Chapter 7
A solitary figure slowly made its way up the sheer mountainside, amidst the razor winds and obscuring darkness of the storm. Strong hands gripped frozen handholds and ancient cracks in the stone as the figure started and stopped: navigating her way to the crown of ice above.
“This place is dangerous.”
The Frost Giant huntress gave a startled shout at the voice that suddenly issued from near its head. Her panicked gaze registered a…Hobgoblin? It was Hobgoblin-sized, at least. How it had gotten where they were or why was a complete mystery.
“This place is dangerous,” the Hobgoblin said again.
The Frost Giant examined it carefully. Sets of metal plates were laid over portions of a black and white garment, and a strange metallic object was held in its hands. Long, pink hair whipped around a face that held a neutral expression, even as powerful gusts of wind threatened to dislodge it from its precarious perch. The Hobgoblin’s uncovered emerald eye held her own, unblinking in the blowing snow.
A good dozen seconds passed between them. She didn’t know who this Hobgoblin was, but it did appear to be wearing exotic and possibly valuable equipment. All she had to do was reach out and knock it off of the cliff face, then see if she could find the corpse after returning from her task. Securing her place against the mountain, the Giant reached out to swat the Hobgoblin to the jagged rocks over a thousand metres below.
The Hobgoblin sighed. As the Giant’s hand swept towards it, the Hobgoblin hopped back and away. The movement appeared light and casual, but, in reality, the pink-haired Hobgoblin had spanned what must have been a thirty-metre gap between its perch and another that was further along the side of the cliff. The Hobgoblin continued skipping from place to place, moving further and further away from her.
The Giant gaped incredulously at the retreating figure, then she shook her head to refocus on the task at hand. After weeks – no, months – of waiting, the mysterious force that had occupied the Dwarven Highway was finally on the move. A column of their black-plated sentries had crossed northwest from the central pass and was now marching directly towards her tribe’s citadel. Their boldness was laudable, but the approach spoke of those inexperienced in the ways of warfare amongst these icy heights.
It was a place easily defended and held; attackers unaccustomed to it fell victim to an unforgiving environment filled with hazards, all manner of monsters, and powerful tribes. More often than not, lowlanders succumbed to the elements, but these newcomers had proven to be impervious to extended exposure. They would discover, however, that the cold was not all the mountains held in store.
She looked down at the narrow valley below. A long glacier cut its way down to spill out over the edge of the pass that contained the Dwarven highway. The approach’s shallow incline made it an ideal way to enter the icefield above, but the crevasse-filled glacier made it so that one would have to choose one moraine or the other. The head of the enemy column could already be seen ascending the slope, and the huntress hurried her way up the cliff.
Once she scaled the peak, she would wait until they passed below. The avalanche that she sent crashing down would indiscriminately sweep everything away, even these reportedly powerful invaders.
When she reached the edge of the cornice that she had chosen for that purpose, the huntress looked for the best way around. It was then that she noticed a line of small objects all along the cliff’s face. They fluttered in the wind, and she reached out to take one between her thumb and index finger. It was a strip of some white material, with red markings that she was unfamiliar with. As she continued to peer at the strange object, the red markings began to glow with an angry light…
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Entoma Vasilissa Zeta nodded to herself in satisfaction as the line of explosive talismans went off all along the cliff face several hundred metres away. The mountain’s overhanging crust of tightly packed ice and snow broke apart and fell away. She leaned forward to watch the avalanche tumble into the depths below. One down and…how many was it to go? Flipping through the stack of talismans in her hand, she counted out the number she would need for the next location.
A set of footprints appeared at the edge of the snowy dome that she was standing upon, making their way towards her. When they came within a few metres, her little sister, CZ2128 Delta, shimmered into existence.
“Where’d you go?” Entoma asked.
“Saw someone,” Shizu answered.
“Someone…” Entoma tilted her head, “someone? What kind of someone? A Frost Giant?”
“Mm.”
Shizu nodded, her pink hair and green camo scarf streaming in the wind. Entoma glanced down to the gun cradled under her little sister’s arm: it didn’t look like it had seen any use.
“Did you fight?”
Shizu shook her head.
That was a shame. They had a long task ahead of them, and Entoma was bound to get hungry at some point. It would have been nice to be able to pack away a snack – she hadn’t tasted Frost Giant before, and there would be plenty of it if her little sister had killed one nearby.
Shizu unfurled a large map, occasionally looking up at their surroundings. After several moments, she rolled it back up again.
“Mm,” she nodded slightly, then went off on her way.
“Hey, wait!”
Entoma struggled through the snow. Unlike her little sister, she lacked scout-type classes that could mitigate terrain movement penalties. After several awkward steps, she stopped trying completely and extended the rest of her long legs, raising her body well above the ground. As she moved to catch up to Shizu, Entoma raised a talisman in her fingers and pressed it to her ‘forehead’.
『Cocytus-sama.』
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『Entoma, is it?』
『Reporting in~ The first of the hazards has been cleared; we’re moving on to the next.』
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In the ‘war room’ of Feoh Berkana’s Royal Palace, Ilyshn’ish stood by silently as Lord Cocytus silently conversed with the figure in the Mirror of Remote Viewing. As a representative of the Sorcerous Kingdom, she stood on the side of the table where Lord Cocytus’ insectoid subordinates were lined up. Across from her, with mugs of liquor placed before them, were seated the Dwarven representatives from the Regency Council.
Unlike the Humans of E-Rantel, who were active during the day and slept at night, Mountain Dwarves were a subterranean species whose society was ordered around a cycle of activity that never ceased. Where Humans might have complained or expressed dismay at the seemingly endless session of the war council, the Dwarves simply replaced themselves with a staff member on duty that was qualified to represent their interests. Currently seated before her was an elderly Dwarf under the Cabinet Secretary, the Commander-in-Chief of the Dwarf army – who had two aides with him – and a representative from the Merchant Guild.
Having members of the Dwarven military on a war council was a matter of course, and the Cabinet Secretary’s representative might be called upon to address matters of Dwarven policy beyond the military’s jurisdiction. The attendance of the Merchant Guild, however, was a complete mystery. For his part, Lord Cocytus did not question the presence of any of the assembled members. Whether this was because he was just short-spoken in general and couldn’t be bothered or simply allowing their involvement out of harmless courtesy, Ilyshn’ish could not be sure.
At first, Ilyshn’ish wasn’t certain of her own role, either. Fortunately, Lady Zahradnik had set down a few ground rules that appeared to work out for her: stay silent, remain attentive and look pleasant. She was there for a specific purpose, so she need only answer questions directly related to that purpose. Anything she felt strongly about, she was to address in private with the appropriate individual when an opportunity could be arranged. Those that approached her with small talk were to be treated in a cordial manner and could be kept at arm’s length if she so desired.
When she noted that this conduct lacked any assertiveness and might be perceived as weakness, Lady Zahradnik simply shrugged. As a representative of the Sorcerous Kingdom, any unjustified behaviour towards her would be construed as a slight against the Sorcerous Kingdom. As her superior in this matter, Lord Cocytus would be obliged to answer any such slights in kind.
Though Lady Zahradnik admitted that her understanding of things was not absolutely perfect, she stated that it was close enough to how things should work. The hierarchy of the Sorcerous Kingdom followed a prescribed order; everyone within that hierarchy knew where they stood and what their obligations were. This early in her instruction, Ilyshn’ish did not understand what her obligations were, nor the appropriate behaviour to enact should she be required to carry out those obligations. Thus, she was to stick to the set of rules that Lady Zahradnik had left her with.
As a Dragon, Ilyshn’ish could not understand how anyone could subject themselves to the mercy of a scheme so full of dependencies. That the weak were at the mercy of the strong was simple enough – they had no choice, after all – but everything else was a jumble. In the Sorcerous Kingdom, what kept the strong from doing what they wanted to the weak was someone stronger, but weak beings like Humans insisted that it was some intangible code that protected them and that the strong were obliged to uphold it.
Should the Sorcerer King one day arbitrarily decide that someone was to be executed on a whim, would a law or some expected code of conduct protect that person from harm? Ilyshn’ish was fairly certain that this wasn’t the case. Words were wind, and rules could be discarded when inconvenient. All that mattered in the world was the will and power to force one’s desires upon others. The weak simply clung to the illusion of law and order because they had nothing else.
Lord Cocytus dropped his hand from his head, indicating that the Message spell had ended. With another, he used a plotting rod to remove several markers from the map spread out over the table.
One of the first tasks assigned to Ilyshn’ish during the war council’s planning session was to identify all of the potential hazards and useful landmarks that she knew of in the Azerlisia Mountains. They ran out of markers a few minutes after she started placing them, so it was trimmed down to the current segment of the ‘campaign’ being conducted. The Dwarves peered at her suspiciously as she marked avalanche chutes, fields of crevasses, Frost Giant citadels and settlements, and the navigable routes all around the Dwarven highway.
Despite hearing her name, they still must have thought her the Elf that she appeared to be. These Dwarves might live underground, but they should have at least been aware of what other races lived in the same region. There was certainly nothing like Snow Elves, as far as Ilyshn’ish had seen, heard, or read.
When the last hazard marker was removed from the route to the first citadel, the insectoid beings stirred from their near-perfect vigil and turned their heads towards Lord Cocytus. Lord Cocytus motioned to one of them, who walked over to the Mirror of Remote Viewing. The scenery displayed by the magic item drifted by until their view came over the Undead column slowly working its way up the valley.
After hearing Ilyshn’ish report on the Frost Giants’ numbers and the gathering she had seen on the way to Feoh Berkana, they had settled on splitting off a third of the army to first deal with the reduced numbers in the north. Once the citadels of the north had been conquered and the surrounding settlements dealt with, they would turn their full might against the south without needing to worry about attempts at retaliation from the rear. Both the Dwarves and Lord Cocytus’ vassals lauded the strategy as sound and effective.
For some reason, Lord Cocytus had turned his attention to her afterwards. She remained silent, however, and he gave his go-ahead for the plan.
The main body of the column was composed of fifty Death Knights commanded by five Elder Liches. Ten Death Warriors served as ‘auxiliaries’. Based on Ilyshn’ish’s estimates of what probably remained at each citadel, it was deemed an overwhelming force to clean up the northern side of the highway. Ilyshn’ish, on the other hand, wasn’t sure if things would go as well as the Dwarves and Lord Cocytus’ vassals thought, as there were many things that they did not appear to consider that could go wrong.
“Standards,” Lord Cocytus ordered before the column reached the icefield.
What is he doing?
Ilyshn’ish stared as one of Lord Cocytus’ vassals relayed his order. Five standard-bearers – one for each contingent in the column – raised the vermillion banners of the Sorcerous Kingdom overhead. She couldn’t comprehend the purpose behind the order. They were far from a stealthy bunch, but there was no reason to draw additional attention to themselves. It would be better to run down the Giants before they could react and retreat to the nearby citadel.
The column divided itself over the field, fanning out into a battle line as they approached the first Frost Giant settlement. Its inhabitants were, unsurprisingly, already well aware of their approach. A dozen or so could be seen leaving in the direction of the citadel, while a handful stood in the path of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s forces. The line stopped, and a single Elder Lich flew out ahead of them.
Ilyshn’ish had to restrain herself from shaking her head at the foolishness on display. Despite her warnings; despite the fact that the Adventurer Guild expedition had been attacked just a day before, Lord Cocytus, his vassals, and the Dwarves believed it proper to declare their intent in advance. Upright, honourable conduct was the order of the day, and they expected a response in kind by what had been described as a proud warrior people.
In the Mirror of the Remote Viewing, the Elder Lich received the obvious reception. Its fragments disintegrated before they fell into the snow.
Ilyshn’ish sighed. The Dwarves frowned behind their well-groomed beards, expressions turning dour. The insectoid vassals threw up their hands and shouted in outrage. From the head of the table, a creaking sound issued into the air as Lord Cocytus’ claws tightened around his halberd.
“Crush them!”