many contrasts…difficult to tell.”

“You’re right,” the Commander-in-Chief said. “Half of the time I couldn’t tell courage from desperation, but it was pretty clear who the cowards were.”

Ilyshn’ish couldn’t understand why it mattered. Whether they were courageous, desperate, or craven, they were dead all the same. That the members of the war council bothered trying to differentiate between them felt a pointless exercise.

“The bunch that retreated from the gate should have been the Jarl and his housecarls,” one of the Dwarven aides looked up from an open tome on the table. “The two in plate mail that stuck close to him were probably his Blackguards.”

“A right bastard, that one,” the Commander-in-Chief spat. “He abandoned his defenders at the gate, then he sent his villagers out to fight after he ran out of warriors. The histories say that they’re a warrior people, but if they had someone like that leading them…”

A dour silence stretched on for several moments. The Dwarf Commander-in-Chief drummed his fingers briefly against the table before rising to his feet.

“We should take a brief recess while we can,” he said as he looked over at Lord Cocytus. “How long will it be until the other groups reach their targets?”

“Two hours for the citadel in the west,” one of the insectoid vassals replied. “Four for the north.”

“In that case,” the Commander-in-Chief said, “we’ll be headed out for lunch if that’s alright with you.”

Lord Cocytus nodded slightly, waving them away with one of his left claws. The Dwarves filed out of the room, save for the representative from the Merchant Guild. The young Dwarf – he couldn’t have been older than Ilyshn’ish – shifted uncomfortably before visibly working up the courage to speak.

“If you’d like,” he licked his lips, “I can have refreshments delivered to you here. A meal, even.”

Is that what he’s here for? To offer hospitality?

It seemed a silly reason to have someone attend the council for hours on end. Or perhaps it was an excuse to garner a sense of importance for the Merchant Guild. Lord Cocytus and his vassals exchanged glances, then turned to look at Ilyshn’ish.

Did they want her to order something? She turned her attention to the Dwarf.

“Some meat would be delightful,” she told him.

The Dwarf flinched at the word ‘meat’, glancing nervously at Lord Cocytus and his vassals.

“M-meat? Ah, ehm…”

“Cold cuts or the like,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Nothing hot, please.”

With one last glance at Lord Cocytus, the Dwarf scampered off after his fellows. The door shut quietly behind him, leaving them alone in the silence. Ilyshn’ish stared down at the map, eyeing the markers that indicated the progress of the two advancing detachments.

“Unexpected.”

A blast of cold air followed Lord Cocytus’ statement, frosting over the edge of the table. The vassal nearest to him – a short, brown-shelled being whose eyes glowed from within the shadows of its carapace, stirred.

“Your servant submits that we send three more infantry contingents to each of the remaining groups.”

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“Do you want to solve this with brute force?” Another vassal spoke, “Lord Cocytus, your servant submits that we instead settle in for a siege.”

“That might solve the terrain issues,” said another, “but we don’t know how long they can last. What if the main army in the south moves?”

“That’s why we left most of our forces to guard against them. A fight on the open field is to our advantage should they decide to attack.”

The back and forth went on for several minutes. Ilyshn’ish watched them silently, uncertain of the problem. The Frost Giants had died, and the Sorcerous Kingdom’s losses were but a tiny fraction of the Undead servitors at its disposal. Why couldn’t they just win the same way and be done with it?

Another blast of cold air from Lord Cocytus stilled their rising voices.

“With a siege, victory – I have no doubts. Our purpose, however: to gain experience. This scenario: its issues; challenges. In the future, they will appear again. Our tactics: they must be refined.”

The discussion resumed, all thoughts of a siege abandoned without a word of opposition. Ilyshn’ish wondered why it was a thing in the first place. She could not tell how old they were, but they were all presumably adults of various heteromorphic races. The Sorcerous Kingdom was ruled by an Undead sovereign and filled with all manner of immortal beings. Surely, in their long lives, they had fought in similar situations before. Ilyshn’ish had only observed their society for a few months, but even she understood that those in positions of authority tended to have extensive amounts of relevant experience.

“Our problem right now is that the soldiers aren’t trained for this,” an ant-like vassal in a black carapace said. “They’ve been on standby since being created.”

“Then what about the ones that received training in the south?” The brown-shelled vassal asked.

“It’s not the same terrain,” the ant-like vassal answered, “and the nature of their exercises was different from what we’re doing here, anyway.”

“But the commanders from those contingents might be useful…”

The ant-like vassal shook its head, antennae waving lightly back and forth.

“I agree, but we shouldn’t risk that. The Elder Liches are extremely vulnerable against these Frost Giants. It would be a waste to lose experienced commanders.”

A knock sounded from the door, and the room quieted down. Ilyshn’ish was subjected to everyone’s gaze again.

What am I, a maid?

Despite her thoughts, she retained her poise as she went to answer. In the hallway, she discovered three Dwarves pushing covered carts. Behind them, the Merchant Guild representative hovered about nervously. Ilyshn’ish led them inside, where they left the carts along the wall, uncovering them to reveal ornately arranged arrays of sliced meats. The tantalizing aroma reminded Ilyshn’ish that she hadn’t eaten in the past week. She turned to address the pale-faced Dwarves who were awaiting by their carts.

“Thank you very much,” she smiled. “You may leave these here with us.”

The Dwarves sent tentative looks in the direction of the Merchant Guild representative, who gestured for them to come away. Ilyshn’ish heard them issue sighs of relief just before the door to the hall closed again.

Taking an empty plate, Ilyshn’ish piled it high with slices of sausage, cuts of cured meat and cold roasts slathered in savoury sauces. She returned to the table to find that no one else had moved.

“Is no one else having any?” She asked.

Lord Cocytus and his vassals shook their heads. That was fine with her – she had plenty of room for everything…or at least she thought she did. She wasn’t exactly sure how it worked. Ilyshn’ish placed her plate down on the table and popped a piece of sausage into her mouth. Staring down at the plate as she enjoyed the morsel, she decided to move it to the far side of herself just to be safe. They might have declined, but she didn’t know if the insectoid vassal beside her would try and filch something anyway.

One of Cocytus’ vassals updated the markers on the map before their discussion resumed again.

“These issues will be present with every new Undead servitor that enters the army,” the brown-shelled vassal said. “Proper training can be developed in time, but they are still not very flexible. Not every situation is the same.”

“The answer should lie with our commanders,” a vassal in a segmented green carapace said. “With enough time, the Elder Liches can–”

“With respect,” the ant-like vassal interrupted, “time is our enemy. Elder Liches are not invincible, and it is inevitable that we will lose them in the vast span of time. Be it in a thousand years or ten thousand years, all it takes is a single unexpected situation or a strong opponent that selectively destroys them. Imagine a commander with ten thousand years of experience being lost. It would be a travesty.”

Their discussion fell silent for several moments at the notion. The vassal with the green carapace crossed two pairs of arms, staring at the map on the table.

“So you’re saying we should select stronger commanders?” It asked, “In that case, Crypt Lords would be the obvious choice.”

“The problem is the same,” the ant-like vassal shook its head. “I admit that the vast majority of the opponents we’ve encountered so far have been weak, but our reports speak of powerful beings that lie beyond. Lord Cocytus has done battle with one such foe already, and even Lady Shalltear was brought low by a hidden hand.”

Ilyshn’ish looked up from her meal curiously. Someone had managed to defeat Lady Shalltear in the past? Was it even possible? Perhaps she had crossed paths with one of the fabled Dragon Lords of old.

“That’s true,” the brown-shelled vassal sighed. “But if we frame it in those terms, Elder Liches clearly become the best option. They are numerous enough to be expendable, and His Majesty raises more every day. We just need to ensure that we always have sufficient commanders trained and ready to replace our losses.”

“I agree – our powerful servitors are invaluable and we cannot afford to lose them,” the green-shelled vassal said, then sighed as well. “If only there was a way to revive them.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the other vassals. They appeared to have settled on the fact that they would inevitably lose experienced personnel. Lord Cocytus raised a claw to rub his head, chuckling ruefully.

“Shalltear,” he said, “has pulled ahead.”

Lord Cocytus’ vassals turned their heads towards him in unison.

“My Lord?”

“The problem,” he said. “Powerful servants: cannot be risked. The weak; inevitably lost. Shalltear…to the outside, she has turned. Enlisted others.”

“Your servant agrees that her method has merits,” the ant-like vassal nodded thoughtfully. “In doing so, she does not risk any of ours. They can also be revived with their knowledge and expertise intact.”

“But Lady Shalltear heads the Ministry of Transportation,” the brown-shelled vassal placed its arms on the table and leaned forward. “My lord proposes that we begin inducting the citizenry into the army…but is it viable? The people are uneducated – most of them can’t even read. Never mind training, even trust is not a given – they are not our own. In addition, there is no military tradition in this land like what they have in the Empire. How many generations will this take? As far as I know, no one has raised…oh.”

The ardour of the brown-shelled vassal diminished with some realization unknown to Ilyshn’ish, and Lord Cocytus let out a brusque snort.

“Indeed,” he said. “The army of the Sorcerous Kingdom. It’s creation: our task. But Shalltear…has stolen a march on us. Before we were even aware of the problem, she has found a solution. A commander, she has already raised. One who always returns.”