Valkyrie's Shadow #101-200
Author: Aeridinae Lunaris
Date: 2021-07-22T00:00:00+00:00
Publisher: anonymous

Table Of Contents

- Table Of Contents -
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 11
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 12
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 13
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 14
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 15
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 16
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 17
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 18
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 19
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 20
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 21
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 22
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 23
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 24
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 25
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 26
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 27
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 28
Birthright: Afterword
Winter's Crown: Arrival and Departure
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 1
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 2
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 3
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 4
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 5
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 6
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 7
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 8
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 9
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 10
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 11
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 12
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 13
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 14
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 15
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 16
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 17
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 18
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 19
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 20
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 21
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 22
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 23
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 24
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 25
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 1
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 2
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 3
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 4
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 5
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 6
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 7
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 8
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 9
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 10
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 11
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 12
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 13
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 14
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 15
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 16
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 17
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 18
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 19
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 20
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 21
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 22
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 1
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 2
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 3
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 4
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 5
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 6
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 7
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 8
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 9
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 10
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 11
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 12
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 13
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 14
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 15
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 16
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 17
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 18
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 19
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 20
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 1
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 2
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 3
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 4
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 5
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 6
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 7
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 8
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 9
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 10
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 11
Winter's Crown: Act 4, chapter 12
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 13
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 14

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Leather straps creaked as Ludmila tightened a steel bracer snugly over her wrist. She checked over her equipment one last time.

The set consisting of the gambeson – she was still paranoid that carried the scent of smashed cockroaches – and the various steel pieces that she had purchased from Mesmit’s Forge was still not quite broken in, but it was functional where it counted. There were two quivers of arrows fastened to her belt in addition to the dagger and axe she had purchased the same day. Reaching out to pick up her sallet, she placed it over the layer of cloth covering her hair and fastened the chin strap. She lowered her visor, and the helmet closed neatly over her bevor and gorget.

Clara, Liane and Florine stood around her; several others around the camp kept glancing in their direction as well. Ludmila focused on her equipment as she donned it, but she couldn’t help but feel that she was being watched like some rare animal.

“Well,” she lifted her visor again to pull on her gauntlets, “how do I look?”

Clara gave her a once-over, her gaze settling over Ludmila’s torso.

“Like an Adventurer?” She said.

Ludmila’s hand came up to feel the metal tag fastened below her collar. It was her first time wearing it since returning from the strange Adventurer exam just over three days ago. Little did she know that it’s first use would be as part of a disguise.

“That’s what I was trying for,” she said. “I’ll be going on ahead; I’ve assigned one of the Shadow Demons to guard you just in case something goes wrong on your end.”

Clara peered down at her shadow.

“At what point will it act?” She asked, continuing to examine the darkness for the Demon within.

“It will defend you if it recognizes that you are being attacked, and try to eliminate any assailants if doing so doesn’t put you and the others at risk,” Ludmila said. “You can also order it to attack if you feel that conflict is inevitable and want to strike preemptively. Just make sure you get to safety as quickly as possible if fighting breaks out: the Shadow Demon can easily overpower anyone Jacqueline has working for her, but it cannot defend you at all times from all directions. The less it has to focus on keeping you safe, the faster it will remove any threats.”

Her friend nodded in understanding, but her worried expression did not fade.

“Are you going to be okay going into the town on your own?” Clara asked.

“Common thugs aren’t likely to pick a fight with an equipped Adventurer,” Ludmila answered. “Besides, I’m not going on my own: I have the other two other Shadow Demons with me to check around the town to measure the reaction to your audience with Jacqueline Fassett.”

The first move they had decided on was to ‘inform’ Jacqueline Fassett through the course of their audience that an inspector from the Royal Court was due to arrive within the day to perform a thorough audit of the town. By doing so, they hoped that she would make some sort of effort to move her forces out of sight. If it succeeded, they would employ the same ruse against Campbell the next morning, then clean up the separated groups.

Hopefully it would give the siblings a push in the right direction once they realized they had been rendered impotent – if it even worked at all. If not…well, Ludmila supposed it hardly mattered at that point and she would have to drag them out of their manors by force. Doing things as neatly as possible was the goal now, with what time that they had. There were still the days of cleaning up that needed to be done after paralyzing both factions.

The plan amounted to removing the leadership and their major supporters, tying up what loose ends they could, and praying that their work was enough to appease the Royal Court. It was not the best plan by any stretch of the imagination, but it was far better than what could be achieved with the woefully insufficient means that the House of Lords had dispatched them with on the outset of their task.

Ludmila slung her shield over one shoulder and a half-empty satchel over the other. She retrieved her longbow and spear from where they leaned against the carriage, setting out from the encampment towards the town as the other noblewomen prepared to leave in their carriage.

After a light jog, she approached the gate of the town ten minutes later. The militia sentries only took notice of her when she entered the circle of torchlight that extended about 30 metres from the sturdy wooden gatehouse – well, one of them did, at least. He loudly called the others’ attention towards her and the two standing in the wooden towers above readied their bows. The second man on the ground nearly tripped over himself after being startled from his nap.

The first sentry gave her a once over as she approached, while his partner bent forward to recover the spear he had dropped on the ground.

“That’s far enough,” he called out to her. “What are you doing here, Adventurer?”

Ludmila came to a stop on the highway twenty metres from the gate. Despite the poor lighting, he had spotted the small Iron Plate from at beyond that distance. However inept the other sentries were, the first man was neatly making up for their shortfalls. She was an easy target if the two on the wall were practiced archers, and there was more than enough time for the two men on the ground to react if she charged the gate. The manner by which he handled himself and managed risks spoke of his experience as a veteran of the town militia.

“I came from out east,” Ludmila answered.

“From Crosston?” He raised his eyebrows, “That’s quite a trip for a day in that kit, even for an Adventurer.”

“I thought I’d be able to stop in the village south of here,” she explained, “but there’s some sort of commotion going on there.”

“What kind of commotion?” The sentry frowned.

The distant sound of hooves turned her attention away from his question. From the south, the lights of twin carriage lamps approached. Ludmila stepped over to the side of the road as it came up to the gate.

“You’re back,” he spoke up to the driver. “What now?”

“Countess Corelyn and her entourage: to visit Jacqueline Fassett,” the driver declared their purpose in a somewhat flat voice, pointedly ignoring her presence.

The sentry seemed like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it and waved them through. The carriage disappeared around a bend in the road and the man cleared his throat to spit on the ground.

“That driver didn’t even look at me,” Ludmila frowned. “Think he’d have just run me over if I stood there?”

“Probably,” the man grunted. “Some haughty nobles from out east. The Countess probably brought ‘em in to get them to help with this whole mess. They aren’t staying at the manor; not the town either. They set up some sort of camp up on the hill back there – you probably saw it coming in. Up to no good, if you ask me.”

“If not the manor, why not the town?” She asked, “Camping outside doesn’t seem like something nobles would do.”

“Hell if I know,” he shrugged. “Maybe they saw the prices in town. Well, probably not – nobles from around the city are filthy rich. Now: you were saying there was some sort of commotion in the big village down south…”

“Uh…yeah,” Ludmila cleared her throat. “There were some coaches with the new kingdom’s flags. Men in uniforms. Undead soldiers too. The men in Fassett colours around the square looked worried.”

“You hear anything about who came?”

“Just some sort of official,” Ludmila replied. “I didn’t care to find out with all those Undead hanging around. They’ve taken all the work – can’t make a living here anymore.”

“Staying in town, I guess? Roads aren’t safe at night past the border.”

“Can an Adventurer even afford to stay here now? You said something about the prices…”

“Iron could, maybe,” the sentry scratched his jaw. “I wouldn’t hope for more than the common room though. Food’ll probably double the price for the night.”

Despite already knowing about it, Ludmila could not help but grimace. In Fassett County, one could engage in slavery and trafficking of contraband with little but a slap on the wrist upon being caught. Those that went out to hunt and forage to feed their starving families were charged as poachers and thieves, turned into slaves themselves or simply added to the bodies hanging from the gibbet in the town centre.

She stepped forward to pass through the gate, and felt the gaze of the sentries pass over her figure once again.

“Countess is looking for strong fighters to help keep things tight down here,” the first sentry spoke again. “Pays better than what an Iron makes, more reliable too – and you won’t be out risking yourself fighting Demis and monsters.”

Her brow furrowed at his proposition.

“Adventurers don’t interfe–”

“Right, right, I heard it,” he waved her through with a lazy smirk to his fellows.

Ludmila’s initial estimation of the man had been fairly high, due to how he performed as a sentry. By the time she walked through the gate, however, it had sunk to somewhere just below the muck one would scrape off their boots after a long patrol. Rather than a capable official that promoted order, he was a capable official that facilitated crime and corruption. It would have been much better if he had been as incompetent as the others on his watch.

The view of the town streets differed little from what she had seen from the windows of the carriage the previous day: the wide, paved route of the highway curved through the town, lined with merchant inns and the storefronts of businesses that catered to both travellers and county citizenry alike. Beneath the thin veneer of the swept highway and its festive decorations, signs of the town’s true nature peeked out from every narrow street and alley. The scarce few who dared brave the streets at night were no less than what one might have expected out of a scene painted by a tavern bard: men and women that kept to themselves and the shadows, with hands that constantly drifted over their sidearms.

She stopped to look up at the bodies hanging over the central square, which swung gently in the wind amidst fluttering flags of every colour. The gaze of the militia sentries followed her slow walk along the road. It was not just them – every thug, orphan waif and beggar seemed to pause what they were doing to watch her as she passed. Though it was meant to be a disguise, the shining steel and clean linens of her carefully maintained equipment in these surroundings was about as conspicuous as a pair of Death Knights stomping through the street.

Continuing up the road under this scrutiny, she felt a tug at her arm. She turned to see a woman who stood at roughly the height of her shoulder, sporting a head of dark red hair braided into a long tail behind her.

“Looking for a place to stay the night?” She smiled playfully, “I’ll take real good care of ya.”

A hand with thin fingers and dull, dry nails reached out to lightly trace a line over Ludmila’s polished gorget as the woman closed to press against her.

“Er, I…wait, what?”

Two armed ruffians across the road exploded into laughter at her reaction. Ludmila felt her face heating up as she pulled away from the woman and quickly walked away with the sound nipping at her heels. The prostitute clicked her tongue, and Ludmila didn’t slow her pace again until she was nearly to the other end of the town.

A small part of her had wanted to wander around and personally observe the streets, hoping that the conclusions that they had made with their reconnaissance efforts missed some small bright side to its people. Having covered most of its length along the highway, however, she couldn’t say that she had seen anything that suggested there was any case of this being true. The people had their own lives, families and circumstances, to be certain, but there was nothing that spoke of defiance or resistance to the common practices of the townsfolk.

After a time however, she came to realize that any such beliefs would surely be held close to survive, and not something she could discover so casually. Rather than agonize over whether such people may or may not exist, she headed straight to a point on the map of the town she had memorized.

There were two gates leading out of Fassett Town. The first was the south gate, which she had entered from. The second was the northwest gate, where the pavement of the highway stretched out for another ten or fifteen kilometres before reaching the border between the Sorcerous Kingdom and Re-Estize. Finding a corner draped heavily in shadows, brushed off an old crate before seating herself upon it.

“They should have just arrived at the manor,” she told one of the Shadow Demons, “so start keeping track of what’s going on around the city. Check the south gate once in a while though – if it looks like the camp is going to be in trouble, assist in its defence.”

It nodded in affirmation before flickering away to carry out its orders. The second Shadow Demon looked up at her with its yellow eyes.

“I guess it’s just you and me now,” she said to her translucent escort.

Settling herself in the darkness, Ludmila did her best to conceal her presence, assuming her quiet vigil.

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Jacqueline Fassett’s reaction to Clara’s ‘information’ was markedly pronounced. In the shadows of the night, at roughly the same time that Clara’s escorting Shadow Demon returned to Ludmila receive new orders, the windows of darkened buildings glowed with dim light and sounds of activity began to spill out from the streets and alleys: filling the air over the town with the quiet din of horses and people preparing in large numbers.

With the idea that something would happen to the various shady elements identified around the town, House Fassett’s tangle of connections were made plain before her eyes as they reorganized themselves to avoid potential trouble. Though she could not hear what was being said from street to street, the actions were clear enough as whole blocks came to life, full of rough men and women unified with this single purpose in mind.

Clara had wanted to make one last effort to sway the stubborn daughter of House Fassett, only leaving behind the information that would set off their ploy in the event of her failure to do so. The reaction to this news came in visible waves of activity that rippled out from the Fassett manor. Ludmila knew what to roughly expect as the reaction had been projected in advance of their meeting yet, while she was looking down at the web of associations identified on the map in the pavilion, there was still a small corner of her mind that refused to believe things were entirely as they appeared.

This feeling of doubt sloughed off of her with every warehouse, tavern and common house emptied. Jacqueline Fassett had clearly panicked at the news, and now it seemed she was trying to remove every shred of evidence of her activities that she could. Wagons were loaded with men and cargo, though the Shadow Demons dispatched to track them reported that everything was simply being shifted out of the way to nearby hamlets. Disbelief was replaced by a simmering mood as more and more of the Shadow Demons’ reports coalesced to paint the picture of men and materials streaming away from the town – at this point it seemed that over half of the population and most of the materials being stored had been deemed too risky to expose to the supposed audit.

Ludmila no longer made any attempts to justify the movements with other, innocuous reasons. Each report simply became a point to revisit in detail once the commotion died down.

“I’ve heard enough,” she finally said to the Shadow Demons reporting to her. “Take your information to the camp and keep working with them to keep track of where everything is being directed.”

Tamping down on the dull sense of irritation that had built up with every report, she remained at her concealed position near the western gate, watching carts and wagons trickle away into the night. An hour later, just as she thought the flow of goods and people had ended, the hollow rattle of an empty wagon drew her attention to a nearby street.

Two mottled draft horses appeared, drawing an uncovered wagon with a single driver. As it trundled by, Ludmila saw that the bed of the vehicle was entirely bare. While she pondered the way it stood distinct from the other, laden wagons, it stopped just outside of the open gate. She strained her ears as the driver leaned over to speak to one of the sentries in low tones, but could only hear low murmuring between them.

After a short conversation, the driver straightened in his seat and the sentry hopped on beside him. One of the men above on the gatehouse dropped down from a ladder and jogged up to pull himself into the back of the wagon. They started rolling forward again.

“Hey, wait up!” A voice called out after them.

The two remaining sentries manning the gate scrambled to climb on board; the wagon slowed for them just long enough to do so before continuing on its way.

“Did they just abandon their post?” She muttered, aghast.

Despite everything she had seen, Ludmila was still dismayed at their act. At her feet, the Shadow Demon’s eyes gleamed.

“Unforgivable,” its voice drifted up at her. “Shall I slay them?”

She agreed with the Demon’s sentiment, but something was still off.

“Let’s see what they’re up to for now,” she replied. “If they planned on running away, they should have left with what goods they could find from the town…but there was nothing loaded in the wagon that I could see. There must be something more valuable that they’re reserving space for.”

Ludmila was unable to read its reaction to her reply through its inhuman expression. At the least, it did not appear to oppose her line of thought entirely.

“Follow them and see where they end up,” she ordered.

The Demon remained near her feet, shaking its head.

“This one cannot comply,” it said. “Lady Shalltear has prioritized your safety: the risk is too great in this location for you to remain without escort.”

“Even the ones that manage to spot me don’t dare approach,” Ludmila said. “I don’t think there’s that much of a risk.”

The Shadow Demon shrugged, unconvinced by her argument.

While suspicious figures did occasionally show up to look at her from other dark vantages throughout the evening, all it really took was her staring pointedly back at them for a moment to have them turn away. Oblivious to her Talent, all they understood was that the capability to detect concealed individuals of their calibre was a sign of a strong individual with scouting abilities. Her Iron tag aside, someone that could instantly notice these hidden observers in the darkness should be around the strength of a Mithril-rank Adventurer. They would not dare to try their luck with such a person who was already armed and alert to their presence.

This reasoning did not seem to matter to her shadowy escort, however. The servants of the Sorcerer King and those of his vassals only appeared to consider differences in direct strength, and make their judgements based on that sort of correlation. She had tried to send her escort out to investigate several times when the others were already set to their own tasks, but it doggedly refused to leave her unprotected.

Ludmila appreciated the knowledge that her liege was looking out for her, but she had long grown accustomed to ordering Humans, Undead and Demons around so it was quite jarring the first time she was refused that night.

“Then we’ll go take a look together, I guess.”

Lifting the longbow from her lap and grabbing her spear from where it rested against the box, she hopped off of her seat in pursuit of the strangely empty wagon. Stopping just past the threshold of the gate, she spotted the vehicle slowly making its way through the darkness along the continued curve of the highway. After confirming her quarry, she turned around to look at the unmanned gatehouse.

“I still can’t believe they just left the gate undefended like that,” she grumbled. “Help me close this thing.”

It only took a couple of minutes to close the gate. She heard the bar fall on the other side, and the Shadow Demon floated through the door. Turning back to the road, she saw the wagon still rolling along in the distance at its cautious pace.

Rather than follow the pavement, Ludmila cut through the forests alongside it to close the gap between them. In the weeks following the new development in her demesne, her skills as a Ranger had significantly improved as she patrolled the forested slopes of Warden’s Vale to keep the work of her new tenants and labourers remained unimpeded by wilderness hazards. Now, she could make her way through the thick undergrowth as quickly as a regular person could travel over a grassy plain.

The wagon’s passengers idly scanned their surroundings as she trailed them through the nearby trees. With only a bare sliver of the moon and the dim lantern hanging from the wagon providing illumination, their gazes passed over her regularly, completely unaware of her presence. They continued for several kilometres before the wagon pulled over on the roadside. The men in the back hopped off to load several dozen sacks that had been left covered on the other side of the ditch that ran alongside the highway. The wagon bed was nearly filled before it lurched back onto the road to continue on its way.

Following them a short distance to the west, the cobblestones turned to clay and Ludmila stopped to watch the men shrink into the distance. Rather than escape to the nearby hamlets of Fassett County, this group had fled the Sorcerous Kingdom entirely, disappearing into the neighboring Kingdom of Re-Estize.

The Shadow Demon rose to its full height beside her.

“...kill?” Its voice was tinged with anticipation.

“Beyond lies Re-Estize,” Ludmila let out a sigh. “This is as far as we can go.”

In hindsight, she should have realized where the wagon was inevitably heading and cut their journey short before they crossed the border. It would have been a simple matter to kill or cripple all of the men: between her Talent and her longbow, it was an entirely one sided ambush in the darkness – the Shadow Demon did not even need to get involved.

“...Camilla?” The Shadow Demon’s voice drifted over her.

Her cheek twitched at the mention of the name bestowed upon her by Lady Shalltear, and its weight bore down on her. Did she really make the right decision? What did it mean to be an extension of Lady Shalltear’s will – to be her liege’s disciple and assist in carrying out her duties?

...a Defender of His Majesty’s Realm, the first lance to be directed against those who would oppose His Will, both within and without.

Those that would dare to bring harm to what is His shall be granted no quarter…

“Kill them,” Ludmila commanded. “His Majesty’s Will is not to be denied.”

The Shadow Demon flickered away.

Ludmila closed her eyes and let out a breath into the cool night air.

Backtracking to the roadside where the men had paused to load their cargo, she looked around to see if she could find any evidence of what the wagon had hauled away. There was nothing left in the depression of grass, but there was a trail which extended into the forest. This far from the town, she could hear the wildlife in the night all around her – a comforting blanket of noise that brought with it familiar sensations that reminded her of her own fief.

The Shadow Demon appeared before her again.

“It is done,” it said.

“Good work,” Ludmila nodded. “What of the bodies?”

The Shadow Demon frowned at her words, tilting its head curiously.

“Those men were subjects of the Sorcerous Kingdom,” she told the Shadow Demon. “Their corpses belong to His Majesty. Pile them in the wagon and roll it back across the border. I wanted to see what they were hauling anyways. I’ll be checking on something in the meanwhile.”

The Shadow Demon flickered away again, and Ludmila turned her attention back to the path leading into the woods, musing over her last set of instructions.

One of the very first of the new laws, unassociated with those of Re-Estize, drafted by the Royal Court was the legislation that claimed all of its subjects’ corpses as the property of the Sorcerous Kingdom. In return, the administration offered to pay what was normally associated with burial expenses and funerary rites to the next of kin.

Ludmila recalled Bishop Austine’s chuckle when she had gone to ask for his thoughts on it. Apparently the Temple of the Four could do nothing but fume silently, and many of their worshippers took the money anyways. As for the Temple of the Six: they didn’t care. Unless resurrection services were in order, a corpse was just a corpse; the souls of humanity were in Surshana’s keeping once they passed beyond life. As far as the Bishop was concerned, this new advantage was yet another blessing for the faith of The Six.

Her steps followed the path deep into the woods, until she suddenly came upon a solid line between the forest and a field of waist-high plants waving in the wind all the way to the horizon. With the division between nations marked by the highway before, Ludmila assumed that this, too, was the border between the Sorcerous Kingdom and Re-Estize. The field should have been some sort of crop cultivated by the tenants of the baron on the other side of the border, but there were several oddities that were immediately apparent.

Unsurprisingly, there was no one to be seen in the huge field in the middle of the night: all there was was the lamp of the returning wagon further along the highway, which ran along the length of the field. In the distance, she could see the first village of the neighboring barony in Re-Estize sitting on a ridge along the highway. This was decidedly strange, as farming hamlets were generally spaced well within viewing distance of the fields that they cultivated: much closer than the distant village that she spotted. The way the paths ran through the field nearby and the way the crop had been collected suggested that it was actually being harvested and brought into Fassett County, through the point where she currently stood.

The people from Fassett County were growing crops using the land of the neighboring Baron – either that or they were stealing it – and whether they had the lord’s permission or some sort of lease to use the land was not apparent. It was also possible that the noble administering the land across the border were entirely oblivious to what was going on at the edge of their territory. Leaning down, she picked several bundles of the unfamiliar plants that had grown like weeds into the treeline, placing them into a pouch attached to her belt before returning to the highway.

The rumble of the wagon greeted her as she left the trees and entered the roadside ditch. She waited for the vehicle to come to a stop before her before climbing onto the back. The four dead men were laid out on the wagon bed, so she had to step over them to reach their cargo. Checking through several of the large bags, she found the same plants as she had on the field. Collecting a few samples regardless, she hopped off the wagon again.

“I’ll have to arrange some way to get these dead men to wherever they need to go,” Ludmila told the Shadow Demon. “Let’s get back to camp for now.”

No new vehicles came from the town, and the gate remained undisturbed from when she had closed it. Skirting around the walls, the sounds of activity from before had ceased, and Fassett Town once again appeared to be asleep. She made a point of staying clear of the south gate with its single watchful sentry. Looking up the way to the distant encampment, she breathed a sigh of relief when nothing appeared to be amiss. It was time to find out how well their ploy had worked.

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A pair of footmen greeted Ludmila outside of the barricade.

“Welcome back, Lady Camilla,” one of them said, and they straightened to present themselves.

“Did the others return safely?” She asked.

“Yes, my lady,” he replied. “Lady Gagnier has retired for the night, but Lady Corelyn and Lady Wagner are still in the pavilion, if you wish to speak to them.”

Ludmila nodded and left him to his watch. The men and women working inside the camp seemed to behave no differently than when she had departed earlier in the evening: carrying the same, relaxed atmosphere despite what was going on in the countryside beyond. Walking past the campfire and the sentry nearby, she entered into the pavilion, stepping into the brightness cast by the magic light.

Clara jumped when she appeared out of the darkness, stifling a light cry.

“You did that on purpose!” Her friend said, staring at her wide-eyed with a hand over her chest.

“I did what on purpose?” Ludmila said.

“Popping out of the nothingness like that,” Clara said. “Your brothers did that as well, stalking around like cats. I should really buy you a bell to wear or something.”

“I thought we decided that it couldn't be helped,” Ludmila said. “Our entire family is a long line of Rangers. Moving this way is like breathing to us.”

“Back then, at least someone had a chance of noticing you,” Clara replied. “Even the footman guarding the pavilion didn’t detect anything until I spoke just now.”

Ludmila twisted around to look at the footman, who was stammering in an attempt to reply. She had passed by him along the way, not even a metre distant.

“It’s not as if I was trying to sneak in,” Ludmila said. “Why are you so jumpy anyways? Did something happen?”

“Several of the relocated groups moved to hamlets nearby,” Liane said, “so there we were just discussing whether they would appear here to cause trouble since they’re so close.”

“I see,” Ludmila said. “I don’t think they would come after an armed camp – most of them had the look of common labourers and such.”

“That’s how it mostly seems,” Liane agreed, “but it’s hard to know for sure. The Shadow Demons’ assessments range from ‘laughably weak’ to ‘low level fodder’ so, while the general information we receive is mostly accurate, some specific things cannot be spoken for.”

Lady Aura had mentioned something along those lines a few weeks ago as well. While the young Dark Elf was an unfathomably proficient Ranger, there was no one else near her level of skill when it came to tracking, physical reconnaissance and target assessment. According to her, the Sorcerous Kingdom mostly relied on direct observation with powerful servants or through divination magic in cases when it could be applied, so Lady Aura constantly had her hands full with tasks only she, a few of her beasts, and a bare handful of others could do relative to the sheer number powerful of servitors at the Sorcerous Kingdom’s disposal.

Shadow Demons were no exception to this. Their ability to operate in the darkness undetected and get into hard-to-reach spaces with relative ease was undoubtedly useful, but their reporting was limited to directly seeing and hearing things, or stealing evidence that they happened to come across. They did not care to make inferences – nor did they have the knowledge or expertise to do so – and neither could they track their targets beyond keeping them in sight and tailing them. Even trails similar to the one that Ludmila had found and followed to the Re-Estize border, which was one any decently trained Ranger would have probably spotted, were mysteriously beyond their ability to notice.

Recalling the field at the end of the trail, she withdrew the plants she had collected and placed them on the table. The loose pile looked not much more than a fistfull of wild plants, but Ludmila did not recognize it as any sort of crop cultivated by the farms in the region.

“I found a field of these plants stretching north along the border a short distance from the highway,” she said. “I have never seen it before. Do either of you know what it is?”

Clara looked down with an expression that suggested she shared the same ignorance regarding the sample as herself, but a displeased expression appeared on Liane’s face.

“This is contraband,” she said. “I’ve only seen the processed form personally, but it matches the appearance of Laira in customs manuals.”

“Eh?” Clara blinked, “This is Laira?”

“You’ve seen Laira Powder before?” Ludmila asked.

“Yep,” Liane said, “too many times. A few times a week, our men would discover caravans trying to sneak it past E-Rantel to the Empire. We were hanging around to forty smugglers a week last autumn, but someone’s really trying hard to get it going in the east. The Imperial authorities would keep complaining to us too, meaning that we didn’t catch everyone. All we could do was show them just how many we were stringing up – there are so many desperate and oblivious idiots out west that they seem to have an unlimited supply of runners for this stuff. Did you find these plants while you were in town?”

“No,” Ludmila said. “It was being grown in Re-Estize.”

“So they’re harvesting the ripe plants and hiding it on our side of the border?” Liane pondered the information, “Or maybe they’re stealing the crops from whoever is growing this on the other side. We have no authority to act across the border – we can only deal with problems on our side…did you find anyone?”

“I followed a conspicuously empty wagon,” Ludmila said. “They stopped to load themselves full of this cargo before trying to escape to Re-Estize. It was only after I backtracked to see where it all came from that I found the field.”

“Hmm…” Liane tapped her finger lightly on the table as she examined the county map. “So they’re using the Sorcerous Kingdom as a shield against authorities in the Kingdom? No, that can’t be right. This should be something from when we were still all a part of Re-Estize – fields of Laira don’t just pop up in a month. Whoever is doing this was using Ramposa’s demesne as a shield against retaliation from the neighboring territory for stealing their Laira, or just covertly growing it in the neighboring lands to keep themselves out of trouble – or get their neighbors into it. Or maybe they were going to use this to smear Ramposa’s reputation and weaken his position in the Royal Court in exchange for something…or all of the above? I wouldn’t put it past House Fassett to orchestrate that sort of thing.”

“I wonder how long that has been going on for,” Clara said. “Would they dare to resume smuggling it through the duchy after merchant traffic returns to normal?"

“Now that we know that this is happening,” Liane said, “it would be nearly impossible unless they use unknown routes. Assuming that they’re as common as the Undead servants you see around the city, Shadow Demons stationed at checkpoints can just pop into every wagon to inspect them for contraband if they can learn how to identify it. If they can’t, they can always bring back a sample for customs officials to verify without the smugglers even noticing that it’s gone missing. The Sorcerous Kingdom’s forces are much better than regular militia when it comes to using direct methods to enforce laws where the verdict is clear.”

Ludmila placed the Laira back into her belt pouch, and Liane spoke again.

“You’re going to want to burn that so the seeds don’t scatter all over the place,” Liane said. “Don’t be anywhere close or downwind when you do, though, you’ll turn into an idiot.”

“Eh?”

“I’m serious,” Liane said gravely. “That stuff is used in places where Human slaves are considered nothing more than livestock, so their owners get them addicted to Laira Powder to ensure that their assets stay docile. If you’re exposed to it long enough, you’ll be reduced to livestock too. Some genius thought it was a good idea to market that filth in Human nations – more to the point, they probably didn’t even care about its effects. Half the smugglers that we sent to the gallows claimed that what they were doing was a harmless and legitimate business for a medicinal or recreational good.”

Ludmila tied the pouch shut; then she tied it again.

“So,” Ludmila said, securing the pouch to her belt again, “we’ve stirred up one side, and tomorrow will be Campbell’s turn. Did anything happen in the past few hours that requires us to adjust our plans?”

“We’re not even sure how large of a portion of Jacqueline’s power this even is,” Clara said. “We’ll need to see how they react to our next visit, after we’ve cleared out these groups that she’s sent everywhere.”

“After we visit Campbell tomorrow,” Ludmila said, “I’ll remain near to his village with two Shadow Demons and start dealing with his underlings. The third Shadow Demon will stay with you: just in case they try and lash out at us in retaliation.”

“How could they even justify that?” Clara said, “Would they simply act under the assumption that we're the source of their woes and come after us?”

“With few other parties to blame, it’s possible that they might come to that conclusion,” Liane said. “They could even rouse a mob or use their ‘bandits’ against us and claim that they had nothing to do with it. Considering what we know, it’s ludicrous of course – but this is the sort of tactic that would have worked back when our liege only cared enough to collect taxes from his far away throne. All this information we’ve put together makes it harder and harder to see how they can be anything but what they’ve been rumored to be this entire time.”

Ludmila frowned. Out of the four of them, Liane was the quickest to condemn what they had discovered in Fassett County. Perhaps her experience dealing with a wide range of people as a scion of House Wagner had led her to develop a keen eye for making sense out of such details in a short period of time, or maybe her experiences contributed to her judgmental attitude…Ludmila did not know her well enough yet to understand which it was.

For Ludmila, their time here had been a rather unpleasant process overall: every stroke that painted a clearer picture of House Fassett only served to further undermine what had once been her unwavering confidence that, to be a noble, one must surely also act how she thought one should. Hopefully this was not a common occurrence: E-Rantel only had about two dozen nobles left.

Ludmila’s train of thought led her in yet another unpleasant direction.

“If I arrived to investigate one of your fiefs,” she said, “how would you react?”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, making her wish she had never asked. Only a brief moment passed, however, before Clara spoke beside her.

“I suppose that I would like to be informed first,” she said. “I would be glad to have help rooting out this sort of thing if it ever made its way into my lands somehow, since I would never knowingly allow it.”

“Same here,” Liane agreed. “I already mentioned how I didn't think we were able to catch every smuggler taking advantage of the traffic flowing to the Empire, so I’ve no illusions that my oversight is perfect. It would be nice to know what is going on before you pop up and drag me off into some dark hole, though.”

“You two seem to be handling my new duties better than I am,” Ludmila sighed.

“To be a noble is to be bound to many things" Clara said, "and duty is foremost amongst them. I’m sure you already know this as well as we. It would be a bit unreasonable to treat you like some sort of villain for it.”

“The more successful you are at it,” Liane added, “the more our own standards are upheld. It’s no great loss to see crime and corruption eliminated, and rule of law reign.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Ludmila said. “My duty is to assist with Lady Shalltear's own. In this instance, it may seem like I’m upholding the law, but it is ultimately just a coincidence. My duty is to defend the realm, and uphold His Majesty’s order…which just so happens to mirror the spirit of our laws. There might come a day that I may be duty-bound to act against someone for reasons that they never thought were wrong, or simply because he considers them his enemy.”

“His Majesty has been benevolent in rule thus far,” Clara said, furrowing her brow, “and has made great strides towards ensuring the prosperity and wellbeing of his subjects. Is there something you know that suggests otherwise?”

Ludmila shook her head.

“Not that I know of – Lady Shalltear thinks the world of him. I cannot claim that I completely understand everything, but it might be safer to say that we should act as if he is an absolute ruler rather than one who is bound by law. We exist by his whims, so in order to continue existing, it is in everyone's best interests to carry out his will.”

“Then the laws…” Clara said limply after hearing Ludmila’s words.

“Are instituted by His Majesty’s will,” Ludmila said, “so he can just as easily replace them, if he so wishes. Even so, we are also bound to them as long as they stay in force…and so are the members of the Royal Court when it comes to the administration of the Sorcerous Kingdom. Due to the various interpretations of His Majesty’s will, however, you may find some seemingly arbitrary things happening with no apparent reason or precedent.”

“Shouldn’t Florine be awake to hear this?” Liane said, “This is the first I've heard of the like…how can we hope to survive such a seemingly random thing?”

“All we can do is strive for positions which help us gain a better understanding,” Clara said, “like Ludmila has. There’s no point in complaining about it – we were all at the mercy of His Majesty’s whims the moment E-Rantel was annexed. The only way that we might be able to do something about it is in the ways we already know as nobles: through our contributions and our influence with the powers of the realm. Even if it is just a little bit, we can at least try to keep the worst from coming to pass.”

“The strong do what they can,” Liane muttered, “and the weak suffer what they must...except that we’re the weak, just trying to act as the strong.”

“It’s what we must do regardless,” Clara said, “and we have a duty to our own vassals as well. The only nobles who believe they can simply lead easy lives are fools.”

“I wish I could enter under Lady Shalltear's service,” Liane huffed. “At least she actually communicates with her vassals and Ludmila appears to be flourishing under her.”

“It’s barely been two months,” Clara said. “Our rapport with His Majesty may improve as time passes. We just have to become important enough to notice, perhaps.”

“Well, let us know what that feels like when you get there,” Liane said. “In a few years, you’ll be too prosperous to ignore. Florine and I still have a long way to go by comparison, unless we can find some sort of edge like you and Ludmila did.”

“Me?” Ludmila was confused.

“Well, they’ve clearly recognized you for whatever reasons,” Liane explained, “and something earned you Lady Shalltear’s favour. You’ll have to tell us that tale one day.”

“We’ve digressed from our current task quite a bit already,” Clara said. “Rather than chatting into the night, we should really get ourselves some rest.”

Liane yawned involuntarily at the mention of sleep, and Ludmila thought that Clara's words were more for Liane’s benefit than their own. Retiring to the carriage which she shared with Clara, Ludmila lay staring at the ceiling of the carriage. Even at this late hour, she was not quite ready to fall asleep yet. Clara shifted under their sheets to turn and face her.

“Can it be done?” Clara asked.

“Can what be done?”

“The nuances and implications that come with your new duty scare me to death,” Clara's soft voice shook. “That we are so powerless that all we can do is wait to die if the wind blows the wrong way one day. I was so desperate to think of any way that could help – even a tiny bit – that I said what I did...but you know more about this than I.”

"While it is true that His Majesty may make decisions that may result in drastic changes from the status quo,” Ludmila said, “as long as it is something that doesn’t immediately end everything, I think we can manage in the way that you described. Liane thinks I have some sort of advantage, but I think you have an even greater one.

“While I cannot say for certain, it seems that every member of the Royal Court has their own preferences and interpretations when it comes to his Majesty’s Will. For instance, the Prime Minister might be more distant than we would like but, after His Majesty's directives, I think that what she’s done so far shows that she appreciates a smooth and comprehensive administration when it comes to her duties. The three of you are far better at this than I am – I can barely keep up with the tiny amount my own demesne puts out. What you demonstrate through the management of your own fiefs will speak volumes to her, and you are far superior to me when it comes to the politics of the court.

“Just like you were granted new territories, Liane and Florine should be able to as well if they can impress the idea that what comes under their administration will go towards creating the realm that His Majesty desires. Together, we can work towards impressing upon the Royal Court that we, too, genuinely seek to uphold His Majesty’s will.”

"And what is His Majesty’s will?"

Though many weeks past, Lady Shalltear’s declaration still resounded clearly in her memory.

“It is the will of Ainz Ooal Gown, the Sorcerer King, that his domain stands as a beacon of prosperity and harmony for all the world to see. By the grace of His Majesty, we are afforded protection as his citizens. It is the will of the Sorcerer King that his people shall not want for shelter or provision; that his people are provided with the security and stability to thrive – regardless of their talent, occupation or station.

“Those who strive to serve under his rule shall be rewarded in equal measure. Those who dare to bring harm to what is his shall be granted no quarter.”

Clara looked at Ludmila curiously through lidded eyes.

“Those are not your words,” she noted. “Who did you hear this from?”

“They were the words of Lady Shalltear,” Ludmila replied. “A declaration in an alley deep in E-Rantel, before a crowd of hundreds of frightened and desperate people.”

“I wish I had been there as well,” Clara murmured. “If that is what it is, then…”

A shadow crossed over her friend’s face.

“Even with this assurance,” Clara said, looking her in the eyes, “do you not worry that one day you will be turned against those you hold dear in order to carry out His Majesty’s will? Do you ever worry about a day when your spear might be directed against me?”

“Why such silly questions? You should know that this has always been a part of being a noble; it is not unique to the Sorcerous Kingdom – they just have the power to ensure that the desired order is upheld.” Ludmila’s lips turned up in a lopsided smirk, “As for you: you are the very last person that I worry about when it comes to that sort of thing. For Clara Corelyn is every bit as austere as Ludmila Zahradnik.”

Ludmila’s smile grew teasing, recalling something she had heard recently in Clara’s village. She raised a hand out from under the covers, poking Clara in the cheek.

“The Radiant Jewel of the Riverlands.”

“That’s something the people came up with on their own,” Clara said with a flush of embarrassment.

“Yet that is what you are,” Ludmila told her. “A noble of radiant brilliance, a precious jewel that brings prosperity and wealth to her subjects. An Angel made flesh, bestowing her benevolence across the land.”

Ludmila withdrew her hand, and her smile faded somewhat.

“Yet, at the same time, people somehow forget: when it comes to the precepts of order, Angels are every bit as unrelenting and ruthless as Devils.”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Morning arrived, and the four noblewomen gathered to review the new information that had been collected overnight. They discussed their findings over a late lunch, deciding that nothing significant enough had occurred to alter their course of action. Departing the encampment, with Ludmila present this time, the carriage made its way south towards Campbell Fassett’s administrative village.

It would be their second audience with the eldest son of the late Count Fassett: he had holed himself away in the barony that was once part of House Völkchenheim’s demesne. As they had come from the city, he was actually the first between the two siblings that they had visited. Like his sister, he had been all courtesy and smiles when he initially received them, but his hospitality grew cold upon being delivered the will of the House of Lords.

When it came down to their personal feelings on the dispute, all four of the visiting noblewomen actually favoured his sister, Jacqueline, as she had at least stepped forward to take the reins of leadership over her house with her father’s unceremonious demise. Campbell, on the other hand, was by all accounts a coward who had hidden himself away to avoid participating in a battle which – at the time – was considered a formality that carried little to no risk for someone in his position.

With her martial upbringing, Ludmila in particular had a very low opinion of him. Even though Florine had pointed out that it didn’t mean that Jacqueline wouldn’t have done the same in his position – noblewomen were not expected to attend battles at any rate – Ludmila still thought him craven: actively avoiding the obligations which came with his station.

Clara did not miss her dark glower.

“I hope you aren’t going to bite Campbell when you see him,” she said.

Florine and Liane laughed nervously, their eyes flashing uncertainly towards Ludmila.

“It’s not worth it,” Ludmila scowled. “I would never be able to forget the taste.”

After tracing the movements of his largest gatherings of supporters, Ludmila would remove them one group at a time with the assistance of the Shadow Demons until the trickle of bad news created a convincing enough idea that he had lost the majority of his power. After his new reality sunk in, they would confront him one last time. If he still insisted on pursuing his hopeless course, he would be forcefully removed from his seat, along with any of his vassals to be detained. Liane had voiced her opinion, saying that the whole effort was a waste of time and they should just drag both the siblings out of their manors since they were so obstinate, but Clara and Florine still wanted to give them a chance to forsake their old ways.

After hearing her convey Lady Shalltear’s words before falling asleep the previous night, Clara had become confident enough in their purpose that she was able to make light quips at Ludmila. The improved mood affected Liane and Florine as well. The two had still not reached the same level of assuredness as their seniors, however.

“I can’t argue with everything we’ve discovered so far,” Florine said as the carriage rolled through the village on the way to Campbell’s manor, “but should we really be doing this? This whole idea of dragging other nobles right out of their own fiefs…it’s really unheard of. It’s almost like those silly stories where heroes run around like crazy vigilantes meting out nonsensical caricatures of justice.”

“Well, unlike those vigilantes,” Liane said, "someone here actually has that kind of authority, as crazy as it may seem. Your territory didn’t have such a problem with almost everything being off of the highway, but my lord father and his deputies had to deal with an endless stream of crooks like these trying to smuggle slaves, narcotics and other contraband to the Empire. If there’s a way to quickly and precisely deal with one of the sources of this blight, then that means I can put my own time to better use on other things.”

“You’re making it sound like a matter of convenience,” Florine said.

“It is convenient,” Liane told her. “It’s also right and lawful and free of charge.”

Liane paused at the last and looked at Ludmila.

“Uh, what you’re doing is free, right?” She asked, “You’re not going to have an invoice delivered to House Fassett for shredding them to pieces, are you?”

“Eh?” The idea had not even entered into Ludmila’s mind at any point, so she looked towards Clara, “Should I be collecting dues?”

“If it costs you anything,” Clara replied, “you should certainly at least cover for your expenses.”

“Woah, stop!” Liane held out her hands, “Let’s see how this whole thing works out first before you start shopping for grim-looking stationery. I don’t mind providing accommodations and such when you’re doing your thing in my territory, but I’m half-expecting House Fassett to go up in smoke here.”

Ludmila felt the carriage shift as it angled up the incline leading to Campbell Fassett’s manor. As well-crafted as the magical suspension was, the carriage could not keep its occupants level when ascending anything beyond a shallow slope. Outside was a building with its grounds rapidly losing any semblance of having been maintained. Rather than the household servants that occupied the primary Fassett manor, this one was mostly dotted with several dozen rough looking men.

Florine drew the curtains on her side of the carriage closed as many turned their gazes towards the passing vehicle. Ludmila glanced over them in return on her side: the men seemed to come from all sorts of backgrounds. Most appeared to be burly farmers, woodcutters and other sorts of labourers. Few appeared to carry equipment beyond crudely fashioned polearms, tools and the garb associated with their regular professions. A small group of more conventionally-equipped fighting men stood in front of the manor entrance as the carriage rolled to a stop along the lane.

Four of the footmen interposed themselves between carriage and the well-armed men that came forward, while another opened the carriage door. Their threatening expressions loosened somewhat as Ludmila stepped out, followed by the other noblewomen, and she inspected the men standing in the way.

All wore chainmail over clean gambesons; their limbs were properly armoured as well. Most had open-faced sallets or kettle hats, carrying themselves in a way that suggested they were accustomed to moving around with the burden of their equipment. An arming sword and a long dagger hung from their belts and each held a three metre-long spear in a gauntleted hand and a kite shield over the opposite arm.

Jacqueline’s more lightly-equipped footmen at the town manor did not have the same, dangerous feeling about them: these were decidedly not regular members of house Fassett’s retinue, nor were they present the first time they had visited Campbell’s manor. Considering their roughly uniform equipment, she thought that they were likely mercenaries at best and brigands at worst.

“Representatives from the House of Lords have arrived to speak with Campbell Fassett.”

The footman announcing their arrival clearly did not want to give their names to the thugs blocking the way. The two rows of men stood facing one another for a long moment, before one of the men barring the lane to the manor entrance stood aside and swept his arm out, bowing with a lopsided grin.

“The good lord’ll see ya,” he said in exaggerated tones.

The noblewomen exchanged uneasy glances, not knowing whether he was attempting a proper welcome or mocking them outright.

Watching the two Demons stir in her shadow, Ludmila stepped forward to accept the welcome before the standoff exploded into a one-sided slaughter. The Shadow Demons were explicitly instructed to act according to orders, but there was no telling what the limits of their patience were when it came to disrespecting representatives of the Sorcerer King’s official government – and by extension the sovereign himself.

A pair of their footmen rushed to get ahead of her, holding open doors and checking hallways as the man led the way. Unlike Jacqueline’s manor in the town to the north, this one was sparsely furnished and decorated. The absence of a regular household was conspicuous, and traces of dust and dirt collected in the halls.

“I wonder where all his servants went,” Florine mused.

“Was that a rhetorical question?” Liane scoffed under her breath.

Halfway down the corridor, they came to the entrance to the manor hall. Their guide opened the door and ushered them in with little ceremony. The noblewomen hovered at the poorly-lit entrance, waiting for some sort of announcement, but were greeted instead by the skinny man seated behind the elevated wooden table at the head of the hall instead.

“Ah, welcome again, my ladies,” Campbell Fassett rose with a smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?”

From under a mop of shaggy blonde hair, his blue eyes lingered over each in turn as they made their way before him. Lined against the oak supports of the room were six armed men, similar to the ones that they had encountered at the manor entrance. An additional pair of men stood along the wall behind his shoulders. The thick wooden door closed a bit too heavily to Ludmila’s ears, and both Liane and Florine started at the sound.

She saw a few of the men before them grin at their reaction. Clara was unamused as she led them forward. Ludmila waited on them a short distance away, finding a place along the wall to watch the proceedings.

“Have you taken the time to reconsider our offer?” She asked.

Campbell’s welcoming smile slipped off his face at her words and he reseated himself, placing his elbows on the table and folding his hands loosely under his pointed chin.

“I gave it some consideration, yes,” he answered, his gaze slowly passing between them again. “But my position remains unchanged. This dispute is an internal one and not even the entire House of Lords has any right to intervene. I have no interest in your attempt at meddling, and neither does my little sister, I reckon. Your empty threats mean nothing here.”

As the refusal was delivered in Campbell’s self-assured tones. From behind, Ludmila saw Liane and Florine visibly bristle. Much like his sister, he only perceived their message as meddling and opposition.

“I believe we’re retreading old ground,” Clara returned. “Our purpose was made clear the last time we met: we are trying to help the two of you to extricate yourselves from your situation, and I believe what we offer is extremely generous. The Royal Court will not share the same understanding and tolerance when they turn their eye this way.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, “Tolerance for what? Everything I've done here is well within my legal rights. As I said, empty threats – I am simply amazed that you can even stand here and continue with this embarrassing course of discussion.”

“And what of everything else?” Clara asked.

“Hm?”

“It is no great secret what goes on in this demesne,” Clara said. “Do you believe the Royal Court’s inspector will turn a blind eye to all of this lawlessness?”

“Lawlessness?” Campbell said, “You know not of what you speak, Countess Corelyn. My lord father and his vassals have always enforced justice in our lands. If the inspector from the Royal Court doubts this, all he needs to do is request the county records for his own examination.”

The nobleman drained his pewter goblet and set it back down on the hardwood surface of his table loudly. At the sound, a figure appeared from behind a thin divider that separated the lord’s dais from some unseen servants’ entrance.

Dressed in a simple garment woven out of undyed wool, a woman appeared cradling a clear decanter of wine. Long, green hair hung halfway down her back, with loose strands partially covering her face. They waited as she came forward to refill Campbell’s cup; he did not offer any refreshment to his guests before she turned to leave.

“That is the first of your household I’ve seen today,” Clara said. “The last time we came, there were many others – where have they all disappeared to?”

“Their services were no longer necessary,” he replied, “so I had them released from my service. This one is quite special, however. She has been a member of our household for as long as I can remember. It seemed a pity to let her go so I kept her to attend to me and the men. She is quite remarkable: everything is handled with great skill.”

The corner of Campbell’s mouth turned up slightly, and several of the men around the room chuckled. Clara’s voice hardened as she pressed her line of query.

“Did you release your servants, or did you sell them?”

“My, who is retreading old ground now?” Campbell took a fresh sip from his goblet. “Slavery is illegal, is it not? House Fassett abides by the law as upstanding members of the nobility. Let us not speak of such distasteful things.”

“This…company of men was not present during our last visit,” Clara pressed, “and they are certainly not your household footmen. Where did they come from, and how did you pay them? How will you continue to pay for their upkeep? With things as they are, your current incomes are nowhere near enough to sustain this rate of maintenance.”

“That would be my private business,” Campbell motioned with his hand dismissively, “and none of yours. When this official from the capital arrives to make his inspection, he will find no problems with House Fassett. The Royal Court would be pleased, even, knowing that my sister’s ridiculous farce has been decisively resolved without need for their assistance.”

Clara looked to either side, but none of them had any clue as to why Campbell had said such a thing.

Ah, I’m an idiot.

Even before he finished, Ludmila realized that they had made a monumental blunder. She fought to maintain the serene expression expected of a Lady-in-Waiting, all the while wishing she could reach out and wipe the smug smile off of Campbell’s face. How did Aemilia manage to do this all the time?

“What do you mean by this?” Clara asked.

“It is as I say,” he said with a patronizing smile. “Reports have reached me that my sister has foolishly left the town undefended, scattering her men into the surroundings. I know a golden opportunity when I see one.”

“We did not encounter any armed men on the road leading here,” Clara said.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Sending so many armed men north up the highway would surely attract her notice. They were sent through the forest trails this morning. My men will descend on the county manor without warning, and that will be that. That woman never had any right to rule this land, and now she has proven herself unsuited to be it’s protector.”

“You actually believe that the Royal Court will accept this?” Clara said.

“Of course,” he replied. “I am the rightful heir of House Fassett, and my foolish sister is nothing more than a usurper. Her rebellion is in flagrant violation of the laws of succession, and I am enforcing justice – as is my right."

“And what of everything you’ve done to help finance these men to enact this ‘justice’?” Clara asked, “Do you believe that you will be forgiven for this?"

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Campbell said. “This adamant insistence of yours is truly puzzling.”

“The officials of the Sorcerous Kingdom will not suffer these games,” Clara told him, “and they see more than you think. These old and underhanded ways of your house will work no longer: the letter of the law will not shield you from its intent. This is Re-Estize no longer, Campbe–”

“Count!” He cut her off, voice raised, “I am Count Fassett. House Fassett is the most venerable family in the duchy, and I am the Lord of House Fassett. It has barely been a month since you’ve somehow come into your title, and I will suffer the patronizing tone of an upstart baroness no longer! You will show me the respect I am accorded, Lady Corelyn.”

Clara’s amethyst eyes narrowed as the proud words washed over her. Seeing her friend’s reaction, Ludmila steeled herself.

“Where was all this courage when you cowered away from your duty in battle?” Clara’s clear voice sliced through Campbell’s bluster.

The silence which followed barely lasted two seconds, but it seemed to stretch on after the cutting remark. All at once, Campbell jumped up from his seat in a fury, his face turning red, then purple; veins bulging over his temples. His maddened, bloodshot eyes fixed on Countess Corelyn as he sputtered impotently for several moments.

“OUT!” His shout reverberated around the hall, “Consider yourselves fortunate you are here as messengers, or I would have you stripped and beaten for your slander!”

Ludmila rejoined Countess Corelyn as Clara turned and walked away, calmly leading her entourage towards the entrance of the Hall. Campbell’s seething breaths issued loudly from behind them.

“Get out, NOW!”

Campbell’s pewter goblet landed to the side of them. The dented vessel bounced off of a wooden bench and sprayed it’s dark contents against the wall before clattering away.

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 15

Chapter 15

They returned to the carriage with the same, measured poise by which they had exited the hall. Ludmila closed the door behind her as they seated themselves, and Liane drew the curtain shut. As soon as she did so, Clara leaned over and buried her face in Ludmila’s shoulder tiredly. She felt Clara’s tremulous breathing against her, suppressed since the audience with Count Fassett had grown ever more heated. Ludmila placed a hand on her friend’s back and Clara’s tense form gradually relaxed, but she continued to remain where she was.

“I don’t ever want to do that again,” she said in a muffled voice. “Why must these provocations keep spilling out of my mouth?”

“I thought it was right on the mark,” Ludmila patted her lightly, “we needed to end that audience quickly, anyways. I was wondering if he would try to hold onto us there to keep us from doing anything about those men he sent out.”

Liane reached up to activate the magical lamp above them, and light flooded the interior of the cabin.

“It was entirely worth it,” she agreed. “Watching you viciously take a bite out of that bloated ego of his was extraordinarily satisfying.”

“I hope this will be the last time we have to deal with that reprehensible cur,” Florine’s voice simmered. “The first thing I’m doing when we get back is taking a bath.”

Ludmila looked to Florine curiously. Like Clara, she almost always carried a gentle disposition, so what was said amounted to strong language for her.

“I’m sure we all feel that way about Campbell Fassett,” Ludmila said, “but that’s quite the livid statement coming from you.”

“All of the men were getting their fill of her,” Liane explained, “even Campbell Fassett. I’m pretty sure half of the brigands in that hall were leering at her the entire time. Her lascivious nickname is well earned.”

“…what nickname would that be?” Ludmila asked.

“Li–”

Florine started and turned towards her friend, wide eyed, but she couldn’t stop her in time.

“Mistress of Fertile Hills,” Liane answered with an impish smile. “In our territories, at least. Maybe the city too.”

Her face painted with an entirely displeased look, Florine hit Liane several times on the arm, and Ludmila noted the ample curves of the younger noblewoman’s bosom bouncing beneath her baggy blouse as she flailed away. They did not miss her look.

“See?” Liane laughed. “They don’t even mean ill by it, Florine – you’re the very embodiment of everyone’s hopes and dreams.”

“Augh!” Florine fell back onto her seat and shrunk into herself.

“It’s outrageous, isn’t it?” Liane said, “She’s the youngest amongst us, yet she has the most generous figure. Whenever we’re out together, I can’t even get the time of day from any of the men that we come across. It’s always ‘welcome, Lady Gagnier,‘ ‘yes, Lady Gagnier,’ and ‘of course, Lady Gagnier’ as we step over and around all the puddles of drool that she leaves in her wake. I bet she secretly likes all the attention, as well.”

As Liane leaned forward and spoke in low tones at the last, a horrified expression painted Florine’s face.

“I do not!” Florine protested, “I don’t flaunt myself like some...some...some…”

“Oh that just makes it even worse,” Liane rolled her eyes. “I always tell her it’s an advantage she should exploit, but she keeps hiding herself away in the most unflattering outfits; just like this one she’s wearing right now. Or maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing: the more conservative her dress becomes, the more suggestive everything else about her seems. You know, I would pay good coin to have at least half – well I still have a chance, I think. Ludmila here is pretty much doomed.”

How did I get caught up in this?

She felt a stirring at her breast.

“This is pretty hard,” Clara said.

Ludmila grasped Countess Corelyn by the nape of her collar and peeled her off. She reached into the space between the apron of her kirtle and her blouse.

“That wasn’t…me,” she said, holding up the white mask of unknown material.

Ludmila had carried around the mask that Lady Shalltear lent to her every waking hour, but for the life of her she still could not figure out what she was supposed to do with it. Its empty eyes leered back, as if mocking her for her ignorance.

“Well, what do we do now?” Clara said as she looked towards her. “Our plan has gone horribly awry, I think.”

“That was my fault,” Ludmila furrowed her brow. “I was convinced that Campbell was so much of a coward that he would continue to hide behind the protection of his men, but he had no issues sending them to attack his sister when he sensed that he had an advantage. We inadvertently cleared the way for him, and I was completely caught up in our own moves to realize what we had done.”

Ludmila’s mouth twisted as she reviewed the sequence of events: it should have been plainly apparent that the breach in Jacqueline’s defences would have invited an attack from the forces right next door, but she had allowed her opinion of the Fassett siblings to blind her to such an obvious outcome. With the notion about her having abilities associated with commanding armies and leading them like the legendary figures of yore, the simple blunder made her feel the furthest thing from it. Her mind worked to salvage the days of their efforts which threatened to fall apart within hours.

“To be fair,” Florine said across from her, “we didn’t know he had those men. When we arrived on the first day, he had a regular-looking household staff.”

“There is no fair,” Ludmila replied. “There are only our moves and theirs, and what happens as a result. We cannot politely ask Campbell Fassett, pleading our own ignorance, to recall his men so we can try again. All we can do is make the best decisions that we can in light of this new development.”

Ludmila stood up and reached over Florine to open the driver window. Halfway in doing so, she stopped and reseated herself.

“Driver,” she focused on the man seated on the other side of the glass.

The driver of the carriage straightened in his seat for a moment, then twisted in around to open the window.

“Yes, Lady Camilla?”

“We’re returning to camp,” she told him, “but stop the carriage when we’re outside the village on the highway.”

“At once, my lady.”

The man closed the window and faced forward again. As the carriage rolled out of the manor grounds, Clara looked to Ludmila.

“It only goes one way, I guess?” She said.

“I should have realized that as well,” Ludmila frowned. “Though this at least has its uses, as long as you don’t require a direct response…actually, I guess I could talk to you from the comfort of my solar, assuming it can work like that. From a test some weeks ago, I found that I was able to convey my words to a subordinate two kilometres away.”

“We should give it a try when we get the chance,” Clara said with a thoughtful look. “This seems both convenient and useful.”

Liane and Florine followed their discussion with blank looks.

“Okay,” Liane said, “now you really have to teach us how to do this.”

“It’s quite amazing,” Florine agreed. “Do you think other nobles do it as well?”

“If they do,” Ludmila said, “it is not widespread...otherwise the meetings to discuss business between nobles would not happen: more nobles would stay in cities and towns; we would all probably just communicate from our homes to save time. I’m more inclined to believe that it’s at most a very well kept secret only known to a few. Another possibility is that it does happen, but those that use it don’t realize what is being done because they employ it as if they are addressing others normally – it’s how both Clara and I first learned, as well. It’s not something you really notice unless something extraordinary happens, so it just becomes mixed up in our common sense. Once again, the Sorcerous Kingdom’s way of seeing the world has changed the manner in which we conceptualize what we previously took for granted as what we are. Personally, I would have never dreamed of using it in the ways that I do if they had not come. I might not have even noticed it was an ability at all.”

“This…is probably best kept between us, yes?” Clara said, “At least for now – until we know the full extent of what is possible, and after we’ve explored its use.”

“Even then,” Liane said, “I wouldn’t share this knowledge openly. It’s a powerful advantage for those who can use it. Imagine how much chaos it would bring if these nobles in Fassett County could purposely wield it?”

It seemed a prudent decision, and everyone nodded in agreement. They felt the carriage slow to a stop. Ludmila opened the door and stood out to look northwards, but the gentle rise that the highway crossed over blocked any vantage on the town. She looked down to her shadow.

“Fly up and see if you can spot the town’s manor from above,” she instructed one of the Shadow Demons.

Ludmila returned to her seat, awaiting its report.

“What’s going on?” Clara asked.

“Campbell said he sent out his men this morning,” Ludmila answered. “I’m hoping that these forest trails they are using slow their pace enough that the Shadow Demons can be sent to intercept their attack. If we can catch those men en-route, we might be able to return to the original plan…”

The Shadow Demon hovered back down, floating in the doorway and Ludmila turned her attention to it.

“A trail of smoke,” it reported, “the manor is ablaze.”

“How far does the smoke extend?”

“It goes south, halfway across the horizon.”

“Good work,” she nodded. “Stand by for further instructions.”

The Demon lowered itself into the shadows, fading as it concealed itself from regular vision. Ludmila closed the door of the carriage. She returned to the combined gazes of the other noblewomen.

“So much for that idea,” she sighed. “I don’t think we can hope for Campbell letting the opportunity to permanently end the dispute get away from him with some foolish desire to gloat over his sister. Jacqueline has either fled, or she is dead.”

Their faces fell, and the carriage was silent for a moment before Clara pushed their agenda forward.

“Then…what do we do now?” She asked, “If Jacqueline is gone and Campbell asserts his authority over Fassett County…I can’t imagine he would be very receptive with how we just parted ways…”

Liane furrowed her brow at Clara’s words.

“You’re still thinking of correcting that Filth Eater?” She said, “He just murdered his own sister in cold blood, and he seemed quite proud that he ordered it. I highly doubt he will just fall in line.”

“Not only that,” Ludmila said. “He is going to believe that some great victory has been won, and he won’t be coming down off of that high horse any time soon. If anything, it will further embolden him in his ways, since he has seen a major success. He will proceed to consolidate all of the various elements in the territory under him now that his authority is undisputed.”

“And then he will return to business as usual,” Florine’s frown deepened. “It’s like we’ve done nothing but help a fragmented opponent unify itself.”

They were running out of options. All had a good idea of what was to come, but even at this point it was difficult to stomach.

“He should at least be waiting on confirmation of his success,” Ludmila said. “We just have to pick up our plan from here and bring in Count Fassett while we know where he is, then collect what remains of the nobles that have participated in all this. After that…we’ll see what else can be done.”

She pulled the latch beside her and stepped out onto the highway. Before she closed it again, she turned to address the others.

“Make sure you return straight to our encampment,” Ludmila said, “do not stop until you’re safe inside the perimeter. The footmen should have no issues defending their positions if they come after you with the sort that we have seen here. The Shadow Demon I left there will intervene if things get out of hand.”

“I’m not worried about us,” Clara said. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m not,” Ludmila replied. “House Fassett never stood a chance in the first place, had they chosen this avenue. Before, I hoped that it would not come to this…though now, I’m almost looking forward to it.”

Flipping the mask in her hands over one last time, she fastened it on. She felt it shift slightly, reforming to fit her – it was a magic item, but she still could not discern any of its effects.

“Well,” she said, “how do I look?”

There was a moment of silence as she looked between the other noblewomen.

“I…I don’t know,” Clara finally said.

Behind the mask, a mirthless smile appeared on Ludmila’s face.

Securing the door and stepping away, she addressed the men, repeating her instructions. They nodded grimly, and the carriage sped away. Watching the vehicle recede into the distance, Ludmila let out a heavy breath and looked down to her shadow stretching out beneath her in the late afternoon. She couldn’t afford any more carelessness.

“Escort them back to the camp,” she instructed a Shadow Demon. “I have no idea where Fassett’s men are, so stay vigilant. Meet me back at the entrance to this village’s manor after they are secure in the encampment.”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The Shadow Demon rejoined Ludmila as she stepped out of the bushes that encircled the open village and onto the manor lane. Campbell’s manor was several hundred metres up the hillside, and two large men could be seen stationed at the entrance of the grounds. Though late in the afternoon, the skies were still quite bright: she wondered how well the Shadow Demons would be able to work in these conditions. Deciding on an approach that followed the side of the road, she walked along the poorly-maintained snarl that was probably once an ornamental hedge.

As she came closer, she noted that the two sentries were not a part of the same group of hirelings that Campbell Fassett had surrounded himself with in his hall. They seemed to be nothing more than a pair of large men that did not give off the air of experienced combatants. Their broad stature, however, probably did much to dissuade the nearby villagers and prospective troublemakers from drawing near. Ludmila stopped at the base of the slope and silently stared up at them from the middle of the road.

It did not take long for them to notice the suspicious, masked figure below. When she did not leave after several minutes, they exchanged glances and made their way down the dirt road. Ludmila wondered what to do as they approached. Mercenaries who willingly exchanged their lives for coin were one thing but, from the account of the children that they had brought into the camp, even common labourers were being offered work as the lines were drawn between Jacqueline and Campbell. With the demesne falling further into poverty as the standoff bled away the wealth of the land and its people, more and more men were being drawn in as desperation drove them into taking any job for food.

“You shouldn’t be standing around here, girl,” one of the men warned her as he came within speaking distance. “This is the lord’s manor.”

She simply continued staring at them, so they came closer.

“Something wrong with you, girl?” The man said, “What’s with that getup, anyways?”

“You should leave this place,” Ludmila said quietly.

“What’s that?” He stepped forward to better hear her voice.

“I said you should return to your families,” she replied.

“Now look here–”

Ludmila stepped forward and grabbed his improvised billhook. It came away from his hands with little resistance and they all stared at one another for a moment – she had not expected for the man to be holding his weapon so loosely, and the moves which she had plotted in advance were suddenly no longer required.

The man came forward in a delayed reaction to snatch back his stolen weapon and she pivoted aside, bringing the base of the polearm into the side of the man’s jaw. Reversing her strike, she continued past his collapsing form to jam her weapon against the second man’s own, pushing the point off line and into the ground. Guiding the weapon with her right hand felt a bit awkward, but the impromptu form allowed her to snap her foot into the side of the man’s left leg. He staggered as his knee buckled under him, and Ludmila flicked his bound spear away with her own as he flailed his arms to maintain his crumbling stance.

He fell heavily on the ground and, when he rose to stand again, froze when he found the point of her polearm a hand’s breadth away from his face.

“Go home,” she told him. “You do not belong here.”

The man stared cross-eyed at the crude metal blade for a moment before he got up and limped away towards the village. She looked back towards the manor to see if anyone had noticed, and two pairs of yellow eyes looked up from her hazy shadow.

“Your orders, Camilla?”

The words dripped with anticipation. She had the vague sense that the Shadow Demons had been patiently waiting for this the entire time, and the brief exchange had caused them to finally come out to ask if they could participate. Tossing the billhook aside, Ludmila held out her hand.

“Bracers. Gauntlets. Spear,” she said.

After armouring her forearms and hands, Ludmila grasped the haft of the weapon rising out of her shadow. They were carrying her longbow and six quivers stuffed with arrows as well: she wondered where they kept everything.

“One of you, follow the man that just left,” she ordered. “If he tries to bring anyone back from the village, deal with them in this same spot. If he just returns home, come back to me.”

A Shadow Demon flickered away through the hedges and Ludmila reviewed what she had seen of Campbell’s manor. The unexpected absence of all but one servant made things much easier. The majority of the men in the yard had the same feeling to them as the two she had quickly dispatched; only the ones equipped in chainmail probably had any real reason to stand their ground.

“Enter the manor first,” she said. “The mercenaries you saw when we came in previously – kill all of them in the manor, save for the ones in the hall with Campbell Fassett. Do not alert the men out here until this is completed, if possible. After that, stand guard outside of the room that Campbell is in until I arrive. If you see a servant with green hair wandering around, leave her alone.”

The second Shadow Demon remained, even after she finished her instructions.

“I’ll be waiting here until the other returns,” she said, “I’ll be fine.”

It scrutinized her for a moment until it, too, flickered away. Ludmila went to stand out of sight of the road after tossing aside the makeshift spears and dragging the fallen man along with her. Waiting in the shadows, she strained her ears, trying to hear anything from the manor above. Several minutes later, a Shadow Demon appeared before her.

“What happened?” She asked.

“The man returned to his home,” it shrugged.

“Oh,” Ludmila blinked: she could still not distinguish one from another after several days in their company.

Hefting her weapon, she walked up the road to the estate entrance. Not a single person had come looking for the two missing sentries; the men in the yard continued to stand around in twos and threes, chatting amongst themselves in low voices. There was no indication that they were aware of what was going on inside the manor, nor could she see anything through its windows. The group of men at the door remained undisturbed in their vigil.

“Remove the mercenaries at the entrance,” she instructed. “See what you can do about scaring away all of these men loitering about in the yard as well.”

Ludmila peeked around the corner of the gate again to see what the Shadow Demon would do.

The first mercenary’s head was abruptly twisted from his shoulders, held aloft in the dark talons which had come out of the shadows of the ceiling above. To their credit, the mercenaries instantly reacted with startled shouts, stabbing upwards at the figure sticking down towards them. The Shadow Demon ignored the attacks, which simply passed through its translucent, wavering body. If Ludmila was not mistaken, magically-imbued attacks were required for one to even have a chance at damaging a creature with incorporeal properties. Campbell’s men truly had no chance.

The men scattered around the yard turned curiously to see what the commotion was about. The Shadow Demon picked out a target amongst them and hurled the detached head. It struck a tall man solidly in the stomach and he fell to the ground, winded. The head rolled away leaving a thin trail of blood behind it, and the faces of the men around him turned pale as it came to a stop and they realized what it was that had streaked through the air. Their attention went back to the manor entrance as the mercenaries shouted for help, but they were clearly conflicted on what to do and did not approach.

The Shadow Demon flipped back around, drifting to the floor as it wrested away one of the spears that the mercenaries were trying to use against it. The Demon turned the weapon against the man to its right and the spear punched through both his shield and himself before he could react. It didn’t stop there, though. Even as the first man weakly grasped the bloodied haft with both hands, he was lifted off of the ground as the same weapon was used to impale the leftmost sentry across the way, who offered no more resistance than the first.

The final mercenary had seen enough. Throwing his weapon and shield to the ground, he desperately dashed away towards the entrance of the estate. The Shadow Demon turned to peer after him with a grin, and came forward with the spear upon which the two others still squirmed. With its running – floating? – start, it launched the weapon into the air and the projectile made a clean arc over the lane before skewering the fleeing mercenary through the back: pinning him on the road halfway to the gate. There was an indescribable sound as the two bodies slid down the haft of the spear to press him into the ground as he writhed in agony.

A few moments passed as the bystanders stood frozen at the grisly sequence of events; then the men around the grounds broke as one, fleeing for the gate with rising cries of horror. They did not even look towards where Ludmila stood, off to the side of the estate entrance in their single-minded flight for survival.

After the yard was emptied out, she entered the gate and stopped to look at the grisly totem planted in the road. Though far larger in scale, it was vaguely similar to the territorial markers erected by the Demihuman tribes in the wilderness beyond her demesne. At some point, the people of Warden’s Vale had started to set up their own which, in the end, was far more effective at defining their borders than constantly chasing trespassers around. Neither they nor the neighboring tribes ever used entire bodies, though.

The Shadow Demon circled around its handiwork, floating off to the side to pick up the detached head nearby. It returned to fly up and jam the head onto the base of the spear, then turned to Ludmila and bowed.

Does it expect applause?

“What…uh, inspired you to do this?” She asked.

“The first attempt was insufficient,” it responded with a broad grin, “so a more potent measure was devised.”

Ludmila’s eyes shifted to the head on the spear, then back to the Shadow Demon.

“I suppose I can’t deny its effectiveness,” she said, “but I pity whoever has to come and clean this up. There’s nothing more for us out here – let’s head in.”

The Demon slipped back into her shadow, and Ludmila stepped over the pools of blood in the entryway to open the door of the manor. Within, there were no signs of any disturbances along the long corridor, save for a fallen mercenary at the door to the Hall. The other Shadow Demon hovered over the corpse.

“What happened?” She asked as she neared.

“This one came to look outside when the noise outdoors started,” it explained. “The others barricaded themselves inside afterwards.”

“The rest of the manor?”

“There were few. They are no more.”

“What’s left in the Hall?”

“The noble. The servant. Seven mercenaries.”

Nothing seemed to have changed. Well, given that it was not even twenty minutes since the carriage had departed, it wasn’t exactly unexpected.

“Campbell and the woman are to be left unharmed,” she said. “Deal with the mercenaries and remove the barricade when you are done.”

The two Shadow Demons waved their arms at one another several times, making signs with their hands. Ludmila furrowed her brow as she watched their strange behaviour.

“What are you two doing?” She asked.

“Jan ken pon.”

“...what?”

“Competing between ourselves to determine a winner.”

“Does the winner get to go inside, or stay with me?”

The two Shadow Demons remained silent, and Ludmila rolled her eyes.

“I’m not so fragile that the piles of dust here will be the end of me,” she said. “Both of you, just get in here; we still have much more to do ahead of us.”

Panicked shouts and hoarse screaming could be heard on the other side of the wall seconds later. Not half a minute had passed before clunking noises issued through the door as various objects were removed from the other side of the entrance. The door swung inwards, and Ludmila stepped through.

With how sudden and violent the Shadow Demon attack sounded, Ludmila expected the Hall to be painted with gore…but it was mostly undisturbed save for the seven men that lay unmoving on the floor with blood pooling around them. Some had their throats torn out, while long gashes had been opened across the armour of others. At the head of the hall, Campbell Fassett sat rigid at his table, narrow face as pale as those of the dead men strewn about. The green-haired servant was sitting beside him, steel-grey eyes darting back and forth around the chamber.

Ludmila retraced the steps that Clara’s entourage had taken up the centre of the hall, stopping to look up at the trembling nobleman. His eyes followed her, but it took several long moments before he found his voice.

“W-who…who are you?” He stammered.

“You know who I am,” Ludmila replied.

“No! No…I’ve never seen you before,” hysteria rose in his voice. “Why have you done this? Why would you do this? Who…was it my sister? Did she send you to kill me? A-a-assassin…? How much did she pay you? I will triple the amount! ”

Ludmila resisted the urge to look down at her outfit. He had just held his audience with Clara and Campbell claimed to not recognize her. She supposed that it changed nothing, in the end.

“You may call me Camilla,” she said. “I have come from the capital.”

“You’re the inspector they spoke of, then,” he said. “But why? They…they got to you, didn’t they? Those self-righteous bitches from the east! What vile lies did they tell you?”

How could he be so adamant? If they had not spent the past few days collecting all of the various bits of information and records from the county that they could, Ludmila would have severely doubted her own actions. Her gaze hardened as disgust simmered within her; she was not here to argue. The placid tone of her voice surprised even herself as it carried throughout the hall.

“Count Campbell Fassett,” she said.

Addressed by his title, he straightened his posture somewhat.

“Yes?” His voice was tinged with hope.

“You are called to account for the deeds of your house,” she said. “For its tenure as a territory of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

His blue eyes were adrift in confusion and his thin lips turned to frown.

“W-what? It’s only been two months! Not even that! What could I possibly be–”

“You have…exchanged your household to finance this company of mercenaries,” she cut through his protests.

“No! I released them from my service!”

“You have throttled distribution of food and supplies, purposely hoarding the necessities of life to press the people of your demesne into your service through extortion.”

“I have done no such thing!”

“You have defied the development directives outlined by the Royal Court by further driving your demesne into destitution with this familial dispute.”

“The streets and storefronts are cleaned and repaired: made presentable, as ordered!”

“Your deterrents against crime are insufficient, effectively facilitating it through a system of periodic, affordable fines for personal gain.”

“I am adhering to the law! I have the right to exercise justice within my own demesne in the way that I see fit!”

“You send your men into Re-Estize to steal crops of Laira, and allow smugglers to deliver it to neighboring nations.”

“…what? That’s not me, that’s–”

“You shelter bands of ‘mercenaries’ in the hills and caves throughout this County, allowing them to operate from within your borders, in exchange for favours against your opponents.”

“No, no! That’s not me! That’s Jacqueline! I–”

Ludmila slammed the base of her spear against the wooden floor. The harsh sound echoed over the chamber several times before fading into deathly silence.

“Count Fassett – you claim to be Count Fassett, do you not?”

“Of course, I am–”

“The head of House Fassett,” Ludmila finished his sentence for him. “It is your family. Your household. Your land. Your towns, villages and hamlets. Your people. Everything that happens in your demesne…is your responsibility.”

She stepped forward, the sound of her boots bouncing off the chamber walls.

“This is the Sorcerous Kingdom now – do you know what it means to be a Noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom, Count Fassett?”

His mouth worked silently as he followed her slow advance.

“You have been granted your lands to administer in good faith,” Ludmila told him, “by the grace of your liege.”

“But that is the same!” Count Fassett protested, “Everything is the same. Our positions are the same as in Re-Estize. Our laws are the same as Re-Estize. We nobles have rights and protections – provided by the laws that have been adopted by the Sorcerer King himself!”

“Indeed,” Ludmila replied, “But this is Re-Estize no longer, Count Fassett. There is no sovereign on his far away throne: no place that lies beyond his reach. You cannot shield yourself with posturing and pretense. Twisted, half-hearted measures are as good as none. Your lies will not avail you and you cannot hide what you have done. Your wealth will buy no one, there is no fear of disapproval and your resistance means nothing.”

Ludmila placed a foot on the steps to the dais.

“Above all else, you have the duty to uphold the dictates of His Majesty’s order,” she continued. “As a Noble, you have obligations to fulfil and laws to enforce according to his will. Duty is why your authority exists. Duty is what binds the nobility, Count Fassett, so spare me your talk of rights. To be certain, as long as you remain faithful in performing your duties, you may benefit from what rights, protections and immunities your liege and his laws have afforded you…but you have decidedly not done anything of the sort.

“You have not simply failed in your duty, Count Fassett: you have defied it…and in defying your duty as his vassal, you have defied His Majesty’s Will.”

Standing over Campbell Fassett, Ludmila looked down at his cowering form. The pale mask reflected in his terror-filled eyes.

“Now tell me, Count Fassett,” she asked him quietly, “what does that make you?”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Ludmila awaited an answer to her question; another stubborn rebuttal or excuse, but Count Fassett only continued to fearfully look up at her. She stepped forward, reaching out to pull him up from his chair.

“Aiiiieeee!”

With a shriek, the skinny man fell off of his seat as he frantically pulled away from her grasp. He scrambled backwards over the floor.

“Ilwé!” He cried, “Save meeee!”

The green-haired servant leapt into action, tackling Ludmila in the waist. They stumbled together, away from the table, and Ludmila saw what she had intended to check on ever since she saw her. The servant’s long, green hair flew wildly as she struggled to push Ludmila back: revealing a pair of long, pointed ears. There was little chance she could be anyone else. She silently instructed the Shadow Demons quietly creeping towards them to stand down.

“Mrs. Linum,” she said calmly. “Please let go.”

If she recognized the name, she showed no sign of it and continued to do what she could to carry out Count Fassett’s frantic orders. Ludmila gave her a hard shove, and the Elf stumbled away to fall back onto the floor near the table. Ludmila’s gaze locked onto Count Fassett, who had put his back against the wall. She stepped towards him.

“Ilwé!” He called out desperately again.

Ilwé pulled herself to her feet, snatching a knife from among the utensils on the table. She dashed forward again, holding the small blade out in Ludmila’s direction. Ludmila brought the haft of her spear down over the Elf’s bare wrist, and Ilwé gasped in pain. The knife fell to the floor and clattered away, but Ilwé continued forward to grab at Ludmila again. Struggling to free herself again, Ludmila couldn’t understand why a slave would fight so desperately for her master – for a house which had, by all appearances, mistreated her for generations.

Beyond them, Count Fassett finally found his feet and disappeared into the servants’ entrance of the hall. Ludmila finally worked Ilwé off of her and shoved the Elf away once more. She nearly tripped when she moved forward, only to have the Elf wrap her arms around one of her legs.

“Follow him!” Ludmila ordered, “He is still to be left unharmed.”

A Shadow Demon flickered away as Ludmila untangled herself from Ilwé’s continued attempts to impede her. When she nearly made it to the entry that Count Fassett had escaped out of, she stopped at the sound of someone running past the other side of the wall. Ludmila dashed back up the hall to leave out of the main entrance. Stepping out, she was barely able to brace herself before the fleeing Count collided headfirst into her. She was jarred backwards and the man fell back over onto the floor of the corridor.

“So hard…” He rolled over onto his side with a groan. “Ow! Ow! Stop! It hurts! I yield! I yield!”

Ilwé appeared to the sight of her master being stepped on repeatedly.

“Master!” She threw herself bodily over Count Fassett with a cry.

The man peeked over Ilwé’s thin shoulder, looking up at Ludmila with a fearful, victimized expression.

“Why…why would you do that!”

“…no reason.”

She brushed aside her irritation as she looked down at the two; Count Fassett continued his whimpering under her glare. Should she just order the Shadow Demons to carry them off? Ludmila eyed the growing bruise on Ilwé’s wrist. She wanted to avoid causing her any distress, but she just kept coming to the young nobleman’s defence with no regard to her own safety.

“Get up, Count Fassett,” Ludmila told the nobleman still cowering on the floor. “We’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Where? Why?”

Ludmila furrowed her brow behind her mask.

“You are being brought away to answer for the charges that have been leveled against you,” Ludmila replied. “Or have you somehow forgotten what just transpired mere minutes ago?”

Count Fassett looked up to her as if she were insane, and his plaintive voice rose in protest.

“This is madness,” he said. “I have done nothing wrong! You have provided no evidence for your accusations; only arriving to viciously attack me in my own manor! This unjustified assault of yours runs afoul of the Crown Laws: no one may do such a thing, not even the King himself.”

“The evidence for your violations has already been gathered,” Ludmila said. “Did you really expect someone to come ask for your permission to perform an investigation?”

“Of course!” Count Fassett answered, “It would only be proper. The fact that this ‘evidence’ has been collected independently already makes it highly suspect. You would have received my full cooperation if you had only asked with proof of your task here: I have no wrongdoings to hide, after all.”

Despite his recent disgraceful display, Count Fassett seemed to have gathered enough of his wits to resume his act once again. Or was it an act? His lying on the floor while doing so made it all the more ludicrous. At this point, she could not tell whether he was still trying to employ the letter of the law as a shield or just outright delusional.

“You have two choices available, Count Fassett,” Ludmila said flatly. “Either you walk away with us, or we drag you away with us.”

“To both,” he spat, “I refuse. You have no rig–”

“Let’s go,” she said. “Do not harm the Elf.”

Ludmila turned around and walked back down the corridor to the entrance. A Shadow Demon rose to the nobleman’s horrified screams and grasped one of his ankles. He thrashed and cried as he slid off towards the entrance of the manor with Ilwé following after him, her face marred with worry while she wrung her hands. The struggles ceased momentarily as he was dragged straight over the dead mercenary in the hall; his fine jacket painting a crimson streak all the way to the door.

The fading light of the evening skies greeted them outdoors in windswept silence. Count Fassett ended his struggling entirely and his face grew pale as he was dragged by the headless corpse outside the door. He grew paler still as they passed the grim totem planted in the middle of the manor lane.

“What kind of monster are you?” His voice trembled.

You are the monster here, Ludmila wanted to reply, but she did not deign him with an answer.

They stopped outside the entrance of the village below the manor where she scanned the buildings and lanes. It had no illumination beyond the torch in the square and that of a few open windows. Two militia sentries stood in the square; beyond that everyone seemed to have retreated into their homes. Ludmila exchanged her spear for her longbow, along with two quivers of arrows which she clipped to her belt.

“Reveal yourself plainly,” she instructed the Shadow Demons. “Let’s keep going.”

The two Demons floated over the road, their winged forms clearly visible to any who looked in their direction. Several sets of shutters slammed shut. As they approached the square, Count Fassett found his voice again.

“You two there!” He called out to the militia sentries, “Help me!”

The two men turned their heads towards the sound of his voice, readying their weapons cautiously. Their stances faltered when they saw what came into the torchlight, and they stumbled backwards in panicked retreat.

“What are you doing!” Count Fassett yelled, “I am your Lord! I order you to attack!”

The men only continued to back away as he was dragged by. Hysterical breathing rose from behind Ludmila.

“Damn it!” Count Fassett’s shrill voice drifted over the village square, “Fulfil your duty to your liege! Kill these insolent wretches!”

His continued cries as they turned onto the highway which ran along the length of the village drew curious onlookers. Wide eyes peeked through the cracks in doors and shutters at the sight. Count Fassett looked left and right at all of the silent bystanders in their homes.

“You!” He shouted, “Peasants! Come out here and deal with these criminals!”

The villagers only stared back at him.

“You fools! I am your Lord! How dare you defy me!”

Count Fassett continued shouting, cursing and threatening as he was dragged all the way through to the end of the village. He saw the last few buildings go by and cried out into the twilight.

“Please – please! Save me, someone…please!” He wailed, “I don’t want this! This isn’t right! I’ll give you anything – everything! Oh gods, please save me from these monsters!”

His wracking sobs filled the air as they made their way north. Ludmila stopped when they were well away from the village.

“You can stop dragging him now,” Ludmila said to the Shadow Demon. “Ilwé, help Count Fassett to his feet.”

The nobleman’s leather boot thumped as his ankle was released to drop to the cobblestones, and Ludmila watched as Ilwé gently helped him to his feet. The Elf spoke in soft and soothing tones to him as she did so, and Ludmila wondered once again how she could show such care for a family that had shown her such cruelty.

Looking at Campbell Fassett’s haggard face, she decided that the fight had gone out of him entirely…but she believed that after he had been thoroughly shaken in his manor as well. At the least, he probably wouldn’t want to be dragged all the way to the encampment in the north. Looking over her shoulder after they resumed walking, she saw them shuffling forward with no signs of resistance.

When they were halfway to the encampment on the ridge, Ludmila projected her voice.

『Clara? I am about halfway back.』

A substantial amount of her was sapped away, and she wobbled on her feet.

I guess I will not be trying it again from that distance any time soon...

After several minutes with no reply, Ludmila wondered if she had accidentally knocked out her friend with an attempt to respond. After closing half again the distance, she tried again to a more manageable drain akin to her test in Warden’s Vale; once again she received no response. She could make details out of the ring of wagons, tents and barricades and nothing seemed to be amiss, so she decided there was some unknown aspect of the ability that prevented Clara’s reply, if she had even heard her in the first place.

Night had fully fallen by the time they arrived back at the camp. The footmen maintained bored expressions as their vigil dragged on through the evening. The gaze of one stopped over them, and she saw him turn to call into the camp. Clara appeared with two escorts shortly after, but she was held back by the footmen along the barricade when she attempted to run out and meet her on the way.

『Ludmila?』 Clara called out to her from the perimeter.

『Oh, I can hear you now.』

『I heard you twice before, but my replies did not seem to work…I called and called in the direction of your voice until I got dizzy and had to sit down.』

『Sorry about that. I guess there are still things we need to figure out…』

Their silent dialogue tapered off as Ludmila walked up to the barricade.

“How are we doing here?” She asked.

Clara looked to one of the footmen that had accompanied her, and he straightened fully before reporting.

“We’re too far to really make any real details out up north, Lady Camilla,” he said. “We’ve seen none of the armed men that were mentioned, nor any other people coming up the road at all. There are no visible changes over the town…just seems like any other night from our end, aside from the smoke from the manor fire. Would it have been better to send a few men to check?”

“No,” Ludmila shook her head, “you’ve done well. Ensuring the camp remains secure is our priority.”

“Lady Camilla…” Campbell’s voice came from the side. “There is no House Camilla: who are you!”

Ludmila removed the mask, and Campbell gasped.

“You! You’re Corelyn’s Lady-in-Waiting…”

Clara looked over Ludmila’s outfit. Then she looked again.

“Really?” She said incredulously.

“Really,” said Ludmila.

“But…”

“I didn’t even try to hide anything,” Ludmila shrugged as she put the mask away. “Well, aside from wearing this. Do we have suitable accommodations prepared for Count Fassett?”

“For the both of them,” Clara replied, “if Jacqueline survived somehow. What about the other nobles supporting him?”

“He was the only one in the manor and I didn’t bother asking along the way here. You can try getting that out of him while I check to see if there’s anything left of Jacqueline.”

Clara turned to look at Count Fassett with a neutral expression.

“I see,” She said. “Well, Count Fassett, I can’t say that it’s a pleasure to see you again, but my footman will escort you to your tent. What about this servant…?”

“She’s with me,” Ludmila replied.

Ludmila’s grip tightened on Ilwé’s arm as Clara led the young nobleman away. The Elf still tried to pull away to follow him.

“He is your master no longer Mrs. Linum,” she told her firmly.

She was at a loss as to how to address her strange behaviour. Ilwé continued to struggle until her breath grew short. As she watched Count Fassett disappear behind the line of tents, Ludmila instructed the Shadow Demons to check on Jacqueline’s manor and deal with any assailants they might find in the vicinity. Ilwé was still trying to get away when she finished issuing her orders.

“Come, Mrs. Linum,” she urged her, “Wiluvien and Lluluvien have been searching for you.”

At the sound of their names, she calmed somewhat and allowed herself to be led away.

The tent where Linum sisters saw to their work was brightly lit, and both of Ludmila’s chambermaids were awake and sifting through the pile of unsorted information that remained. A small folding table, upon which lay a map of the county under a small notebook and several sheets of paper, was set up in the centre. Gathered around it with them were the children from the town. They turned their heads towards the entrance in unison as Ludmila pulled aside the flap.

“Welcome back, my lady,” Lluluvien came forward to greet her. “We’re just ab–”

As she rose from her curtsey, Lluluvien glanced over to the figure that was pulled into the tent alongside Ludmila and her breath caught in her throat. Lluluvien took one step forward, then another. All at once, she fell to her knees, reaching out to grasp the hem of Ludmila’s skirt.

“Thank you, my lady,” tears started falling to the ground as she bent forward to press her face into her dress. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you…”

Lluluvien continued to pour out her gratitude between heartfelt sobs, and Wiluvien had fallen beside her to do the same. The four children watched quietly from the table.

“Are you trying to get me going as well?”

Ludmila’s voice nearly broke under the flood of their emotions as she stepped away, bringing Ilwé forward to stand in her place.

"I was able to bring her with me,” Ludmila said, “but I don’t know how to handle this. She keeps trying to return to Count Fassett, and she has attacked me multiple times on his orders. Is it really safe to leave her with like this?”

“We will keep our mother close, my lady,” Lluluvien replied after another shuddering sob, “We’ve…been there before. But you saved me and my sister, my lady – and now our mother as well. Our family will serve your house forever, Lady Zahradnik!”

Ludmila was unsure how to respond. Did they just cast off centuries of bondage, only to immediately turn around to offer an eternity of service?

“Your family may serve for as long as they desire, but it is your choice. You are slaves no longer,” her lips turned up in a light smirk. “What I said when you entered my service remains unchanged: slavery is illegal in the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

Ludmila turned away from the Linum sisters, who were weeping and embracing their mother, leaving the tent before her own tears could escape. She turned away from the interior of the encampment to wipe her eyes clear before heading towards the pavilion. It turned out that the other three other noblewomen were instead gathered around the main campfire, gazes cast across the distance towards the town.

There was a footman standing behind Count Fassett’s shoulder, and the nobleman slouched despondently on a log. Though he was supposed to have been shown his accommodations, he had taken no effort to correct his haggard appearance. On another side of the fire, Clara, Liane and Florine looked in her direction as she entered into the light.

“Anything?” Ludmila asked.

Count Fassett jumped up at her voice with a shout. The footman immediately forced him back down onto his seat.

“Perhaps you’ll have better luck scaring some answers out of him,” Clara smiled slightly. “We’ve just started, and everything so far is just the same brazen denials and evasive posturing…”

Clara glanced to the nobleman seated near the fire before taking Ludmila aside.

“His clothing was covered in mud and blood,” Clara whispered. “Just what in the world did you do? Liane and Florine think that you had him tortured!”

“Oh…he refused to come with me,” Ludmila replied, “so I had him dragged out. There were a bunch of corpses along the way – that is where the blood is from.”

Her friend frowned at her casual explanation.

“Parts of his jacket were torn,” Clara continued. “One of his sleeves and half of his collar were missing completely.”

“Ilwé Linum – the Elf servant that came with us – tried to stop him from being dragged off a few times, but only came away with pieces of his outfit.”

“Why are there heel marks all over him?” Clara peered at her.

“…no reason.”

“Huh…well, I suppose you should join us,” Clara said. “I simply cannot believe how he can just revert to the same behaviour after being subjected to all of that. Is this sort of shameless conduct something common in the west?”

“You know that I am probably the last person that would have the answer to that,” Ludmila replied, “but there will be time for him later. I am going to head out and check on Jacque–”

She stopped and turned her head as a figure appeared at her side. Ludmila’s eyes grew wide in recognition; she quickly placed her longbow on the ground and lowered her head in a deep curtsey.

“Lady Shalltear,” she greeted her liege.

From beside her Clara gasped in recognition and she, too, followed suit. Liane and Florine were not long after, and soon every servant within the perimeter had ceased what they were doing to lower themselves in deference to Lady Shalltear Bloodfallen.

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Out of the corner of her vision, Ludmila watched Campbell Fassett look around himself in half a stupor before going to one knee. The campfire crackled in the silence as Lady Shalltear swept her gaze over the camp. She turned towards the town and inhaled deeply.

“It appears that you’ve started the fun without me,” her voice chimed lightly.

“My lady?” Ludmila was unsure of what she spoke of.

“The scent of blood is thick on the wind,” she replied. “Unless mass bloodletting is some sort of recreational activity around here, many have died violently this evening…though I suppose you have just returned from the south.”

“My lady is well informed.” Ludmila glanced up at her liege.

“Well, I have been keeping an eye on you this entire time,” Lady Shalltear smiled mysteriously. “You may all rise.”

Glancing around them, Ludmila wondered how they were being watched. Now that she was aware of Lady Shalltear’s surveillance, she noticed several small black bats flittering around in the night. More could be seen in the shadows of the carriages and trees, a few with glowing red eyes that gleamed in her direction. Bats were a common sight everywhere in the duchy; it seemed a dozen or more of Lady Shalltear’s Household had infiltrated themselves into the local population.

“Thank you for your kind concern, my lady,” Ludmila nodded her head. “If the scent of blood on the wind, it should be due to Campbell’s attack on Jacqueline’s manor. I’m unsure of her fate, but the two Shadow Demons I sent to investigate might be able to find and secure her if she has survived.”

“There should be a third, yes?” Lady Shalltear said, “My escorts have already secured this camp. Send it with the others to find out.”

“At once, my lady.”

Ludmila turned away to look around the camp. Spotting the patrolling Shadow Demon, she issued new instructions.

“I’m innocent, I swear it!”

A pleading voice sounded over the gathering as they turned to walk back over to the campfire. The young nobleman had risen from his kneeling position, stumbling forward Lady Shalltear with a desperate look.

“I never had a chance to prove myself,” he begged. “This isn’t fair!”

“So noisy,” Lady Shalltear said as her crimson eyes flared.

Campbell Fassett’s wide-eyed expression faded and transformed into one of one of dull-eyed adulation. A silly smile appeared on his sallow face.

“Return to your seat,” Lady Shalltear said. “Do not speak unless you have my leave to do so.”

The nobleman quietly returned to his log and sat back down.

“Much better,” Lady Shalltear said without looking in his direction. “Now then, what mischief has this fellow been up to?”

Her carefree tone resulted in a few seconds of silence before Clara realized that she should answer.

“Oh, ehm…” She turned her head, “Wagner, our report should be on the table in the pavilion, should it not?”

“Yes, Lady Corelyn.” Liane nodded, “I’ll retrieve it immediately.”

While she was away, the Shadow Demon returned.

“Jacqueline Fassett is no more,” it reported. “We have slain her slayers.”

Charmed as he was, Campbell Fassett did not even react to the news that his sister had perished.

“Going by what remained to guard Campbell’s manor,” Ludmila said, “there should have been nearly an entire mercenary company. Did you get them all?”

“Several dozen have fled into the surrounding countryside,” the Shadow Demon said. “We are currently pursuing them.”

“I see,” she frowned. “Head back out to help finish the work there then.”

Lady Shalltear shifted slightly beside Ludmila.

“I must apologize, my lady,” Ludmila turned to lower her head. “I have failed to secure the other party in this dispute.”

Liane returned from the pavilion, offering the report that had been compiled from what they had discovered over the past few days. Ludmila thought she saw a dismayed look briefly cross over Lady Shalltear’s face – it was no surprise: the binder must have been more than ten centimetres thick.

“We’ll discuss that at length later,” her liege said as she reached out to take the report.

Lady Shalltear frowned warily at the thick binder, testing its weight as if she suspected it was some sort of illusion. Even with her own participation in the investigation, Ludmila was still shocked that such a damning record could be put together for a single noble house in such a short time.

“There is a summary for this, I hope,” Lady Shalltear said.

“Yes, my lady,” replied Clara. “An index has been included for the convenience of the Royal Court.”

Lady Shalltear opened the cover and frowned down at the contents, flipping through the pages.

“...this index is twenty pages long,” she said.

They waited expectantly in the following silence, and Lady Shalltear sighed.

“Alright then…” she turned to Count Fassett, “Count Campbell Fassett. You will answer my questions truthfully. A simple yes or no will suffice where appropriate.”

The young nobleman did not lose his besotted expression as he looked up in response.

“Yes, mistress,” he said. “It would be my pleasure.”

Lady Shalltear cleared her throat before speaking, frowning down at the open binder held in front of her.

“Are you complicit in the underground slave markets of this county, and in the trafficking of slaves to other territories and the nations beyond?”

“Yes, mistress,” he said happily, “I am.”

His response was immediate, and a low murmur rose from the surroundings.

“Does House Fassett coordinate the illegal cultivation and harvest of Laira crops across the border, for refinement into Laira Powder to export from your demesne?”

“Yes, mistress, we do!”

“Has House Fassett effectively licensed criminal groups by employing a schedule of affordable fines and light punishments that are ineffective at deterrence?”

“Yes, mistress, we have.”

“Do you use the proceeds from this scheme to both enrich yourselves and subsidize groups of brigands posing as mercenaries throughout your territory, to be employed against your enemies both within your demesne and beyond?”

“Yes, mistress.”

For many minutes Lady Shalltear went down the long list of subjects outlined in the index of the report, with Count Fassett confirming the truth to each. The air had been abuzz when the questioning had started but, by the time she finished, only the sounds of the campfire and rustle of the wind through the grass could be heard.

“If I may, my lady,” Ludmila said, “I would like to ask one more question of him.”

Lady Shalltear nodded regally, and Ludmila turned to address Count Fassett.

“After reconsolidating the county court following the resolution of this succession dispute,” she asked. “Did you intend on continuing this behaviour – regardless of whether it was the will of your liege?”

Count Fassett furrowed his brow at her question, and looked at Lady Shalltear.

“Is this true?” Lady Shalltear prompted.

“Yes, mistress,” he grinned, “it is true. The power and wealth of my lord father is now mine to use as I see fit, and with it I will build a legacy to surpass all others.”

Lady Shalltear snapped the binder shut in her hand, and the besotted smile fell off of Count Fassett’s face. He blinked several times before a low moan of despair rose from him. He bent forward in his seat, cradling his head in his hands.

“See?” Lady Shalltear turned to look up at Ludmila with a brilliant smile, “I told you it was a silly law. It should be changed, yes?”

“I see the benefits to its use,” Ludmila replied evenly, “but it’s still dangerous if misused. If its implementation were up to me…at best it would be an amendment to the laws that would allow the licensing of officers that can be trusted to wield it appropriately for investigative purposes.”

“So you propose that an amendment be made,” Lady Shalltear mused, “allowing only trusted servants the use of domination magic on the citizens? I’ll be sure to let Albedo know that the House of Lords might be open to supporting this measure. She’ll be thrilled that these powers would remain the sole purview of the courts. It’s good that you’ve come around on this matter.”

Lady Shalltear’s gaze rested on each of the noblewomen’s faces around the campfire for several moments before speaking again.

“Now that all has been laid bare,” she said, “I suppose your work is done here. There are still a few weeks until the coming events surrounding our new relationship with the Empire, so I’m certain you’d like to return to your territories to ensure that your preparations are sufficient. Ready yourselves to leave as soon as possible. Except for Lady Zahradnik: she and I still have much to do.”

“We do, my lady?” Ludmila said.

“Why of course,” Lady Shalltear replied. “We will need to discuss your actions but, in the end, the results have not changed. After the Royal Court is through with them, Count Fassett – as well as House Fassett’s closest lackeys – have a permanent reservation awaiting their pleasure. It’s a shame that we couldn’t make this a family trip, but I suppose we can’t make everyone happy all the time.”

“The Royal Court...” Clara swallowed.

“Hm?”

“What will the Royal Court do?” Clara asked, “Everything we’ve done here – we did it not only because we thought it was the best course of action, but also because the House of Lords fears the repercussions of House Fassett’s…deviancy. Is…is everything we’ve done here enough to convince the Royal Court that the remaining members of the nobility can be trusted to continue their administrative duties? Or has all of our effort been for naught?”

“On the contrary,” Lady Shalltear said, “I believe much has been gained here. You have compiled a substantial amount of knowledge – knowledge that others unfamiliar with these silly Human games will learn so that they may apply themselves more effectively in His Majesty’s service. If the servants of the Sorcerer King can learn lessons from this knowledge that will prepare them for similar problems in the future…then rather than fearing punishment, should it not a reward be in order for those that have worked to deliver this result?”

“Then the laws…” Clara seemed hesitant to ask.

“The laws are always subject to change,” Lady Shalltear said, “or change will have them eventually become obsolete and useless. However, I highly doubt any of your immediate fears will come to pass after your efforts here. After you ensure that this report is suitable for presentation, the three of you should submit it personally to the Royal Court. The Prime Minister will surely be delighted to see such a…weighty article. As I said before, His Majesty’s servants will benefit from this knowledge, and Albedo will surely incorporate it in the future to better equip the administration for their tasks.”

Clara’s eyes went to Ludmila; Lady Shalltear did not miss her meaning.

“You need not worry about Lady Zahradnik,” she said, “she is my vassal – my responsibility. There are other lessons she must learn before we leave…though I suppose that you ladies should at least learn this next one as well.”

Lady Shalltear turned to walk towards the overlook; the four noblewomen exchanged glances before following. The servants dispersed to break camp and prepare for the return trip to the capital.

“You seem to believe that securing Jacqueline Fassett was a condition for success,” Lady Shalltear turned to face them again as she spoke to Ludmila. “Did you believe that by capturing both parties in this dispute, an appropriate resolution would be attained?”

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila replied. “In addition to rounding up their respective courts and key members of their leadership in other areas.”

“I see,” she said. “Then as your liege, I have the responsibility to correct this misconception.”

Looking at each noblewoman in turn, Lady Shalltear spoke after she appeared satisfied that they were giving her their complete attention.

“The Will of Ainz Ooal Gown is paramount,” she said, “not only in the Sorcerous Kingdom, but in every place where His Majesty’s servants may find themselves – it matters not where that may be. It is our duty as servants of His Majesty to see the realization of His Will to the utmost of our capabilities. As nobles, you are responsible for administering many and, through your leadership, your territories will grow and flourish should you rule wisely and well.

“Yet, by this same token, you appear to believe that everything can be solved by simply removing the head of every problem you come across. The report you have written suggests that every facet of civilian life here has been infected with the corruption that House Fassett has long harboured in its demesne. In the index alone, there were mentions of shopkeepers and militia, farmers and woodsmen. All complicit in these activities that go against His Majesty’s desires.”

“My lady,” Ludmila asked, “do you mean to say that making an example out of their leadership is not enough to change the ways of the people?”

“Change their ways?” Lady Shalltear said, “You misunderstand me. Even after being recipients of His Majesty’s Grace, they have opposed His Majesty’s Will: thus they must answer for their defiance.”

“But it’s not their fault!” Clara protested, “It is a path set before them through generations of mismanagement by House Fassett. If they had better leaders; if they had real opportunities…the future of the Sorcerous Kingdom offers so much – did His Majesty not offer this future to all of his subjects?”

“Indeed,” Lady Shalltear said, “and those that would bring harm to what is His shall be granted no quarter. I do not care for their reasons: only that they did, and what it means. You are all nobles – all eminently capable, if what I have heard is to be believed – so it should not be so hard to understand. Now tell me: in regard to His Majesty’s Will, how many have crossed the line in the town you see before us?”

Clara fell silent and she struggled to keep a frown from forming on her lips. She visibly swallowed, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

“All of them,” Liane said.

“Liane!” Florine cried.

“All of them,” Liane repeated herself firmly. “Every field that they plowed, every tree that they felled; every coin that they turned – all of it ultimately went to feed the corrupt beast that House Fassett grew into.”

“But the children…” Florine’s voice trailed off.

Liane’s eyes flashed angrily at her mention.

“Have you seen children like that before, Florine?” She asked, “In your own demesne? In mine? You have seen how eager they are. They are like a pack of bloodthirsty hounds, trained by their handler to sniff out and steal whatever they can find that seems useful. They would even kill if we offered them but a single gold coin; they already place a price on that which is not their own to take. How many more of them are there in that town? Viciously competing with one another to get by, and for what? They strive to become the harlots, thugs and brigands that serve the dregs of this county, or the next handler that raises the next generation that will grow up to be just like them.”

Florine glared furiously at her friend – it was the first time Ludmila had seen them at such odds. Liane’s expression softened somewhat, her voice turning conciliatory.

“We cannot be children any more, Florine; nor can we answer as children. We cannot even answer according to our personal preferences – Lady Shalltear asked us as nobles. As nobles, we cannot fix every problem; we cannot right every wrong. We cannot reach out and save every man, woman and child on a whim. We cannot mend every wound and remove every scar. We cannot go into the past and reverse everything that has been done…and we cannot allow what has taken root here to spread.

“Whether our subjects bless us or curse us, it is our duty to lead and administer our territories in the best ways that we know. The decisions that we make; the paths that we take, determine the future for our people. When House Fassett chose to take this cursed path…they damned all of their people as well.”

Liane’s voice started to break as she finished speaking, and she drew a handkerchief out of a pocket to dry her eyes. Lady Shalltear’s voice rose from in front of them again.

“You should understand that what is being done is not simply because it is easy or convenient,” she told them. “His Majesty’s Will applies to all of His subjects: from the meanest dwellings in the furthest lands, to the highest hall of the Sorcerous Kingdom. Race and creed; friends and family: these bonds exist by the grace of Ainz Ooal Gown. Even we who stand closest to His Majesty are not above the Will of the Supreme One. If it was known that the Guardian Overseer herself sought to undermine Lord Ainz’s Will, the rest of us would set upon her without hesitation and render her into nothingness: only the disgraceful memory of her treason would remain.”

Lady Shalltear’s bright crimson gaze went to each noblewoman, as if she could fix her words in their minds. After a long moment, she turned around and walked to the edge of the cliff. The mournful wind pulled at the silken frills of her black ballroom gown, as if pleading with her to stay her hand.

“As above,” her declaration resounded through the air, “so below.”

Raising her slight arm, Lady Shalltear stretched a pale palm towards the jeweled canopy of the night.

“「Triplet Widen Magic – Storm of Vengeance」!”

Tall clouds blotted out the sky over Fassett Town, roiling ever wider until they loomed over the entire settlement. As soon as their expansion ceased, the landscape turned brighter than day as massive flashes of lightning illuminated the sky. Several heartbeats later, a tremendous peal of thunder rolled over the ridge. Horses screamed and panicked in its wake, as did the men and women working to break camp. The noblewomen did not act to calm their servants, however; the storm had just begun its onslaught.

A sickly green rain began to fall upon the town and, after its buildings were completely inundated with the deluge, rooftops sloughed off like melting wax as the liquid pooled in the streets. Bolts of lightning struck the tallest, most resilient buildings: shattering stone and setting wooden frames alight. As the thunder continued to roll over them, Ludmila saw tiny flecks of white falling from the clouds, reminiscent of a winter flurry.

One of them struck a larger building, collapsing an entire wall: to see them from this distance, they must have been hailstones the size of wagons. Before their eyes, the entire town was being pounded into rubble. The smouldering manor overlooking the town finally collapsed, debris sliding down the hill and smashing into the remains of the broken buildings below.

In just a single minute since the spell was cast, the storm subsided and the clouds vanished as if they had never been. Laid below the women standing on the overlook was a steaming lake; within it, the remains of the town: burning even as the rubble slowly receded beneath the surface.

Lady Shalltear turned back to address them once again.

“This lesson is now concluded,” she said to the row of ashen faces. “Return to your homes. Lady Zahradnik: retrieve your equipment – the rest of Fassett County awaits us.”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 19

Chapter 19

As the remains of Fassett Town grew closer, a lingering, acrid odor mixed in with the scent of smoke and char that washed over them with the wind. The entire wooden palisade surrounding the town had fallen into the lake, offering a plain view of the space within. Most of the buildings, composed of timber frames walled with panels of wattle and daub, had been smashed completely to the ground in the onslaught. The ones made of stone fared little better as piles of broken rubble.

Stepping to the edge of the liquid, Ludmila looked across over its steaming surface. Wood and stone; flesh and bone – everything seemed to melt, break up and dissolve without a trace. The green-tinged surface seemed to be receding ever so slowly, but the deluge had been so great that it would take some time to drain completely away. A thought occurred to her, and she pulled out the pouch containing the samples of Laira, withdrawing the bundles of plants after untying the container.

“What’s that?” Lady Shalltear asked from beside her.

“This is Laira, my lady,” Ludmila explained. “It’s contraband: used to produce a narcotic that is either heavily regulated or entirely outlawed in every Human realm that I know of. Since this lake seems so…potent, I was wondering if I could dispose of it here.”

She placed the bundle of plants into Lady Shalltear’s outstretched hand. Her liege held it in front of her face as she peered at it, turning the bundle this way and that.

“Mmh…this is the same as what was listed in that absurdly huge tome you four put together?” She said, “Since it was treated as such a grave concern, I figured it would be some sort of plant monster that attacked Humans.”

“It’s the same,” Ludmila replied. “The plants are refined into an addictive substance that has long term detrimental side-effects. Even as a plant, it is hazardous: the fumes from burning it are dangerous, and discarding it carries the risk of the plant spreading to the wild. Even now, there is a field slowly encroaching on the border nearby.”

“「Blight」.”

The bundle of plants withered and turned black, stems curling in on themselves until the next gust of wind scattered them into ash-like particles. Lady Shalltear dusted off her hands.

“Humans are truly puzzling,” she said. “Why one would permanently debuff themselves with no beneficial effects is beyond me.”

Ludmila watched the blackened and desiccated remains of the Laira plant drift away, then turned her gaze back over the town. After scanning the ruin again, she looked at Lady Shalltear.

“...what is it?” Her liege looked up to meet her gaze.

“House Fassett is a case where entrenched ways and prideful ignorance have resulted in misfortune for all involved,” Ludmila said, “in lands newly acquired with customs far removed from your own. I can see similar instances of this occurring in the future – if the circumstances are similar – but what you said earlier…the Sorcerous Kingdom is not only possessed of great power, but individuals of great intellect, wisdom and charisma: extraordinary beings capable of fulfilling their duties as His Majesty’s servants. I cannot imagine any of His Majesty’s subjects openly defying his will with this understanding – has anyone ever actually rebelled?”

Lady Shalltear held her gaze for a long moment.

“Yes,” she finally said. “His Majesty slew me by His own hand.”

Ludmila reeled mentally when the words sunk in, she struggled for several seconds to regain herself.

“But…you love him.”

“With my entire being.”

“He means more than the world to you!”

“Even more than that.”

How was it possible if this was the case? Ludmila was unable to grasp even the tiniest fragment of insight towards how this could be.

“Then–”

“When I spoke to you and your friends,” Lady Shalltear said, “I meant every word that I said. I paid for my actions with my life: worse yet, I lost my honour as His Majesty’s vassal. I feel that recent events have cleansed my heart of shame but, even now, I struggle to regain my place amongst my peers and make up for lost time in His Majesty’s service.”

Ludmila looked down to the cobblestones of the highway. She always felt that there was something going on, something that led such a woman standing so high above her to reach down to extend her hand towards an insignificant noble such as herself. The shadows of worry, uncertainty and self doubt would sometimes seep out of Lady Shalltear’s words and behaviour; now a key piece of that puzzle fell into place.

“Also,” Lady Shalltear continued, “what you said back there about mind control is correct, but not in the manner in which you measured its use. I, of all people, should know and it’s something that I considered after I sent you on your way with your new duties.”

Lady Shalltear reached into the air in front of her, withdrawing a ring with the appearance of unpolished steel. She held it up between the silken fingers of her glove.

“With your duties,” she said, “I have invested a substantial amount of authority in you – authority that you would continue to wield even if you were dominated with spells or abilities. A part of the reason why I sent my Household to keep an eye on you was because of this, but, in the future, I may not be in a position to do so. This Ring of Mental Fortitude will render you immune to harmful mind-affecting spells and abilities as long as it is not broken or removed. It should prevent the vast majority of attacks of this nature against you, but it is not foolproof. Should you be injured or restrained, it can be removed…and there is at least one other thing that will ignore the protection that it grants entirely.”

Lady Shalltear stepped forward and made to present the ring to Ludmila, but then she stopped mid-way. Her expression shifted several times and her lips moved slightly as her gaze turned inwards. Ludmila wanted to ask if anything was wrong, but remained respectfully silent.

“Your work here has proven that my trust in you has been well founded so far,” Lady Shalltear began. “Neither sentimentality towards Human ways nor the fact that your quarry is one of your own kind dissuades you from methodically pursuing your duties with a conviction tempered by prudence. However…”

Her words trailed off into the night wind, and Ludmila felt a knot of unease forming in the pit of her stomach. There was still the matter of her failure: despite being provided powerful subordinates and the authority to enforce His Majesty’s will. Even with her friends and all of their retinues working together, Ludmila had failed to accomplish all of that she had set out to do.

“Once again, I must apologize, my lady,” Ludmila lowered her head. “Despite all that has been placed at my disposal, I was still unable to fully realize my objectives.”

In the silence that followed, she studied the frilled hem of Lady Shalltear’s gown – awaiting some reprimand or judgement for her errors. The black fabric shifted over the pavement, and Ludmila felt cool fingertips trace the line of her jaw before resting lightly under her chin.

“Raise your head, Ludmila,” Lady Shalltear said.

Ludmila did as she was instructed, her gaze meeting her liege’s own. Lady Shalltear’s crimson eyes glowed in the night; the light from the fires nearby played over her pristine skin. Her lush, carmine lips were turned up slightly as she looked up at Ludmila in bemusement. The appearance lurking beneath her beautiful form mirrored her expression curiously.

“A warrior you may be,” Lady Shalltear told her as she lowered her hand, “but I am not Cocytus: willfully bound by some stern and rigid martial code. I bid you to carry out your new duties under my authority and sent you on your way – I never actually sent you out with any specific objectives to accomplish. My purpose was to see what you would do with undeniable power at your command, and the results have pleased me greatly. As such, you are to continue to serve me in this capacity for as long as you are fit to do so.”

Ludmila breathed a sigh of relief, and Lady Shalltear once again held up the ring. A serious expression replaced her bemused smile.

“The reason for my hesitation just now concerns something on my end,” Lady Shalltear said. “My duties have expanded far beyond the scope of my own experience, and I was considering expanding your own duties to enlist your assistance. For the time being, I have matters well in hand, but it is far more complex than straightforwardly killing intruders or dealing with people that run afoul of our ways…thus errors and even minor issues may be far more problematic.”

“I am at your service, my lady…” Ludmila said, “but I cannot say whether what I can provide would be of any real assistance or not. What was it that you needed help with?”

“You’ve seen the Dragons flying over the city?”

“I have, my lady,” Ludmila replied. “Lord Mare mentioned that you brought them from the north, but most of the nobles assume that it’s related to the events revolving around the formal announcement concerning the Empire.”

“In that, they are correct,” Lady Shalltear nodded slightly, “but it’s also an opening evaluation on how they can be employed. After the festivities end, they will become the backbone of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s aerial transportation network. Lord Ainz has personally tasked me with its planning and execution as His Minister of Transportation.”

“Congratulations, my lady,” Ludmila smiled briefly, “but I’m unsure how I can help with Dragons. The day that they arrived in E-Rantel was the first time in my life that I had ever seen one.”

“You use Bone Vultures to deliver things around your demesne, do you not? The Liches may use their familiars to assist with personal tasks but, from all my flying around observing what the citizens are doing, you appear to be the only person that employs flying creatures for this sort of thing.”

“Anyone who has had something stolen from them by a raven should understand that flying creatures can carry things,” Ludmila said. “I find it hard to imagine that no one has thought of this.”

“Coming up with previously unheard-of concepts and finding ways to make them work is much rarer than you might believe,” Lady Shalltear replied. “We often witness His Majesty accomplish unfathomable feats that appear plainly obvious only in hindsight. One of your kind may witness birds carrying objects or prey, but they would not take this observation and turn it into a network of flying skeletal Undead delivering goods all over the land – the thought would not have even occurred to them in the first place to try.”

“Is that so…? Well, in that case, it will be my pleasure to assist you, my lady.”

Lady Shalltear sighed, biting her lip lightly as she looked up at Ludmila. The conflicted look returned to her face.

“Is something the matter, my lady?” Ludmila asked.

“You should already understand this,” Lady Shalltear answered, “but there is a clear line that divides those that came with Lord Ainz and, well, everyone else.”

Ludmila nodded: it was something that had been conveyed the night which she had made her first oath to her liege. No matter how many generations of service rendered; no matter what results achieved, this distinction could never be attained by one beyond Lady Shalltear’s mysterious place of origin.

“Trust is not a currency easily exchanged with those who stand across that line,” Lady Shalltear told her. “It is especially difficult for those like me. Among us are individuals who can turn everything into a calculation where trust is not required or expected, who can concoct schemes wherein a certain range of results is deemed acceptable. There are even those amongst us, more goodly and kind in disposition, who can interact relatively freely with others. I, on the other hand, do not make these intricate calculations like Albedo or Demiurge. Nor am I good like Pestonya or Yuri.”

“My lady has only shown me patience, kindness and generosity,” Ludmila said. “I have nothing to complain about, and everything to be grateful for.”

“Hmph. It will sink in sooner or later,” Lady Shalltear looked her in the eye. “By the standards of your Human society, I am incomprehensibly evil. You were only fortunate enough to be in the right place, at the right time, in the right situation. My colleagues do not know me for my patience, kindness or generosity. I suppose it helps tremendously that we appear to share notable similarities and are thus quite compatible but, months ago, some other me would have simply turned you into a Vampire thrall or enslaved you to be broken for my convenience and entertainment.”

Lady Shalltear studied Ludmila’s face as she spoke, but aversion to her claims was the furthest thing on Ludmila’s mind. She stood silently for several moments, trying to find the words to convey the feelings within her.

“Kings and highlords; nobles all,” Ludmila replied, “often express nothing but respect for Frontier Lords. Nothing but respect, and nothing but the bare minimum of what is outlined by their obligations. When hardships fell upon us and our strength faltered, we were simply left to be forgotten – to fade away without a whisper or a tear. That was to be our fate: the fate of my house. It was my fate…until the Sorcerous Kingdom. Until I met you, Lady Shalltear.

“You took me under your wing when I needed you the most, restored my purpose and placed your faith in my service. A bright and prosperous future lies before my house and its demesne, where only the grim reality of an undermanned and destitute frontier territory existed before. Though brief thus far, my service under you has brought forth the realization of something that has always been a part of me, yet something that I was too blind to embrace: that words without action are hollow, and will without power leaves one at the mercy of whim and chance.

“In you, my lady, I see a stalwart defender who stands with true pride in her duty. A trustworthy liege and reliable mentor. You are the example I aspire to and, with you, I can dare to hope that my house will finally become what it was meant to be.

“Lady Shalltear, you have won my fealty and I hold you in the highest regard: I am yours for as long as you would have me.”

Ludmila held Lady Shalltear’s gaze as she spoke, and a long silence drew out between them. She could not tell what her liege was thinking but, after some time, Lady Shalltear spoke.

“It truly doesn’t bother you that you serve under an evil liege?” Lady Shalltear asked quietly, “I’m not going away any time in the foreseeable future, being Undead and all that.”

“If anything, my lady,” Ludmila replied, “the fact that you will always be there is a great comfort. Fealty and obligation are a noble’s honour – not adherence to tenets of good or evil. Nobles exist to uphold order; to be an instrument of our liege’s will is the essence of chivalry. As long as those that lead provide us a clear vision to follow, it would be rare to go astray. Those who do will not find themselves in their position for long.”

Lady Shalltear looked back down to the ring in her hand, and the last of her visible indecision had faded away.

“Then there is nothing but to get this over with,” she said. “I believe I know your character well enough to understand that you mean every bit of what you say, but there will always be whispered doubts and even I myself may come to question things once in a while for various reasons. For my own peace of mind, I will be adding additional terms to your oath of fealty – the duties that you consider inseparable from yourself.”

Ludmila genuflected before her liege, kneeling over the rough cobblestones of the pavement as she looked up and waited upon Lady Shalltear.

“Swear to me, Ludmila Zahradnik,” Lady Shalltear said, “that you will always perform your duties in good faith and provide honest counsel in your service as you assist me in my tasks.”

“I, Ludmila Zahradnik, hereby swear to you, Shalltear Bloodfallen, that I will always perform my duties in good faith and provide honest counsel in my service as I assist you in your tasks.”

“Swear that you will be truthful with me in all the things that matter – even though you may fear the outcomes that the truth may bring.”

“I swear that I will be truthful to you in all the things that matter – even though I may fear the outcomes that the truth may bring.”

“Hmm…how did you feel about the entertainment part?”

“Entertainment, my lady?” Ludmila tilted her head slightly, “I know a few old stories, and Clara doesn’t cover her ears when I sing anymore…maybe I could hire a Bard or–”

“…never mind.”

The glowing crimson irises of Lady Shalltear’s eyes flared, and Ludmila felt a jarring sensation as control over her body was wrested from her will. Her liege drew nearer, until her closeness was a tangible feeling in the air between them. Lady Shalltear slowly leaned towards her, gaze lidded, then stopped. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath before straightening again.

“Hold out your left hand,” Lady Shalltear instructed.

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila raised her hand towards her.

“Even your voice under my domination is indistinguishable from your regular tone now,” Lady Shalltear muttered.

Ludmila watched as Lady Shalltear took her hand in hers, carefully slipping the ring onto her middle finger. The band of cool, grey metal adjusted itself to fit comfortably against her skin. When it did so, Ludmila regained control of herself.

“When this ring protects you from a detrimental spell, skill, ability or effect,” Lady Shalltear said, “it will glow with the dull, grey light that you see right now. It will do so even if you are not being targeted specifically, so it may provide hints as to what is happening to those around you: even if you yourself have not fallen victim to the same condition. It also complements your Talent well: no longer will you be affected by attacks that attempt to create false sensory information in your mind that Truesight does not provide proof against, further limiting the ways by which you can be deceived.”

Ludmila held up the ring, watching the barely perceptible glow fade away. It looked nothing more than a thin, unmarked band of metal without it.

“This ring looks fragile, my lady,” she said. “You mentioned that it won’t work if it breaks – should I be protecting it somehow?”

“The material that ring is fashioned from is at least three times as strong as Adamantite,” Lady Shalltear replied. “It would be far easier to remove your hand than try to break that ring on your finger.”

Ludmila absently ran her hand over her steel bracer – maybe she should worry less about buying new clothing and look for new armour. She returned to her feet as Lady Shalltear stretched, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

“Now that all that awkwardness is behind us,” she said in a much more relaxed tone, “we should see to dealing with this territory.”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Ludmila was so focused on her exchange with Lady Shalltear that she nearly put the burning ruins of the town right next to them out of her mind.

“What did you have in mind, my lady?” She asked.

“Well…” Lady Shalltear held up her hand, counting off a list with her fingers, “The town doesn’t seem to have any survivors, so I guess the fleeing mercenaries are next. After that, we can go after those people your party identified as ringleaders and such. Then…hmm…everyone else?”

“There are probably around 20,000 people left in Fassett County, my lady,” Ludmila said. “At least assuming our information is correct and half of the original population fled in the weeks after Katze. We’ll be here for quite a long time if you propose to hunt them all down.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out by the time we finish with the first few,” Lady Shalltear replied. “As for those...you have Ranger levels, yes?”

“I should be able to track them, if that is what you are asking,” Ludmila nodded. “Considering the time that has passed, they won’t be able to escape…though the border with Re-Estize is still only a half a day away for those unskilled in negotiating the wild: we should cut off any attempts to flee in that direction first.”

Seeing Lady Shalltear’s slight nod, Ludmila broke out into a light run around the remains of the town. She slowed down on the opposite end, where the highway continued onwards towards the border.

“It looks like a large group fled through here,” Ludmila said as she examined the disturbed terrain of their surroundings. “Most of them probably followed the highway, but it looks like a few split off into the forest.”

Several Vampire Wolves leapt out of Lady Shalltear’s shadow and dashed up the highway, accompanied by a swarm of bats.

“They should be able to find the ones along the road quickly,” Lady Shalltear said.

Ludmila plunged into the woods, weaving her way swiftly through the trampled undergrowth left in the wake of their quarry. The trail grew more ragged and the footprints left behind grew shorter; soon, she spotted men in familiar equipment forcing their way noisily through the trees not far ahead. She slowed her pace a distance behind the three mercenaries, who appeared oblivious to the fact that they were being pursued, considering how to best remove them.

The mercenaries in the employ of Count Fassett wore well-crafted chainmail over a quilted gambeson, so she wasn’t sure if she could do enough with a single arrow; it didn’t help that they were moving erratically as they struggled through the brush. She fished out four arrows with hardened steel bodkin points from one of the quivers at her hip, sniffing them lightly to make sure she had selected the right ones. She continued to stalk after them, following within twenty metres of the group until their meandering course straightened and she raised her longbow, drawing the fletching of the first arrow to her cheek.

The first point buried itself between the closest man’s shoulder blades, the second found the next man’s neck before the first fell to the ground. The third man ducked into the undergrowth, but the darkness of the night was not his ally. Ludmila took her time aiming at the prone man plainly visible behind the sparse cover, and the arrow found its way into the side of his ribs. She nocked her fourth arrow and waited for any signs of movement from the fallen men. After a minute, she rose and silently approached the fallen mercenaries, unsheathing her dagger to finish them off and recover her arrows.

Lady Shalltear approached from behind as Ludmila wiped her dagger clean on the third man’s gambeson and extinguished their smouldering torches.

“That didn’t seem very fun,” Lady Shalltear frowned down at the bodies. “Is that how you usually defend your territory?”

“If it comes down to a fight,” Ludmila replied in a low voice as she scanned the surroundings, “that was something close to ideal. Demihumans are usually a lot harder to stalk, though. These mercenaries are pr–”

She ceased speaking mid-sentence, sensing something. Drawing the fourth arrow, she pivoted slowly to track whatever it was. A fourth man came into her field of view, quietly crawling away roughly sixty metres beyond. After releasing her attack, she pulled another from her quiver, but stopped mid-draw as she saw the arrow bury itself in the man’s hip. The man staggered and rose to his feet, making it all of four metres before he fell onto his face.

“What happened there?” Lady Shalltear asked after Ludmila dealt with the fourth man.

“I’m not sure, my lady,” Ludmila answered. “I was concentrating on our surroundings and ended up sensing that man. I know what the feeling that accompanied it was, though: it’s the same feeling I had following the meeting at Wagner Manor, after I was able to reign everything in.”

“Was it magic? Some sort of ability? Can you feel anything now?”

Ludmila concentrated again, but the sensation was no longer present.

“There’s nothing now,” she said. “I don’t think it was magic. When I use it, I feel the slightest bit of strain: similar to when I use a command ability, but it’s constantly tying up a bit of my focus until I release it.”

“Do you know anyone with similar abilities?”

“No, my lady,” Ludmila replied, “but I’ve never actually asked anyone about something like this. The next time I have an opportunity, I’ll ask a few of the Rangers in the Adventurer Guild – it may be something commonly known to them.”

“Your family never told you anything about this?”

“I do come from a family of Rangers but, when it came to things like this, my parents tended to only instruct us when they thought we were ready. I think I have my oldest brother to blame for that: he heard about something early and broke a whole lot of things trying to use some sort of bow technique.”

“Can you recall that bow technique, then?”

“Uh…no,” Ludmila said. “After my mother was through with him, I put it far out of my mind – she was much more intimidating than my father ever was.”

“That’s unfortunate…well, let’s return and find the next group.”

“Did your Household find anything, my lady?”

“There were quite a number of dead men strewn about further along the highway,” Lady Shalltear replied. “By the looks of it, the Shadow Demons got to them long before we arrived.”

Lady Shalltear wrapped her hand around Ludmila’s elbow.

“「Greater Teleportation」.”

Ludmila’s vision shifted, and they appeared once again at the ruins of Fassett Town.

“Uuaah!”

There was a startled cry to the side of them, and Ludmila turned her head to see Lord Mare’s trembling form, holding his staff high above his head in both hands.

“Oh, it’s Mare.”

Lady Shalltear released her hold and came forward as Ludmila lowered her head respectfully towards him.

“What are you doing here?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“Big sis chased me out of bed saying there was a report of strange weather,” Lord Mare answered. “Then I found…this.”

Lord Mare stretched out his staff towards the remains of the town.

“This…this…this…”

“That was me,” Lady Shalltear said. “I cast Storm of Vengeance.”

“I can see that!” Lord Mare said plaintively, “Three of them, even! Didn’t Lord Ainz say that we’re not supposed to attack the citizens?”

“Without just cause, yes,” Lady Shalltear sniffed. “These citizens were proven to be actively working counter to Lord Ainz’s Will.”

“Oh, ok.”

Lord Mare turned his gaze back towards the ruins of the town. After a few moments, a small frown appeared.

“Didn’t Albedo say that everything is supposed to be presentable for the event in a few weeks?” He said, “You just left a giant, flaming, acid-filled crater in the middle of the main road.”

“Why, you’re absolutely correct!” Lady Shalltear replied with a brilliant smile, “How fortunate that someone who can patch this up is here.”

“Eh? Eh??? W-wait! I wanted to add some more sections to the Adventurer Training Area…”

“You’re going right back to sleep after this anyways, aren’t you?” Lady Shalltear coaxed him, “I sent Kyouhukou to help you out, didn’t I? A lot of the pop mobs you’ll be using will be coming out of my place as well.”

“Uuuu…”

“Also…I don’t see any escorts around, so it must mean that shorty is around somewhere too, right? Call her over here – there’s something I’d like to ask her about.”

Lord Mare turned around, pressing a gloved hand to his ear. As he looked out towards the town, he kicked a pebble into the pools of green liquid nearby and it disappeared with a hiss.

“Was there anything else?” He turned back around again to address them, “Big sis says she’ll be here once she finishes checking on some things.”

Several seconds of silence passed before Lord Mare started to turn towards the town again. He stopped when Ludmila began to speak.

“Lord Mare,” she said. “There are some crops being cultivated across the border in Re-Estize, and the plants are starting to grow into the Sorcerous Kingdom. As a Druid, do you have any ways to control their spread?”

“What kind of plants are they?”

“It’s a type of plant called Laira,” she replied. “It is contraband by the laws of the Sorcerous Kingdom and Re-Estize.”

“Why?”

“It’s harmful to Humans, my lord.”

“Ah – you mean they’re like that vine that bit you the other day.”

“Er…no, my lord,” Ludmila waved away the embarrassing episode rising out of her memory. “It is refined into a narcotic called Laira Powder, more commonly known as Black Dust. Even the fumes from burning the unprocessed plants are dangerous.”

“What are the effects?” Lord Mare seemed to show interest in the topic.

“As I understand it, extended exposure causes permanent brain damage.”

“A debuff, huh…what sort of buffs does it give?”

“None that I know of, my lord,” Ludmila said. “The only practical application that I’ve heard described is to pacify Human populations where they need to be controlled as slaves.”

“I see…”

Lord Mare was silent for a moment as he appeared to consider the information provided, then he turned to Lady Shalltear.

“Despoil?”

“It would certainly put an end to it if I cast that,” Lady Shalltear replied, “but it also would kill every plant in the area and curse the land forever as well.”

“I-I guess you’re right…” Lord Mare said, “I figured we could just make a wide gap of despoiled land along the border so nothing could grow across, and I could clean it up a bit to make sure the edges are nice and straight.”

“The whole border?” Lady Shalltear frowned, “How many weeks would that take us? Albedo would have fits seeing how much potentially productive territory was turned into a cursed wasteland too.”

“Mmh…well, I’ll take a look at this grass once I finish here – maybe I can move some animals over that can graze it away. Does the stuff growing in Re-Estize matter?”

“Re-Estize’s problems are it’s own to deal with,” Ludmila said. “The Sorcerous Kingdom currently has no obligation to expend resources on their behalf, nor has Re-Estize requested our assistance.”

Lord Mare cast an unblinking stare at her before turning to look at Lady Shalltear, who nodded.

“In that case,” he said, “p-please stand back: I need space to move stuff around after I see what the surroundings are like.”

“Thank you very much for your help, Lord Mare,” Ludmila said.

“Un…n-no problem,” Lord Mare nodded before he turned around to trace his way around the remains of the town.

Ludmila and Lady Shalltear moved away from the ruins, stopping several hundred metres away.

“I hope I didn’t speak out of turn, my lady,” Ludmila said.

“Hm? Oh, I don’t think you did anything wrong – Mare was probably more surprised than anything else. The Adventurers that he’s been working with are more plain spoken, but the citizens for the most part do not interact so freely with His Majesty’s servants.”

“Is there a proper form that I should be observing, then?” Ludmila asked.

“Most of us are nowhere near as reserved and formal as you,” Lady Shalltear answered. “You should have few worries in your interactions: as long as it is understood that your contributions are in accordance with His Majesty’s Will, and as long as you are not being perceived as being disrespectful.

“There are some you will need to be wary of, however: Cocytus is quite stern but…well, you appear to be more of his sort so you may actually have a better read on his sensibilities than I do. Albedo is malevolently disdainful of outsiders, so it is probably best to observe a high degree of decorum with someone as prideful and contemptuous as her – masking your thoughts and feelings and relying on facts and figures would be more productive and less hazardous.”

“I understand, my lady,” Ludmila lowered her head. “Thank you.”

Lady Shalltear’s words reminded her of one more thing. Ludmila reached into the small satchel at the back of her belt and withdrew the pristine white mask.

“I believe I should return this to you,” she said as she offered the mask to Lady Shalltear.

“Ah, yes…the name, and the mask – how did they work out for you?”

Her liege held out her hand to receive the item as Ludmila pondered how she should reply. Aside from thoroughly confusing Count Fassett, she didn’t feel that the mask had accomplished anything.

“The name – Camilla – is quite gratifying, my lady. I am deeply touched that you would regard me in such a light, and it served to reinforce my conviction as your vassal during the days that we spent here. As for the mask…what purpose was supposed to serve?”

“To…cover your face?” Lady Shalltear tilted her head.

Ludmila felt a frown growing on her face.

“I’m just teasing you,” Lady Shalltear said with a slight smile. “I had an acquaintance commit the item to memory, so she could attempt to divine its location should you go missing. Since it’s a part of one of my outfits, it is quite high level as well: the defensive properties are far beyond the comprehension of the locals here…ah yes, it was to remind me of one other thing as well.”

Lady Shalltear raised the mask to her face. As it adjusted itself to fit her, the rest of her ballroom gown shimmered and was replaced with a pure white dress which glowed faintly in the light of the fires nearby. The layered, diaphanous fabrics of her outfit were intricately embroidered in silver thread, creating a shimmering array in concert with the jewelry adorned about her figure. Large, gemmed brooches fastened the light silks woven about her form like strands of glowing moonlight. Her appearance was reminiscent of a pristine field of virgin snow, glimmering in the soft illumination.

“I believe I said that I would display some pieces of my wardrobe for you a while ago,” Lady Shalltear swirled her skirts, revealing the sparkling crystal heels on her feet. “What do you think?”

Faced with the vision of ephemeral beauty before her, Ludmila felt that she lacked the vocabulary to properly describe what she perceived. The outfit covered Lady Shalltear’s form almost entirely, and the only signs of her other appearance were the exposed skin of her nape and ears, as well as the long, taloned fingers coming out of the fingerless gloves. The alabaster frills fluttered lightly in the night wind as she tried to form an appropriate response.

“Aside from your usual gown, my lady,” she finally said, “I’ve never seen such fantastic clothing in my life. I’m afraid I don’t even have the sense to appreciate it’s full value. Luzi would surely be beside herself in excitement.”

“My wardrobe contains a vast selection far beyond that which you may see in these lands,” Lady Shalltear said proudly. “I have everything from nightwear to full sets of matching armour and weapons. I’ve even picked out a few that I think will be useful to you in at least a couple of areas. I believe they’ll suit you quite well…would you like to use them?”

“Thank you, my lady,” Ludmila bowed slightly, “but I feel that I am undeserving of such exquisite adornment. If what you wear is representative of what is offered…it seems a regalia for an empress or a mythical figure spun from song. Wearing something so far above my station would make me feel uncomfortable to the point that I would end up stuffing it in my trunk to be hidden away forever – then I would probably throw myself in the river for stuffing such priceless clothing into an old wooden trunk.”

“That’s a bit…extreme, don’t you think?” Lady Shalltear removed her mask to look at her with a furrowed brow. “I heard the Adventurer Guild was having a hard time securing good equipment as well…you’re not going to kill yourself over that ring I just gave to you, I hope.”

“This ring is accompanied by duty, and a solemn oath,” Ludmila twisted the band idly between a finger and her thumb. “I would not have accepted it otherwise.”

“I should really introduce you to Cocytus one of these days,” Lady Shalltear said ruefully. “For all of your apparent pragmatism, you both impose the same sort of rigid sensibilities on yourselves. Everything he bestows upon his own vassals seems to follow the same lines of thought, as well. I suppose this can wait until I can find some duty of ‘equivalent value’ for you – just don’t come crying to me every time you resurrect from something that could have been very easily prevented.”

Lady Shalltear’s last line seemed quite ominous, but Ludmila lowered her head again with nothing more to say, thankful for the respite.

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 21

Chapter 21

“Here I am~ Geh, what are you two even doing?”

The cheerful-turned-dubious voice of Lady Aura was the only indication of her presence when she appeared beside them.

“I was showing her this dress?” Lady Shalltear said.

“Right,” Lady Aura furrowed her brow, “So you were showing off your dress in the middle of the night on an empty road with a whole pile of corpses strewn around nearby and whatever the heck happened to that town in the background…and if I didn’t know any better I’d think that she’s about to lean over and start kissing your toes.”

The frown on her face deepened.

“Actually, knowing you, that’s exactly what you were trying to get her to do.”

“Hah? We were waiting around for you, shorty,” Lady Shalltear retorted. “You took so long that we decided to fill the time talking about other things…though an immature girl like you would be oblivious to matters of fashion.”

“Wha–!” Lady Aura’s mouth fell open and she scowled, “I…is that the way you talk to someone you want to ask something about?”

Her sentence ended as a shout, and they glared at each other for a long moment. Lady Aura broke away first, looking to Ludmila who had raised her head to watch their confrontation from the side.

“Anyways,” Lady Aura said with a huff, “Mare said you wanted something – what was it?”

Ludmila exchanged glances with Lady Shalltear.

“A couple of things, actually,” Lady Shalltear said. “We were hunting down some men trying to escape to Re-Estize, and Ludmila used some sort of ability to locate one of them. Is that something you can do as a Ranger?”

“Mmm...sounds about right?” Lady Aura turned her eyes towards Ludmila, “I can sense potential pets as a tamer, though everything around here is so weak that my basic tracking ability as a Ranger is way more than enough to locate most targets. Just keep in mind that the classes around here aren’t exactly the same as ours – I’ve chatted with a bunch of the Rangers at the Adventurer Guild and a few of them can do some pretty weird stuff.”

Lady Aura paused as they digested her words. After a moment, a confused expression came over her.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Isn’t she supposed to be your Noble vassal? You know, to help figure out how to get things working and all that? You said she had some strange Commander skills too – why is she out here with you hunting down things as a Ranger?”

“She was dispatched to this County as a Noble,” Lady Shalltear replied, “to resolve some lingering issues before things get busy in a few weeks.”

“I’ve seen a lot of Nobles around these Human places,” Lady Aura frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “None of them seem to have the power to ‘resolve lingering issues’ by turning towns into burning craters. Did she just command them all to explode at once or something?”

Nobles could do that? She would have to watch what she said.

“That was me,” Lady Shalltear said. “I was dealing with the biggest concentration in this mess.”

“Yeah, and now Mare has to deal with your big mess.”

“He–”

“Aaaanyways…” Lady Aura spoke over Lady Shalltear’s angry retort, “Didn’t you guys want to see if she would become some sort of powerful Human Noble or Commander or something? She doesn’t look too bad going by the difference on the con, but maybe you should just delevel her to make sure she doesn’t have too many of the wrong classes. A lot of those Adventurers Mare ended up with are a total mess: we don’t even know where to begin aside from just starting over again from as close to scratch as we think is possible.

“We actually offered to help fix them up, but the idea wasn’t very popular for some reason. The longer you wait, though, the harder it’s going to be to figure out where you screwed up. We can’t even see what’s in people’s builds around here.”

“Hmm…”

Lady Shalltear’s face set into an expression of concentration as she considered Lady Aura’s words. Ludmila was struggling to keep up with their unfamiliar concepts and foreign terms. Eventually, Lady Shalltear turned her gaze over to Ludmila.

“Maybe I should delevel her?” Her liege muttered, “Or should I? I don’t have the spare gold or components for it, actually...”

“I’m afraid to know the answer, my lady,” Ludmila asked, “but what is ‘delevel’?”

“Ah, she means that I should kill you,” Lady Shalltear replied lightly and Lady Aura ran her thumb across her throat, sticking out her tongue. “You’ll lose a few levels after being resurrected, and we repeat the process until all the undesirable levels are shed, or we deem that you’re too low level to resurrect again.”

“…”

“It’s entirely academic at the moment,” Lady Shalltear continued, “since I don’t have what is needed on hand.”

“She’s an Adventurer too,” Lady Aura offered helpfully, “so maybe you can have the Adventurer Guild subsidize it.”

Ludmila abandoned her attempts to piece together what was going on and went along with the surreal discussion.

“I don’t understand,” she said, “is there something wrong with being a Ranger, Lady Aura?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a Ranger,” Lady Aura said defensively. “But you’re supposed to be some sort of Noble, aren’t you? With Command abilities and everything – they even work on things that they aren’t supposed to: that’s way more powerful than what the Humans around here can achieve on their own.”

“Ah yes,” Lady Shalltear said, “I forgot to mention that you’re quite popular amongst your Undead subordinates.”

“I’m popular, Lady Shalltear?” Ludmila felt the discussion fly even further away, “I hope you don’t mind my asking how I became popular – I didn’t even know that they cared.”

“Well of course they do,” her liege replied matter-of-factly. “We’re not sure how exactly you’re doing it, but the bonuses you convey by being their Commander improve their performance. It means that they can serve His Majesty better than they could normally. I think someone calculated a week or so ago that it roughly comes out to a two-point-five percent bonus in the overall performance of midlevel Undead summons. That means they can do two-point-five percent more for His Majesty!”

“That’s right,” Lady Aura nodded. “Everyone wants to do better for Lord Ainz, so you’re a popular assignment.”

“Two-point-five percent more popular,” Lady Shalltear added, “which basically makes you the second-most-popular-Human in the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“Second…who is the first?”

“That would be Aureole Omega,” Lady Shalltear said. “She commands the strongest forces of the Sorcerous Kingdom, defending the most sacred Halls of the Supreme Beings. Even we aren’t allowed to enter her realm.”

“Hmm…Human Commander,” Lady Aura rubbed her chin in thought. “Maybe the Supreme Beings have been giving us a big hint all along by having the strongest Commander be a Human? Maybe we should just delevel all the Humans to become Commanders.”

“Yes, even though she’s low level, the bonuses are tangible so I’ve been waiting to see if she gains more Commander levels and generates better benefits…” Lady Shalltear looked back up at Ludmila, “Maybe I should delevel her to get rid of all the Ranger levels, after all? What if it’s a prerequisite for something?”

“Well, how many times do you think you need to die to get rid of your Ranger levels?”

Lady Aura’s question prodded Ludmila out of her efforts to follow the conversation again; she and Lady Shalltear looked to her expectantly.

“Er…I don’t have any firsthand experience with dying, but the members of my family have always been Rangers, I’m not sure if it’s something you can kill off.”

“So she says,” Lady Shalltear said.

“Eh? You mean you’re some sort of Noble-Commander-Ranger...thing? I’ve never even heard of that before.”

“There was that hairy one back when we went to visit the Dwarves with Lord Ainz, right? The Demihuman ruler.”

“Ah, yeah...he was something like that. Noble-Monk-Commander? He did everything, too...who came up with these crazy classes here? The balance is straight out the window!”

“There was that one that Demiurge found too, Prince-Mage-Somethingrather...or does that count?”

“I get it!” Lady Aura held up her hands, “I get it. We’ll just go with this for now. You really need to make sure she levels those Noble-Commander-Ranger classes, though. We can push her Adventurer work in that direction as well, so she’ll level up even faster. If she picks up anything weird, we’ll just delevel her right away.”

“Um...does that mean I get to live?” Ludmila asked.

“For now,” Lady Aura answered. “Just make sure you die when you need to, or you’ll regret it.”

“Then I should collect your blood when you do–uwah!”

“Greedy,” Lady Aura placed her foot back on the ground. “Lord Ainz just introduced that law where the citizens can’t be eaten, remember?”

“Ahem,” Lady Shalltear cleared her throat. “If you become a strong Commander that benefits the forces of the Sorcerous Kingdom, I’m sure Lord Ainz will be pleased – no one else has achieved these results.”

“Lord Ainz did it,” Lady Aura corrected her. “With that farmer girl. Now she has her hands full with the Goblin army.”

“Then we would be following his lead, yes?”

“Umu,” Lady Aura said in an unnaturally deep voice.

As Lady Shalltear and Lady Aura laughed gaily between themselves at the prospect of pleasing His Majesty, Lord Mare appeared from the direction of the town.

“H-have you really been chatting all this time?” He complained, “I’ve been working hard while you’ve been standing here, you know…”

Looking to the southeast, Ludmila saw that the remains of the town had disappeared and the crater filled. The land had been sculpted to naturally match the surroundings, but it was still a bare and featureless patch of soil and stone.

“We’re not chatting,” Lady Aura said. “We’re working. Working.”

The emphasis on the last word did not seem to convince Lord Mare. He peered suspiciously between the three of them.

“R-really? Then w-what are you working on?”

“Ludmila’s build,” Lady Aura replied.

“Her build?” He frowned, “You mean like…levels, sister?”

“Yup! We’re talking about how to get her some more Commander class levels.”

“Heeh…” Lord Mare looked up at Ludmila with a curious gaze. “Wait – her Adventurer Guild file said she’s a Ranger with diplomatic skills?

“I guess the diplomacy stuff comes from being a Noble...but yeah, she’s a Ranger and a Commander too.”

“Doesn’t that mean her build is messed up?” Lord Mare asked.

“No!” Lady Aura answered, “She has a job class that has them all.”

“Eh? That doesn’t seem right...are you sure?”

“That’s what we decided before you came back. Noble-Commander-Ranger.”

“Then...can we add Druid too? Noble-Commander-Ranger-Druid. I can show her some spells...”

“Why are you randomly sticking your own class on her?”

“But you two decided that she’s a Noble-Commander-Ranger, why not add Druid too?”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Uuuu…” Lord Mare cowered away tearfully from his sister.

“You can still help, Mare,” Lady Shalltear consoled him. “If you have her lead Adventurer teams, it should raise her Commander levels no?”

“Adventurers are pretty prideful,” Lord Mare said. “If you just tell them to subordinate themselves to someone they don’t respect, nothing good will happen. If you want to level her as a Commander, why not send her to the Empire? They have real armies with Generals and things. They’re supposed to do anything we say, too, so they won’t complain right?”

“Who knows what kind of stuff she’ll pick up out there,” Lady Aura said. “The Imperial Legions are made up of weaklings anyways – why send her to train with weaklings? She’ll just end up learning how to command weaklings.”

“She has her demesne to administer as well,” Lady Shalltear said. “Albedo and her administration are monitoring Ludmila’s work, so I doubt they’ll let her wander too far away.”

“We’ll just do everything locally, agreed?” Lady Aura looked between Lady Shalltear and her brother, “Once she levels up a bit, Demiurge and Cocytus will probably want to see what she can do too.”

Lady Shalltear turned to Ludmila, who had been silently waiting to her side as they discussed between themselves.

“Isn’t that great, Ludmila?” She smiled, “There are many expectations for you to fulfil.”

“I…have a lot of work ahead of me, I suppose,” Ludmila lowered her head towards them. “There are many things I appear to be ignorant of, so I will be in everyone’s care.”

“Sure, no problem,” Lady Aura said, putting her hands behind her head.

“Un,” Lord Mare nodded. “I-I’ll be getting back to fixing things now – I need to figure out how to stick this road back on…”

Lord Mare walked back towards the partially-reformed landscape, and Lady Aura turned to speak to Lady Shalltear.

“You said there were a couple of things,” she said. “There was something else, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Lady Shalltear replied. “We’re in the process of cleaning up Fassett County – would you like to join us?”

“Cleaning up?” Lady Aura glanced to where the town once stood, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Ludmila’s party has been working on the problem for a few days, so she should have all the details…”

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila picked up on her liege’s cue, glad to be back to more familiar matters. “The two main priorities are to finish hunting down the mercenaries that fled from the manor and locating the remaining leadership in the county implicit in House Fassett’s schemes.”

“Mercenaries, huh…” Lady Aura looked towards the corpses scattered down the road, “Like these guys?”

“Yes, Lady Aura,” Ludmila replied. “The ones we tracked down didn’t seem to have any wilderness skills, so it’s unlikely that they’ve gotten very far in making their way through the forests and hills.”

“Yeah, I saw a bunch of them when I took a look around just now,” Lady Aura said. “At the rate they are going, it’ll take ‘em days to get anywhere…I can handle that part: a few of my friends haven’t had the opportunity for exercise lately.”

“The individuals that we’re looking for are on these notes that I brought along with me,” Ludmila produced a thick roll of papers from the satchel at her waist. “You should be able to identify them if you just read th–”

“Ah, I’ll just leave that part to you two,” Lady Aura eyed the documents warily.

Ludmila lowered her hand, then looked down at the results of the work that she and the others had managed over the past few days. She took a deep breath, then turned to address the two members of the Royal Court.

“What remains is the matter of the citizens spread throughout the county,” Ludmila said carefully. “My party didn’t have the time to properly discuss a suitable means of dealing with 20,000 men, women and children.”

“I hope you’re not turning soft on me,” Lady Shalltear said. “You cannot favour them simply because they are your fellow Humans.”

She wondered what sort of expression was on her face just then. As abruptly as the conclusion had been pushed forward, each of the members in their investigation was left with differing stances on how to deal with the aftermath. Liane Wagner treated it as not much more than burning away weeds, while Florine Gagnier abhorred the thought of any harm coming to those she considered victims of their circumstances. Clara Corelyn desired a remedial approach, pouring resources into a land long mismanaged and allowing the passage of time and the benefits of proper administration to slowly heal the scars of the past.

Except they had no time. An answer was demanded of them now: one that solved the problem immediately. This answer would determine the course of hundreds of thousands of Human citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom in the future.

Growing up as close friends, Ludmila also tended to approach things holistically like Clara Corelyn, but she did not share the same open-handed benevolence – instead measuring things with the utilitarian mindset of a Frontier Noble. Then there was the fact that she had pledged herself to supporting Lady Shalltear in her duties, putting her in a strange place between humanity and the mysterious overarching order of those two came with His Majesty. Lady Shalltear had forewarned her of this, but little did Ludmila realize at the time that she would be faced with such a dilemma mere days after. Looking up at the expectant gazes of Lady Shalltear and Lady Aura, she made up her mind.

“That is something I will always feel somewhere, I think,” Ludmila admitted, “but, rationally speaking, I will not allow it to factor into my judgement. As things stand, there is no place for them in the Sorcerous Kingdom: the nobility is having a difficult enough time juggling the realities of the new systems introduced by the administration – even without this, no noble will risk the potential influences that their tenancy would bring knowing the fate of House Fassett and its vassals.”

“What are you proposing, then?” Lady Shalltear asked, “There must be clear consequences for their participation in the rebellious flaunting of this travesty against Lord Ainz’s Will.”

“I agree, Lady Shalltear,” Ludmila nodded. “Therefore, if they do not wish to follow His Majesty as his subjects, they are no longer welcome in the Sorcerous Kingdom. They will be exiled to Re-Estize.”

Both Lady Shalltear and Lady Aura audibly swallowed.

“E-e-e-ex–?” Lady Aura was unable to finish the word, her face deathly pale, “Isn’t that super harsh? We should just mercifully kill them so they can at least be useful to Lord Ainz as corpses, yes?”

“There is a clear reason for this exile,” Ludmila shook her head. “These people will live out the remainder of their lives beyond the borders of the Sorcerous Kingdom as a statement that, under no uncertain terms, will we harbour any who would oppose His Majesty’s Will. The Sorcerous Kingdom is to shine as a beacon of prosperity and harmony for all the world to see, and they will be forever cast out from the light of His Majesty’s grace and benevolence.”

Long minutes passed between them in silence. Lady Aura’s face had turned into an emotionless mask, save for the small furrow in her brow. Lady Shalltear, however, had a range of complicated expressions shifting over her face as she looked down to the ground with her head in her hands.

“…o-oi, Shalltear,” Lady Aura finally spoke.

“...yes?” Lady Shalltear replied in a tiny voice.

“How did you raise a vassal more ruthless than Albedo?”

“Wha–! I didn’t do anything of the sort! This is an unthinkable punishment – I would rather serve as a piece of furniture for the rest of eternity than be e-e-ex…that!”

“Didn’t you call it a reward when Lord Ainz used you as a chair?”

“Th-then…torture! An eternity of torture by Neuronist would be preferable to this fate!”

As they shifted uncomfortably, Lord Mare returned from where the town once stood, his feet pattering across the cobblestones.

“I’m back…er, what’s wrong?”

“Run away, Mare,” Lady Shalltear’s trembling voice implored weakly. “Ludmila, she…she…”

“Eh?”

“Just run!” Lady Aura turned to push him away, “You can’t hear this: you’ll take irreversible mental damage!”

“Wh-what!” Lord Mare exclaimed in a panic as his feet carried him away, “Was she always that powerful?”

The pattering of his steps across the cobblestones disappeared towards where the town once stood. Lady Aura took a deep breath.

“If we’re going to do this,” she said, “we need to get it done quick – Ludmila, you can’t say anything like that to Mare, okay? He’ll cry for a year straight at the thought, and then he’ll burst into tears every time he’s reminded of what you said.”

Ludmila quickly nodded, wondering what sort of trap lurked beneath Lord Mare’s adorable appearance.

“Understood, Lady Aura,” Ludmila replied. “Let’s get to work, then.”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The wagon lurched violently just as Alan nodded off in his seat, and he nearly tumbled off and down into the muddy roads below. He gripped the edge of the bench, arms trembling. Mud-caked wheel below turned slowly and it took a second before he managed to right himself again.

“Gods damn it all,” he cursed, “why the hell did I ag–”

Phlegm caught in his throat, sending him into a fit of coughing. His hacking filled the air for a good minute before wiped his eyes with a sleeve and cleared his throat, spitting out onto the road.

Alan hated the spring. It was cool at night and damp all day and his breathing didn’t agree with the air. He should have been in the capital, readying his caravan for the summer, but a woman showed up to make an unexpected request, with an offer he couldn’t refuse.

The woman, Hilma Cygnaeus, was an acquaintance of his: a woman with her roots planted deep into the workings of capital that one was better off staying well out of. He didn’t like her much but, as a business contact, she came in handy from time to time, asking for small favours once in a while that he didn’t overly mind.

This time, however, what she asked left his mouth open as he stood in his wagon yard listening to her. She wanted him to go all the way out to gods-forsaken E-Rantel and purchase grain. He could think of any number of reasons why she might have wanted this, but the fact that she wanted him to do it in the spring caused him to look for some way to politely turn her down.

It was over 400 kilometres from the capital of Re-Estize to E-Rantel, using the main route that went through E-Pespel. Worse yet, only half of the roads were paved. Attempting travel in the spring was pure misery, slogging through the poorly drained clay roads and making less than ten kilometres on a bad day. If it was pouring, they couldn’t get anywhere at all. Only idiots tried to make that trip in the rainy season, and he had told her exactly that. Politely.

There was also the fact that he hadn’t even finished preparing any goods for the summer trade, but Hilma took care of both problems at once by offering to sell him ore at an unheard of price. It was so cheap that Alan immediately suspected it had been stolen from somewhere and she wanted to move it as soon as she could, but Hilma insisted that it was mined legitimately by one of her associates. Assuming the regular prices for ore in E-Rantel, the profits would be worth two good seasons of trade – well more than worth the time.

She had also insisted that, despite now being ruled by the Undead Sorcerer King, E-Rantel would be perfectly safe – that her advance agents, dispatched to investigate the condition of the duchy, had contacted her from the city and found nothing to worry about. With nothing to say and nothing to lose, Alan had begrudgingly agreed. It took several days to prepare for their departure, pulling his men together for the unexpected trip. Now, he could only curse the dismal conditions that plagued them along the way.

Sitting beside him, the lead wagon’s teamster looked dully on, trying his best to navigate a way through the muck.

“How long until we reach the border?” Alan asked him.

“Mmm…few hours, maybe?” The man replied, “Hard to tell. Surprised we’re not all dead yet – the lot o’ fools we all look.”

Alan sighed, unable to refute him. There were thirty freight wagons in his caravan, and it seemed that they had to stop to deal with one getting stuck in the mud or damaged three times a day. He had hired a small mercenary company as an escort, so the fifty-odd men should be enough to deter any of the brigands that littered the countryside, but he couldn’t help but keep his head low and look nervously to their surroundings every time they rolled to a halt.

Well, no matter. Not being attacked was nothing to grouch over. He figured the three weeks they had spent on the road so far just left him irritated and looking for anything at all to complain about. They should be within a few hours of the border, and back on paved roads where they could make good time again.

“This should be it,” the teamster pointed to a village overlooking the road. “Last village to the border.”

Now that they were here, Alan could clearly remember the small collection of buildings, loosely arranged into what one might call a village. It lay slightly off of the highway, on a small ridge.

“How are we for time today?” Alan asked.

“Just past midday,” the teamster looked to the north. “Weather looks clear as well. As long as nothing breaks, we should be able to make it to the next stop before the evening.”

Alan grimaced at the thought of the ‘next stop’. It was a seedy town ruled by a small-time count that made himself as much more important than he actually was. It was still a good place to get ready for the more important stops beyond, however, and he looked forward to a roof over his head and a real bath after weeks of travel.

Two hours later, they reached the border, where the clay roads turned cobbled and the crops to either side of the road abruptly vanished into thick, rolling woodlands. Alan looked for signs of other caravans tracking mud over onto the pavement, but either there were none or they had been washed away by the spring rains. The caravan picked up speed and, after another half hour, they were making their way around a wide bend in the road.

The teamster frowned and reached under his seat.

“What is it?” Alan asked.

The man didn’t reply, instead pulling out a wide roll of parchment. Alan leaned over as he unfurled it, seeing that it was a map.

The teamster’s expression deepened, and he kept looking between the map and the scenery before them.

“Something’s not right,” he finally said. “Should be able to see the town in the distance by now.”

“Maybe we’re not fully around the bend yet?” Alan glanced forward, then across at the map again.

“Nope,” the teamster pointed. “See where the road straightens out and goes south? Should be where the town is.”

“Stop the wagons.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Alan stood up on his wagon seat, looking back over the caravan. Spotting the grizzled mercenary captain a few wagons back, he waved him over. The captain trotted up to him and nodded.

“Master Alan,” he said.

“There’s a problem up ahead…” Alan started.

The captain looked down the road, then looked back at him.

“I fail to see any problems,” he said.

“That is the problem,” Alan said. “There’s supposed to be a whole damn town up ahead, but there’s nothing as far as the eye can see.”

Alan reached back and took the map, offering it to the captain. The man frowned down at it for a moment, then looked back and forth in much the same way that the teamster did. He turned to the aide that had followed him.

“Two scouts – bring up horses for them too,” he told him. “Have ‘em ride out five kilometres south and see if they find anything.”

The aide nodded and turned, running back up the line of wagons.

Alan looked around nervously as the scouts made their way down the road. The forest on either side looked too pristine; untouched by Human hands. A monster could possibly charge out of the treeline to attack them right then and there. He tried to get his mind off of the surroundings.

The map is recent, right? No, there’s no way a whole town just vanishes, even if the map is a bit old.

“We’re not all just getting the map wrong, are we?” He said nervously, “This town was here last year: how can it just disappear?”

“Who knows,” the captain shrugged. “Maybe some Undead monster wiped it out.”

“D-don’t say that!” Alan’s voice rose an octave, “We’re supposed to be going to E-Rantel, you know!”

He had heard the stories, too. Rumors of the catastrophic defeat at Katze plains: the army routed by unimaginable terrors.

“Calm down,” the captain chuckled. “If it was an Undead monster, it wouldn’t be looking all nice and green like this. It’d be looking more like Katze, yeah?”

Why did he have to say that just then?

Still, it made sense. Even small villages destroyed by monsters left ruins. Alan took several deep breaths to calm his frayed nerves. The scouts returned a half hour later, looking none the worse for wear.

“Find anything?” The captain asked.

“Yes, sir,” one of them said as they dismounted and handed off their horses. “Of the town, there’s no trace of it ever being there. No ruined buildings or fortifications, not even the remains of streets or any kind of Human habitation. Just a sparse meadow, with forests and hills as far as the eye can see in all directions. May as well be pure wilderness.”

“No sign of battle or anything like that?”

“No, sir. Nothing at all.”

“Alright then…get back into your positions.” The captain looked at Alan, “What’s your call, Master Alan?”

Alan looked down the road again.

“What else can we do?” He laughed helplessly, “We keep going. Let’s hope we can find some place to stay before the evening.”

A few minutes later, the caravan rolled forward again, forging ahead to the distant site of where the town should have been. Deciding that it was pointless and unhealthy to continue imagining monsters behind every tree, Alan turned his attention to his inventories. It was just ore, actually – all thirty of his wagons were laden with iron ore from the northern regions of Re-Estize.

How Hilma could afford to part ways with it for so little still bothered him. She should have at least sent an agent to negotiate the best prices possible rather than coming personally. The woman looked so thin and ragged compared to the last time he had seen her – maybe Hilma’s characteristically shrewd and cunning practices were being affected by her health.

Not that it mattered. Her loss was his gain. E-Rantel was rich in produce and lumber, while lacking in mineral wealth. If traffic on the highway was truly as bare as he had seen, the duchy’s forges would be desperate for ore, and the profits from his cargo would be enormous. He would be able to return fully laden with Hilma’s grain with a year’s worth of profit in his pocket.

The idea that he would need to go through Re-Estize’s muddy roads again tempered the elation over his apparent gains. Hopefully, by the time he made his way back, most of the spring rains would have passed and the journey made more amenable. Maybe he’d stick around for a week or so to see what had changed, and if there were any more opportunities to be had.

Or maybe not. An Undead magic caster now ruled over the duchy, and news had been scarce since the beginning of spring. Merchant traffic was certainly down and, though that might simply be explained by the uncertainty that came with power changing hands, he didn’t want to find out firsthand if it was for another, more insidious reason.

Alan shook his head, trying to clear his mind of doubts. They were only a few days away: he should be taking advantage of anything new that he could.

“How ‘bout that ridge?” The teamster pointed to a bare overlook rising out of the forest near the highway, “Still a bit early, but it’ll be midnight by the time we reach the next village on the map – if it’s still there.”

Alan wasn’t so sure that it was. The entire place seemed devoid of any sign of Human habitation so far. He wasn’t a Ranger or any vocation skilled at scouting, however, so they might have slipped beneath his notice. He turned to the captain, who was still walking on the road beside him.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“Stopping anywhere along this stretch will be the same,” the captain replied. “It’ll be three days to the city either way.”

He had a point. Even with the paved and well-drained roads that they now traveled over, the caravan of wagons could only make roughly 30 kilometres a day. That was why the town was there – well, supposed to be there – after all. Fassett Town was thirty kilometres from Crosston, Crosston was thirty kilometres from the town in Jezne County, which was in turn thirty kilometres from E-Rantel. On a major highway, every town was placed a day’s travel from the next: It was common sense for any merchant or traveller.

Luckily, the ridge was nearby. It looked nice and defensible as well, just in case there were monsters lurking about.

“Let’s use it,” Alan told them. “We shouldn’t be turning up a good campsite when it appears right in front of us.”

The driver nodded, and the captain turned around to issue orders to his men. A half hour later, they had a better view of the site.

“Looks like someone else had the same idea,” the captain noted. “Those are well-made barricades; done recently, too.”

Alan frowned at the idea that another merchant might have made it to the city ahead of him. A figure was up near the aforementioned barricades ahead of them, startling him out of his thoughts. It wasn’t there a second ago.

Dressed in a sharply tailored outfit of white over red-scaled leathers, a dark-skinned Elf boy looked towards them with a wide smile on his face. He couldn’t help but appraise his overall appearance: in a big city, the boy would be a superb way to advertise the high-class boutique that his exquisite clothing most likely came from. Just why he was wearing it in a place surrounded by wilderness was another question.

“Oh, you’ve arrived~” He said as they made their way up the final stretch, “They said that some merchants would be coming from the west, but that was weeks ago!”

“The roads are truly terrible this spring…”

Alan started to fall into the lazy routine that merchants often used when conversing between one another, but then he furrowed his brow.

“Wait, you knew we were coming?” He asked.

“Yup!” The Elf answered brightly, “You’ll be just in time for the big event, too! I expected more, honestly…there’s a huge line of traders coming in from the Empire.”

That might explain why Hilma was so generous in trying to get him out to E-Rantel…chances were that he wouldn’t be the only one that she roused to action.

“I probably won’t be the only one,” Alan told the Elf. “What are you doing out here, anyways? You’re camping here too?”

“Ah, no,” the Elf replied. “I just work here.”

“Work…?” Alan glanced over the Elf’s appearance again, but couldn’t make anything of his outfit.

“Patrolling the border,” the Elf explained.

“A Ranger?” He looked him over again, “So young…actually, if you work here, do you know what happened to the town that’s supposed to be back there?”

“We got rid of it,” the Elf said. “Over two weeks ago. Looks nice and natural now, right?”

A wide smile appeared on his face at the last, as if he was more interested in what they thought about the land’s appearance than the fact that a whole town was gone.

“B-but why?”

“Why? It’s because, uh…”

The boy turned around and peered up at a sign planted at the top of the ridge.

“Fassett,” he turned back with a cross expression. “That’s right – those nobles and their people were doing a bunch of things they shouldn’t have been!”

“So their town was d-destroyed?” Alan was incredulous.

“Yes?” The boy tilted his head curiously, “Ah! It wasn’t just the town, it was all of their land, obviously.”

“All of it?” Alan’s mouth fell open, “But that’s…d-does that mean you killed everyone as well?”

The Elf’s expression turned extraordinarily grim, and the three men swallowed.

“Way worse than that,” the boy said. “They…they were kicked out.”

Alan wanted to ask how that could be worse than losing one’s life, but the boy didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk any more. The Elf turned around and left, disappearing just as quickly as he had appeared.

“What could he have meant by that?” Alan voiced his question anyways.

He glanced to either side of him, but the men shook their heads unknowingly. The caravan continued on past the barricades, and Alan’s employees and the mercenaries started preparations for the night. Alan walked up to the sign on the ridge: a large billboard with text in all of the regional languages upon it.

Welcome to Fassett’s Folly!

Designated Campground of the Sorcerous Kingdom

Site usage free of charge

Rules

1. Be a good neighbor! Get along with your fellow campers. Do not attack the local citizenry or any Undead Servitors.

2. Hunting, Foraging, Logging and Mining in the surrounding area is prohibited: People live here – don’t steal their stuff!

3. Keep pets and livestock within the camp perimeter, or they may be hunted and eaten.

4. Clean up after yourself! Put food scraps and waste into the provided Slime bins.

5. Do not leave fires unattended. Extinguish them completely before departure.

Violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Enjoy your stay!

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 23

Chapter 23

In the shadows of the Royal Court, a dozen figures seated themselves silently behind the long desks lining the walls of the chamber. Below the raised dais, upon which the throne of the Sorcerer King loomed over the proceedings, the Prime Minister of the Sorcerous Kingdom, Lady Albedo, patiently waited for the members of the court to settle themselves.

Or was she the Guardian Overseer? With her ever-present smile, Vilette Jezne could never tell in what function Lady Albedo served until she actually spoke. It had taken her weeks to even gain a sense as to which she was – something her tenuous understanding of the workings of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s inner circle gave the barest amount of confidence to make conjectures with. Lady Albedo was always both, yet always one or the other at the same time: an unfathomable being who lay beyond her comprehension even as a venerable member of the nobility with all of its intricacies. The maids in the chamber, who also hailed from the mysterious place of their origin, seemingly had no such issues: lending to the sense that there was some unbridgeable gap that would lay between them and the nobility for the indeterminable future.

She had accepted her appointment as an Advisor to the Royal Court readily enough, but quickly came to the realization that she was nowhere near ready for that appointment despite all of her decades of court experience. In effect, it was a foreign court planted directly in the heart of Human lands, yet this description fell woefully short in describing what it actually was. The semblance of the courts of Re-Estize was but a mere show put on for the benefit of their lessers.

The beings who styled themselves as ministers and councillors were pillars of power, intellect and charisma beyond the reckoning of mere mortals. Even the Legendary paragon of Humanity, the Dark Warrior Momon, could only stand roughly as one of their peers – a single man amongst many. In this Royal Villa, constructed by Human hands, was a place far above Humanity: as far from the outside world as the earth was from the stars above.

Rather than an Advisor, she felt more of a translator: one that constantly struggled to understand even half of what was being said in her effort to convey their missives to the House of Lords. Vilette thought that she could simply abridge everything into an acceptable form when she had first started, but it was not long before she was compelled to fearfully interrupt the proceedings to ask about words and concepts in the fluid discourse of the court lest every pretense unravel to expose her incompetence. Every time she did so, she still felt her own inadequacy being made plain before the other members of the Royal Court; that she was wasting the time of those who existed in a place so far beyond herself.

Her pen scrawled endlessly over paper, interrupted only when she needed to reference something in the piles of notes that accompanied her task. A name in their discussion broke her concentration: a name that she dreaded to hear in this most high of halls.

“On the subject of Fassett County,” the smooth voice of a man to her right spoke. “This solution is quite elegant in both its implications and severity, don’t you agree? Though I believe improvements are entirely possible with the benefit of review, these agents approached the issue and produced an efficient outcome within three days. Given it was Humans that did this, I would say it is optimal within the context of their capabilities.”

The speaker was a man in a red suit with orange pinstripes: a fashion which she believed from the far south. No one would erroneously mistake him for a Human, however. The long spiked tail, pointed ears and crystalline eyes that glimmered behind his spectacles would immediately dissuade any of this notion.

“Indeed, if I may be so bold to say so, the loss of the previous reigning nobility of this duchy at Katze Plains has allowed for some remarkable individuals to rise in their place. Every action of our Master has endless nuances: even when he prunes away seemingly insignificant twigs along the way to his greater goals, new growth flourishes in his passing. The vast majority of those that have inherited their titles are young and pliable, ready to heed the will of our Master, and among them several have significant potential…at least when measured against their contemporaries in the surrounding nations.”

The man – Lord Demiurge – ran his gaze over the assembled courtiers. When his eyes met Vilette’s own, he flashed a broad smile, and she shuddered. Evil was an inadequate description for this councillor. In his words and perception, he could only be described as a Devil – in fact, she had recently discovered that he was precisely that. He made rare appearances, as it seemed that his duties called him to far-off lands, but the demise of House Fassett and it’s attendant outcomes qualified as notable enough for him to attend.

She looked down at the report containing the final days of the noble house which had existed for nearly as long as Re-Estize itself. It was over four hundred pages long; so thoroughly detailed and condemning that she could not fathom how the information for such a document could be collected in a mere three days. Not only was it a collection of evidence, it was also a thorough analysis containing recommendations for remedial actions should they be required in the future. Inside the cover were four names: Corelyn, Gagnier, Wagner and Zahradnik.

Yet, it was not the meticulously collected information, nor the thoughtful insights and avenues of remediation offered that arrested the hearts and minds of those who perused its contents. It was the decisive verdict and execution of justice levied on the subjects in question. The House of Lords had sent this group of young noblewomen – a group who all agreed would deliver their missive in the most fair and diplomatic manner – and the result was the annihilation of House Fassett. Save for a single barony in the north, every noble vassal of House Fassett had been extinguished and the county itself reduced to a population of zero.

The three noblewomen who held territories near to the city were in attendance, seated along the same bench as herself. They had all attended the court at one point or another in the past few weeks, so whatever thoughts they had in regard to Lord Demiurge’s callous words were not reflected in their bearing. Vilette shook her head. Maybe she was just getting too old: the young were far more adaptable than one such as herself, who was set in their former ways. That they could bring the Devil himself to their side was inconceivable. Not only had they emerged unscathed from what the House of Lords thought was an impossible task: they had come away with the approval of the Royal Court.

Well, mostly. The outcome itself had been received with loose approval across the spectrum, but the reactions amongst the councillors came in various degrees. With Lord Demiurge on their side, however, any adversarial reaction would have been perceived as foolishness, as he was seen as a pillar of intellect within the court. Given the overall disposition of the group, it surely must have been a favourable coincidence rather than a purposeful calculation. She could not imagine such benevolent young women courting the favour of pure evil – he must have some sort of hidden catch.

“Would execution not have been a preferable sentence for rebels?” A stern, cold voice came from one of the benches on the right, “This fate…beyond pitiful.”

“Indeed, my friend, this exi–” Lord Demiurge coughed several times and took a moment to clear his throat, “this fate is certainly as you say. It is, however, a clear message to all: we will not suffer such heedless miscreants in our blessed nation – that the flaunting of technicalities and the obscurement of intent and action will avail them nothing. Not only have the useless been granted purpose, but they themselves carry with them the poison that made them so. Re-Estize will welcome them with open arms in their desire for manpower, even as their own nation is wracked with this very same affliction. It is a small amount, compared to what they already suffer from, but every additional drop pushes them closer to the brink.”

The Devil turned to address the three noblewomen sitting beside Vilette along the same desk.

“This verdict has many layers and several of its aspects are quite insidious,” he said. “Tell me: did you devise this scheme as a group, or is this the work of an individual? The particular detailing of the processes which went into rendering this decision are conspicuously absent in the report.”

Countess Corelyn rose from the cushioned bench, the rich gown in the customary colours of House Corelyn rustled lightly as she rose; it’s intricate silver embroidery and her tasteful adornment of jeweled filigree glimmered in the harsh glare of the light overhead.

“While we all participated in the collection and analysis of information, Lord Demiurge,” she responded in her gentle tones, “the schedule of our plans was…abruptly accelerated, which resulted in the shortfall that you noted.”

“Ah, I know that feeling all too well…” Lord Demiurge smiled ruefully, “Then you mean to say that this outcome was achieved without the full measure of your collective capabilities brought to bear?”

“We did not have the leisure to refine our moves to any great degree, no,” Countess Corelyn replied. “In the end, Lady Zahradnik – who was tasked with finishing our work after we were instructed to depart by Lady Shalltear – used the picture we had developed up to that point to derive this verdict.”

“Hmm…yes,” Lord Demiurge said. “This name has come to my attention several times recently. Where is Lady Zahradnik now? I can only assume that, since her name appears alongside yours, it is not your intent to exclude her from your efforts.”

“Yes, Lord Demiurge. She arrived in E-Rantel to reports of Demihumans encroaching on her demesne, and departed on the next available vessel to see to its defence.”

“I have had some experience with Demihumans myself recently,” Demiurge replied with a tight smile, “so I know just how troublesome they can be. If this is the case, perhaps I could have you answer on her behalf, since Shalltear is not present either. Do you know her well, Lady Corelyn?”

“I have known her for as long as I can remember – House Corelyn and House Zahradnik have always maintained favourable ties.”

“You would consider her a friend, then?”

“She is like a sister to me.”

“Well then, I suppose you would indeed be the best person to ask, in lieu of her absence.”

Lord Demiurge stepped out from behind his desk, making his way along the table in the centre of the room to stand before Countess Corelyn.

“This move,” he said as the sound of his crisp steps faded from the chamber, “this…verdict: are you aware of the meanings behind it?”

“I believe so, Lord Demiurge.”

“And you fully support Lady Zahradnik in her stance?”

“I do, Lord Demiurge.”

“Is that so…well, there is one nuance that I find particularly disquieting: the punishment itself makes the blood run cold, especially to those who stand close to His Majesty. A declaration to all; a threat, a promise: it is as if she means to say that all would be subject to this judgement: even we of the Royal Court.”

The air in the chamber seemed to dive to freezing temperatures; Vilette felt goosebumps rise painfully over her skin. The gleaming light overhead did little to stave away the sense of oppressive darkness that hemmed her in on all sides: a sinister void which sapped away the strength in her body and cast her will to the wind. It took everything she had to avoid curling up into a quivering ball of helpless fear.

Lord Demiurge loomed before them, his icy gaze fixed in their direction; the features of his face fixed into a scowl.

“Tell me, Lady Corelyn,” Demiurge said coldly, “does she truly mean such a thing?”

It was only then that Vilette thought to look to her side. In the crushing sense of darkness that filled the room, amidst the freezing oppression and despair that would have made brave warriors wail and devout priests weep, Lady Corelyn stood tall in the light. Her form did not waver in weakness, nor did her arms tremble in terror. There was a smile on her face, but it was not the mask that nobles often wore to conceal their reactions, nor was it a facade of foolish bravado. Her small, quiet smile was filled with warmth and genuine confidence. She faced Lord Demiurge directly when she responded; her gentle voice filled with equal parts fondness and pride.

“Of course she does,” she answered. “She is relentless in her duty; she does not cower from her fear. She is even-handed in judgement and her austerity applies to all. If ever she were to be abandoned and left alone, she would still rise resolutely to fulfil her obligations. Her nature may often place her in the most ridiculous of circumstances, but even failure will only delay the inevitable. She is the most steadfast person I know: born and raised to be a defender of the realm – an implacable adversary to all those who would become its enemies…and I truly pity whoever ends up as her quarry.”

“I see,” Lord Demiurge said. “And what of you and your companions here, hm?”

“We are Nobles of the Sorcerous Kingdom,” Countess Corelyn lowered her head respectfully past Lord Demiurge, towards the empty throne beyond. “Where His Majesty leads, so too shall we follow.”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 24

Chapter 24

At least it’s not so insanely gaudy this time…it looks normal. Almost.

Normal. When he realized what had crossed his mind, he suppressed a sigh.

Arms held out to his side, he could only stand still and watch as the Homunculus Maids moved about his figure to prepare his garb for work. Today, it was Foire’s turn to direct their preparations. Thankfully, what she had chosen for him was nothing like last month’s painfully bright crimson robe, which was adorned in such a huge array of obnoxiously large gemstones that they might as well have dipped him in glue and rolled him all the way across the guild treasury.

The selection for today was a robe of deep forest green, draped comfortably around his skeletal form somehow. Within its rich silken folds were tiny diamonds that glimmered like points of light through a verdant canopy. Rather than the strange, meaningless characters embroidered in gold thread along its hem, this robe was lined in soft white velvet that formed into intricate patterns of leaves running several centimetres up the edge of the cloth.

It was simple, lent an air of comfort and, most importantly, it was quiet. He had half expected to end up in some outfit with cosmetic firework effects and bold lettering circling around his head like a holographic sign. Instead, he was granted some peace of mind.

A thought occurred to him.

“Foire,” he looked at the maid in his reflection. “I’m curious. What were your thoughts when you decided on this selection?”

If he could finally puzzle out the Homunculus Maids’ sense of aesthetics and reasoning for his wardrobe, he would be able to steer their selections in such a way that he did not look like some sort of psychedelic peacock every other day. Surely she had not simply selected it because it matched the colour of her eyes.

Foire stepped back from her work to stand before him respectfully, realigning her posture and folding her hands before him. Her bob of blonde hair bounced lightly as she spoke.

“Forgive my presumption, Ainz-sama,” she said. “But I believe that, as you have just recently returned from the frozen mountains to the north, your arrival would best reflect the coming of spring. With your return, your blessed kingdom has come to life, and who else to represent this promise of abundance than Ainz-sama himself? All of your subjects will surely see this as well, as it is your power that–”

“I understand.”

So much for that idea.

Seasons did not exist in his former world, after all. Nor was any sort of symbolism with the outside world in common use. The outdoors was just a monotonous, bland and toxic wasteland that one avoided as much as possible. The skies were choked with an ever-present blanket of deadly pollution that smothered the world in the same, uniformly balmy temperature. Suzuki Satoru had never experienced the spring in real life, and he supposed that the Undead being named Momonga did not have the same appreciation for it as living things would.

Ainz let out a sigh.

“My sincerest apologies, Ainz-sama!” Foire lowered her head repeatedly, “I will choose a new outfit since it displease–”

“No, no.” He told her quickly, “I was considering something else entirely. I am not dissatisfied with your selection, Foire. In fact, it pleases me greatly. You’ve done well.”

Foire brought her hands up to cover her mouth with a gasp, tears welling in her eyes.

“Yes, Ainz-sama!” Foire’s voice trembled, “Thank you, Ainz-sama!”

Around him, the other Homunculus Maids sported beaming smiles, tears of their own collecting at the corners of their eyes.

Ainz did his best to not shift around uncomfortably. Why was it that he had the effect of making women cry? There was the previous maid that had attended to him last month, Fifth. Then Albedo, then Shalltear and Aura, now Foire and her assisting maids. He had heard of men that many women cried over, but he was reasonably certain that it wasn’t remotely the same thing.

Now that he was thinking about it, his words had even made Gondo cry. He made Dwarves cry. The idea of leaving people in tears wherever he went was not something that he thought of as an advantage.

When their preparations were finally completed, Ainz gave himself a once-over in the mirror. He nodded once sharply.

Not bad.

Ainz strode away and down the tall towards his office: purposely, regally, in the relaxed stride of casual confidence that he often observed from his good friend Jircniv, Emperor of Baharuth. It helped immensely that he wasn’t so ridiculously dressed today.

The doors were opened before him and smoothly made his way through the threshold.

“Ah–”

He suddenly stopped.

“Is there something the matter, Ainz-sa–”

Ainz scuttled over to the balcony. He leaned over and peered into the glass box sitting in the sunlight, reaching inside with a hand to turn over the leaves of the plants growing within. The knot in his nonexistent stomach unwound itself after finding what he was looking for.

Whew.

Upon entering his office, it had occurred to him that he had left Nurunuru alone for nearly a month. Ainz imagined that he would find it dead or missing after being neglected for so long. He shook his head to himself ruefully as he eyed the fresh cabbage beside the terrarium. So much for trying to prove himself. Of course someone would have fed it while he was away; the house was full of servants, after all.

“I have returned, Nurunuru-kun,” he declared a bit too forcefully, then realized that he was trying to act like a king before a pet.

After feeding the Lip Bug three leaves, Ainz turned around and swept his gaze over the office, surreptitiously glancing at Foire. She seemed attentive to him, but her placid expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts. His meandering eyes finally focused onto his desk, and he walked over and placed a bony hand on its pristine surface. The knot formed in his nonexistent stomach again as he relaxed into his chair.

Nearly a month away, so a month of work awaits me. I avoided work for a month last time as well…I should have learned my lesson then. No, this time I was able to get some things done while I was away.

In hindsight, he was surprisingly able to get quite a few things done, which was infinitely more than the little he had accomplished after he had shut himself away the last time. He had gotten the ball rolling with the Adventurer Guild, the Empire had entered into a friendly diplomatic relationship with the Sorcerous Kingdom, he had earned the goodwill of the Dwarf Kingdom and secured their Runesmiths as his own.

His extended investigations into information on other Players, smithing, ores and Runecraft had, unfortunately, turned up little to nothing, but it couldn’t be said that he had done nothing at all. The Runesmiths were now getting ready to move to Carne Village, where his investments into their unique and promising magical technology would surely yield great gains.

“Huhuhu…”

Ainz chuckled softly to himself as dreamlike possibilities blossomed in his mind.

There was a knock at the door. It was time.

Ainz straightened in his chair and cleared his nonexistent throat while Foire went to answer the door. He put on his serious face. Or at least he thought he did – he didn’t have a face, but Albedo sometimes spoke as if she could read his expressions…well, better safe than sorry.

“Ainz-sama,” Foire said respectfully, “by your leave, Albedo-sama and the Elder Liches have arrived to present themselves before you.”

“Granted,” Ainz nodded regally, “they may enter.”

Ainz felt a tinge of satisfaction at his own conduct. His time with the Dwarves had allowed him to polish his kingly conduct even further, and he had gained confidence that his act would elicit the proper response from those around him.

Foire made way to allow his visitors into the entrance. Albedo entered the room with six Elder Liches, much in the same way as she had a month previous.

“Good morning, Ainz-sama.”

Arranged in a line behind her, the six Elder Liches bowed as one.

“Umu. Good morning, Albedo. Or…should I say Prime Minister?”

“If it is your will, then I shall become whatever it is you desire, Ainz-sama.”

The tips of Albedo’s wings quivered slightly, and the hint of excitement entered her expression. Ainz grasped for a way to alter the apparent course of the conversation.

“Then tell me, my good Prime Minister: how fares the Sorcerous Kingdom?”

Though he had put all of his accrued acting skill into the question, he was still surprised that Albedo showed no reaction to his brushing her pleasantries aside. Was it because he had just become more kingly? No, it was more likely that Albedo was looking forward to reporting her progress.

“It would be my pleasure to inform, Your Majesty,” Albedo replied.

Rather than directing the Elder Liches to come forward this time to stack their piles of documents upon his desk, Albedo started with a verbal report. Ainz had to put extra effort in paying attention, as he had nothing to refer to.

“With the brilliant maneuvering that Your Majesty has conducted in both the Dwarf Kingdom and the Empire,” she smiled brightly under his gaze, “many of the most immediate issues revolving around our reliance on foreign imports are well on their way to being resolved. I can only stand in awe and gratitude that Your Majesty so quickly and effectively responded to the concerns that I shared with you that day.”

Eh? She was going to keep going on with the court act? His move to preempt her usual routine had backfired in a different way. Having set her on this course, he could only swallow his internal discomfort and reciprocate her conduct.

“Though a meagre inclusion in comparison to your achievements,” she continued, “I have enlisted the assistance of the Eight Fingers, who will send their own merchants from Re-Estize and encourage their contacts to resume trade with the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“Is that so…” He murmured, “They will not be conducting any of their old operations here, I trust?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Albedo replied. “They have been explicitly instructed to only pursue legitimate avenues of trade with the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“Good,” he said, “good. We cannot have any of that nonsense here. What of other matters regarding foreign affairs? Have any external threats developed? Have you flagged any problematic activity from the neighboring nations?”

He would have been immediately informed if it was something like existing Players being detected, but he couldn’t gloss over the possibility that other dangers could be lurking about. He hadn’t even figured out what in the world the Demon Gods were, despite going personally to a metropolis that had been ravaged by them and frozen over.

“There have been no overt moves against us by the neighboring nations. Over three dozen separate attempts by foreign agents to conduct espionage have been detected, however. How should we deal with them, Your Majesty?”

“They can look around all they want,” He told her. “Well, within reason. Areas that any other nation would naturally consider off-limits to the public should be treated the same way here. Aside from that, allow them to carry on where they will. Perhaps they will do some of our marketing for us, hm?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Albedo nodded. “It will be done. They will see what it means to be ruled by a supreme sovereign, and the nations of the world will gnash their teeth at their own wretched mediocrity.”

That came off a lot more belligerent than he would have liked. It didn’t help that they were conducting this stiff court act, which was clouding his ability to lead Albedo’s responses.

“Is there anything else that has been discovered on that front, Albedo?”

“In regards to other Players, there has been little of note, Ainz-sama,” she shook her head. “All of the information uncovered has been more or less along the same vein. Influences from Yggdrasil that have seeped into the native cultures, languages and lore. Pandora’s Actor has even noted a few within our own borders, vestiges from centuries long past. He bemoans the fact that, beyond the scant few we’ve already catalogued in circulation, there have been no further pieces of equipment from Yggdrasil located.”

“Hmm…speaking of which, how did Pandora’s Actor fare when he was placed in charge while we were both absent from the Sorcerous Kingdom?”

“That’s…”

Albedo’s voice trailed off, and Ainz looked at her curiously. Pandora’s Actor didn’t do something strange, he hoped: like renaming half of the locations in the Sorcerous Kingdom into something German.

“If he’s done something wrong…”

“Far be it from that, Ainz-sama,” Albedo replied, “he has far exceeded my initial expectations upon recommending him for the role.”

Really? Him?

“Hoh…then your idea to have Momon influence the local leaders before being sent away on a ‘mission’ was accomplished without a hitch?”

“Beyond that,” she said, “the citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom have continued to return to their normal lives. Simply believing he could tell the local leaders to obey us was a shallow estimation on my part. It is beyond grudging, powerless, acceptance contingent on their faith in a single man – the vast majority of the Human leadership has become productively compliant and are now actively working for the benefit of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

Ainz wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Just what the hell did Pandora’s Actor do as Momon to achieve this? Going by his own appraisal of what Momon could accomplish in regards to Albedo’s plan for him, he could only roughly agree. To go beyond that…

“Once it was known that Momon would be sent away on his ‘mission’...”

Eh? There’s more?

“…he continued his work on behalf of the administration in our absence, dealing with the very same local leaders he dealt with as Momon. Truly, calling these Humans puppets on strings was a gross understatement. It is more like he is playing both sides of the board; every single piece moving of its own accord at his direction.”

Eh…

Ainz had arranged to trade places with Pandora’s Actor as Momon in a few days, but now he thought it prudent to discuss Momon’s...enhanced persona with him before then, lest he stumble into a mine – no, a minefield.

“If that’s the case,” Ainz asked, “how are we doing on the adoption of Undead labour throughout the territories?”

“It is as you must have already noticed, Ainz-sama,” Albedo said, “this is the one area where the results are not so uniform. Our analysis of current projections on agricultural yield and data in mining and forestry, as well as the current deployments of Undead servitors throughout the nation have outlined several key factors influencing the rates of adoption.

“The first factor are the labour imbalances in higher density areas that would manifest if Undead labour were to arbitrarily replace Human labour across the board. With our resettlement of the abandoned lands to the northeast by the population of the city slums, we’ve conclusively proven that, if necessary, utilization of Undead labour can be imposed upon the population to aid in the cultivation of land – provided that there is land to cultivate or extract resources from. Expansion of Human habitat invariably means the clearing of lands that may be needed by many of your non-Human subjects in the future, so I believe it is not something that should be so rashly pursued if the core territories of the Sorcerous Kingdom are to showcase a myriad of its citizen species.

“The second factor revolves around cultural and religious perceptions of Undead: though it has been demonstrated that Humans can overcome their cultural aversion to the Undead servitors, religion is another matter entirely. Rate of adoption can be directly correlated to the figures present in each religion, as well as their stated mandates. Unsurprisingly, the common population that subscribes to the faith of The Four, with their openly hostile mandate against the Undead, has the lowest adoption rate. Unfortunately they also represent the majority of the Human population in the Sorcerous Kingdom. Those who subscribe to the faith of The Six, which is a minority that primarily exists in the southern territories near the Slane Theocracy, have demonstrated no issues when it comes to embracing Undead labour and security where it can be employed.”

Ainz nodded gravely. He supposed the findings on religion were hardly surprising, but it represented a great hurdle when it came to his plans on exporting Undead labour. The Empire – and in the future, Re-Estize – represented his largest markets, but the vast majority of the population worshipped the Four Great Gods. One could only assume that interest in Undead labour would be even more dismal than that of his own nation. His hope was that, by leaving the various temples of his own nation alone, it would help improve the Sorcerous Kingdom’s reception abroad but…well, a mere two months had passed. Amongst the common folk, information was transmitted almost entirely through word-of-mouth, and that word-of-mouth was often rooted in hearsay and rumors.

“What of the Dwarves?” He asked, “I believe our relationship is fairly solid now.”

“We’re still awaiting data points from the trial units that you’ve provided to them, Ainz-sama,” Albedo replied. “So far, however, they seem to be a promising market for exports, both in terms of Undead labour and mundane goods produced in the Sorcerous Kingdom. The resulting trade flows will be a boon to development and taxation here as well.”

“I’ll look forward to it then,” Ainz nodded. “Is there anything else that you believe requires my attention?”

“Yes, Ainz-sama, as a matter of fact, there is.”

Albedo stepped forward to place a single sheet of paper before him on the desk.

“An event is being coordinated in order to stimulate the reestablishment of regional trade,” she said as he raised the sheet in front of him. “With the induction of the Empire and the Dwarf Kingdom into the hegemony of the Sorcerous Kingdom, merchants are being gathered from both nations for a period of increased traffic and exposure to what we have to offer.”

“A grand opening, you mean.”

“Yes, Ainz-sama, it should be something along those lines.”

“The benefits are clear enough. Is this one of your new directives? Or perhaps Demiurge…”

“It is a product of Pandora’s Actor – one of many results of his manipulations.”

Him again?

“Manipulations, you say…are these hapless fools such as those being unwittingly used to tidy up Re-Estize? Or are they people of talent who have been identified as useful to the Sorcerous Kingdom?”

Albedo withdrew a plain brown file folder from her inventory to lay on his desk.

“The latter,” she said as he scanned the contents. “Her name is Liane Wagner: one of the local leaders – the scion of a merchant house. She inherited her father’s holdings, which include the majority of merchant companies headquartered in E-Rantel, after he was killed in the Battle of Katze Plains. As to her recent activities that you may have witnessed personally…most of the liquors provided to be catered to the Dwarves recently were imported through her.”

There isn’t even a picture included. He grumbled. Well, not that technology for photographs existed in this world. At one point, he wanted to suggest that some sort of magical means to present images be included with the reports, but had decided against it out of fear that he would appear childish.

“Is that so?” Ainz stroked his chin thoughtfully, “Then what other contributions has she made? She appears possessed of a bold ambition.”

The latter was no empty musing: the salesman that was Suzuki Satoru couldn’t help but admire such entrepreneurial spirit. It was something a lowly salaryman like himself could only sigh in admiration and envy over. That this energy was being utilized for the ultimate benefit of the Sorcerous Kingdom made it all the better.

“It is as you’ve surmised, Ainz-sama,” Albedo answered. “She has various schemes underway, some of which enlist the cooperation of our government. Most notable among them being her research into new transportation technologies.”

“New technologies, you say…”

“Yes, Ainz-sama. With the Sorcerous Kingdom beginning the transition into the utilization of Undead labour, it has become apparent that many of the technologies that exist here are unable to withstand its rigours. Equipment and machines designed with conventional labour in mind wear down and break; vehicles fall apart. Baroness Wagner is currently engineering a myriad of technologies with the aim of their being able to harness the full potential of Soul Eaters as a motive force.”

“How long do you believe it will take before this technology can be showcased? It would go hand in hand with our efforts to export Undead labour.”

“For anything approaching a perfected technology, I cannot say. Several working models are already being developed, but the costs of each unit are what one might expect of experimental research. It’s difficult to say when a product that might be considered economical can be achieved, as many other factors go into whether it is perceived as such by our various prospective clients.”

“I suppose that’s just how things are,” Ainz mused idly, “be sure to notify me when you believe a breakthrough on this front has occurred.”

Or rather, he should be delegating this project to Shalltear. He had put her in charge of transportation, after all. Well, her hands were probably full trying to put the recently acquired Frost Dragons to good use. Since research efforts had just begun, there was little for her to work with anyways. Practical improvements to land transportation could wait.

How did they arrive at this discussion, anyways? Oh, right…

“You mentioned ‘many results’,” Ainz backtracked slightly. “What else has Pandora’s Actor been up to? Have any other new and promising individuals been identified?”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The idea that an exceptional talent had appeared in the Sorcerous Kingdom only had the effect of whetting Ainz’s appetite for more. While the population of E-Rantel was rather sparse compared to the highly developed core territories of the Empire and Re-Estize, it was still a respectable sum of people. If they could find one more…no, two – two more exceptional persons, he felt that it would satisfy him for the time being.

He could certainly use some sort of rising star in the Adventurer Guild. The best team being Mithril-rank didn’t have the same flair as an up and coming Hero who could attract the masses to his banner. Maybe something like an idol as well? The local entertainment industry was next to nonexistent, so having one would surely help on that front. Hmm…maybe three more exceptional persons was a better number to aim for? The gacha in this world was extraordinarily harsh.

“Yes, Ainz-sama.”

Albedo withdrew two more folders from her inventory and added them to his desk.

Ainz resisted the urge to do a fist pump. He reached out to open a blue folder which seemed to hold the most content.

“That is the file for Clara Corelyn,” Albedo said, “the noble that was promoted to Countess last month – with your approval.”

D-did I do that? How many documents do you think I stamped in that pile last month!

Though he had made it a point to read every document carefully at the time, it had still turned into an unrecognizable blur after a few weeks. He settled in to read the documents in the file again, and a flash of remembrance caused him to realize why he had approved of the promotion.

Albedo usually attached various notes to the documents in addition to their references. Warnings, complaints, recommendations. The document had been remarkable precisely because it was unremarkable, for Albedo had added absolutely nothing to the files. In short, the supremely capable administrative intellect that was Albedo had absolutely no complaints about Clara Corelyn – at least in terms of what was presented. According to the file, she was only seventeen years of age; Ainz wondered what sort of monster this woman was.

“Hmm…as I recall,” he said, “you went to visit Re-Estize just before I left last month. Were you able to meet with that individual that had attracted Demiurge’s interest back then?”

“Indeed, Ainz-sama, I was able to meet with her.”

“Then if you were to compare these two, what would you say?”

Albedo tilted her head in thought, spending a long moment in silence.

“Of their raw ability, I cannot say,” she said at some length. “The Princess of Re-Estize has a much wider breadth of knowledge, though I suppose one could attribute it to her station and the resources that she has access to. She seems very much aloof of the world – or, rather, I would consider her perspective and agendas to be rather base, despite her apparent intellect. As far as this topic is concerned, she is a seed that has yet to suggest what sort of fruit may be borne; an experiment which has yet to show any results.

“Countess Corelyn, on the other hand, is not accompanied by the same uncertainties. As she is one of Ainz-sama’s subjects, all of her actions can be quantified and analyzed in great detail. Her projections play out to their ideal ranges, her management is spotless and order is effortlessly achieved under her administration. The data collected from her activities has been instrumental in the formative weeks of the new administration, and her contributions continue to yield continued value. Even the strategy she has employed against the Slane Theocracy at our southern border is nothing if not amusing.”

Ainz flipped through the pages of the dossier until he found what Albedo was referring to, and snorted.

“This is indeed amusing,” he said. “I can only imagine the looks on their faces.”

“Yes, Ainz-sama,” Albedo smiled coldly. “They continue to be made fools of in plain view, and can do nothing about it.”

Ainz closed the blue folder and replaced it with the remaining one, opening its subdued crimson cover.

“The final dossier is for Florine Gagnier,” Albedo said, “who is also a Human woman inheriting holdings due to the Battle of Katze Plains. Though her personal achievements are not as flashy as that of Baroness Wagner, nor comprehensive in scale as Countess Corelyn, Baroness Gagnier stepped forward to assist in streamlining the resettlement and organization of the lands to the north and east, which are mostly under the city’s direct administration.

“Without a clear picture by which to measure her efforts, they would be perceived as mundane and unremarkable. With one, however, it is plain to see that she is an individual of great talent and ability.”

He read through the pages and pages of her file, until the points of his eyes swam and he skipped to the end. He made a noise upon reviewing the summary.

“I see. The type that is not missed until they are gone…”

Ainz Ooal Gown had a few members just like this. Skilled and reliable guild members who were modest; who never acted out or promoted themselves. They just quietly kept on, until they faded away and suddenly you were short a critical role that was impossible to replace. Raids would become painful until they eventually stopped entirely, then after that even parties would be hard to form. An existence unrewarded; a friend taken for granted…

Ainz shook his head, pushing the sorrowful memories of the past away. He put the folder down, looking up at Albedo.

“How is this person being compensated for her efforts?”

“There is no compensation being offered Ainz-sama.”

He felt his emotional suppression hammer down the surge of fury that suddenly rose within him.

“A-Ainz-sama–? Ainz-sama!”

Ainz looked up to find Albedo leaning over the table towards him, her beautiful face marred with genuine concern. He slowly unclenched the fist in his lap, hidden behind the desk.

Did…did I just get angry at Albedo? No – it was me. I was mad at myself. I was the Guildmaster. They were my fault.

“I’m alright, Albedo. It’s nothing – no, that’s not right. Those that serve under my rule shall be rewarded in equal measure. Do you not believe that to be just?”

That can’t happen. Never again.

“It is as you say, Ainz-sama,” Albedo withdrew from the desk and lowered her head. “Though as unassuming as she is, it may take some time to discover what she truly desires.”

“Umu. As long as you understand. If we are to attract and retain promising talent, the Sorcerous Kingdom must be a place where such individuals are duly appreciated. Regardless of their occupation or station.”

“Of course, Ainz-sama. For your dominion to be superior to all others on all levels, this will be an effective measure to tempt away the valuable members of other nations, as well as cultivate our own.”

How did it turn into that? Well, so long as we don’t lose precious, talented people.

He tapped a bony finger on his desk, letting out a nonexistent breath. He didn’t get an Adventurer, nor an idol…well, nobles were sort of like idols, weren’t they? But they weren’t celebrities in the entertainment industry. He supposed that, at any stage of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s development, talented administrators were inherently more valuable. As the Sorcerous Kingdom grew, they would inevitably need more as well.

Ainz guessed he could consider it a lucky draw that he couldn’t really complain about. Time to move on…

“I believe you had concerns over the enactment of laws when last we convened in this fashion,” Ainz brought out his practiced, regal voice again. “With the Sorcerous Kingdom in a more stable condition, have you made any headway in that area?”

“Yes, Ainz-sama,” Albedo nodded. “It should be stated, however, that the majority of the amendments thus far are in consideration of the multi-racial nature of the Sorcerous Kingdom, as they were previously laws which solely applied to Humans, their goods and their property. Protocols in regard to the Undead and Necromancy have been reworked as well, for obvious reasons. In regards to new legislation, one has been passed into law.”

“Is that so…which one would that be?”

“A bill enacted that legalizes the use of mind control for Judicial investigations.”

“Hm…was it not speculated that it was one of the laws that would generate the most backlash amongst the local leaders due to its perception as taboo?”

“You are correct, Ainz-sama,” Albedo nodded. “There was resistance upon its proposal, but once it was understood how it would be employed and the regulations surrounding its use were clearly outlined, the local leaders turned to favour its implementation.”

“Then what of other new laws? I find it hard to imagine that they would be so averse to changes if they were willing to accept mind control.”

“With the…grand opening in a few days, we’ve decided to call a recess in the legislature. In this period, we will be evaluating how the foreign merchants that arrive to trade in the city react to the amendments made thus far.”

“A prudent choice.”

“Thank you, Ainz-sama. Once the legislature reconvenes, we will be continuing to work on the enactment of new laws. By winter, I believe the benefits of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s policies will be made clear and any opposition based on economic concerns or residual antagonism will have mostly dissipated. Orderly legislative processes should be the order of the day from that point forward. We are also currently weighing how to incorporate Demihuman communities in the Sorcerous Kingdom into the framework of the greater government, but fundamental differences in customs and biology leave us with various difficulties…”

“I understand, Albedo. As I said previously: you have my complete trust when it comes to the creation of functional legislation for the Sorcerous Kingdom…is something the matter?”

As Ainz spoke, Albedo’s posture and expression shifted ever so slightly. He frowned.

“…there is one matter I would like to discuss with you, Ainz-sama. I believe this requires your direct input.”

Uh oh.

So far, everything seemed straightforward – more like an overview, of sorts. Now an issue that caused even Albedo to deliberate heavily upon and come to him with reared its ugly head. Ainz cursed himself: lingering on the subject of laws for so long was just asking for it.

“Let’s see it then,” he steeled himself.

Albedo’s delicate, gloved hand disappeared into the air in front of her. When it reappeared again, it was grasping the edge of a tome.

What the…how big is that thing?

The tome was withdrawn roughly halfway out before Albedo’s eyes widened briefly, and her hand stopped.

Uh…is it stuck? Really? How big does it have to be to get stuck? How did she make it fit?

“Ainz-sama.”

“Y-yes?”

“Your clothing today…did you select it specifically?”

“Hm? Uh, well, it was coordinated by the maid on duty, but I am quite fond of it. I suppose it is more to my tastes, if that is your question.”

Albedo blinked several times before visibly gathering herself and removing the rest of the book from her inventory and placing it on the desk.

Uwah…sorry for having such shitty fashion sense! Now, what the hell is this, even?

He looked down at the absurdly thick tome, and his gaze traced the edges of his desk to check if it was straining under its weight. He was fairly certain the thing could be used as a deadly weapon. His head turned up to meet Albedo’s gaze.

“What is the meaning of this, Albedo?”

Albedo flinched. Ainz frowned, furrowing his brow deeply.

“I-I’m sorry to have taken up your precious time with this, Ainz-sama,” her tips of her wings trembled. “It’s regarding an incident that occurred while you were away in the Dwarf Kingdom. The summary is inside the cover…it’s a matter in which I’m uncertain of.”

His expression did not fade as he looked down once again at the tome. Opening it would surely look like the yawning jaws of some beast, large enough to swallow a man whole. Ainz lifted the cover slightly and pulled out the folder he spotted within. He narrowed his eyes, and his frown only deepened when he read through the content.

This was happening in the Sorcerous Kingdom?

“Explain,” he said grimly.

“Y-yes, Ainz-sama,” Albedo licked her lips, which had lost their colour. “The ongoing situation that you see described in the documents was something we were monitoring. They matched patterns of behaviour observed scattered throughout various portions of Re-Estize.”

“I believe you know my stance on these matters: we cannot have any sort of this nonsense here. I do not consider this acceptable behaviour for our citizens.”

“I predicted that there would be an attempt at remediation,” Albedo said, “so I decided to see how such an attempt would play out. The measures were, as you see before you, insufficient. While the data collected was invaluable, I did not foresee that Shalltear would intervene.”

How in the world did that happen, anyways? As far as he knew, Shalltear was organizing the Frost Dragons and the logistics surrounding the Sorcerous Kingdom’s assistance with the Dwarven migration.

Towards the end of the investigation, she had popped up and leveled the capital of the county, after which Mare had come to clean up the mess. Aura dealt with the remaining criminals trying to escape. Then, they went around and dumped all of the citizens in the county in the opposite corner of Re-Estize. Losing nearly 20,000 of his citizens seemed painful, but the land itself was poorly managed and spiraling into destitution.

Actually, he didn’t lose 20,000 citizens – not if he considered the preparations underway to destabilize Re-Estize. Eventually they would willingly join hands with the Sorcerous Kingdom under similar terms that the Empire had. In a few years, these exiles would effectively be back under the Sorcerous Kingdom’s influence, and it wasn’t as if they could track every single individual to make sure they stayed out in that case. He could simply offer amnesty and play it off as being a kind and merciful ruler, allowing them to return to better lives than their formerly squalid existence. The loss of a small town was a shame but, in the grand scheme of things, everything worked out quite neatly for him.

Still…was a punishment in order for the actions of the group investigating matters? Out of the four names mentioned, there was one not on the list of exceptional persons, so it seemed a convenient throwaway.

He went back to the report and started reading through it more carefully.

“What is it about this incident that you wish to discuss?” He asked as he continued his reading.

“It would be in relation to the laws of Re-Estize that were adopted by the Sorcerous Kingdom, Ainz-sama,” she answered. “These laws facilitate the patterns of behaviour you see here. Foolish Humans twisting their master’s laws to their advantage for short term gains and an inflated sense of self worth.”

Ainz continued reading as she spoke, and long after. Laws twisted and enforced by corrupt officials and their lackeys. If Touch Me was here, what would he say? Ulbert would have probably gone on some sort of rampage.

“Since you said that you desire my input, I believe the laws should stay as they are, Albedo. Barring your efforts to adapt them to other species, of course.”

“May I know what led you to this conclusion, Ainz-sama?”

Sentimentality. He wanted to say, but he had already used that once. He sighed internally; it sounded lame, anyways.

Please look at the people on stage.

An echo of recent events, Gondo’s words drifted up to the forefront of his mind. The points of his eyes dimmed as the vision of the Dwarven celebration rose out of his memories. Gondo had requested that he do one more thing for the Runesmiths, before they set about moving to their new home in the Sorcerous Kingdom. Ainz had readily agreed, as it was a relative pittance from his perspective.

As scene played out, he thought on Gondo’s words. It was a going away party; he had helped to provide a feast for them, so they were happy…or so he thought. But, after Gondo explained at length, he came to understand that what he had done was not just secure provisions for a party.

It was not the generous offering of food and drink; the promise of housing and employment that was what returned their stride. It was what it meant – what he had restored to them. What he had restored to them was…

“Pride.”

The points of light in his eyes flared.

“Pride?” Albedo tilted her head curiously.

“Indeed,” Ainz nodded. “Tell me, Albedo: do you take pride in being a denizen of Nazarick?”

“Of course, Ainz-sama!” Albedo said, “It is the greatest privilege to be a part of Nazarick and a creation of the Supreme Beings!”

Behind her, Foire nodded empathetically. Even the Eight-Edge Assassins on the ceiling seemed to be doing it somehow.

“Then do you also believe that the people of the Sorcerous Kingdom should have pride as well?”

“I believe they should be proud to be ruled by you, Ainz-sama.”

Well, that suddenly went in the wrong direction. Ainz scratched his chin lightly.

“You don’t believe that they should take pride in being citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom?”

“Forgive me, Ainz-sama. Your foolish servant does not understand.”

Oh, give me a break!

The urge to sidestep the issue rose within him, but he was certain the same problem would keep coming back to haunt him in the future. Albedo was not the only member of Nazarick with these kinds of questions. He stared down at the deep green folder that lay before him, thinking on its content.

Just as simply having food and drink provided to them was not truly what had returned life to the Runesmiths, so, too, could he no longer believe that simply ensuring provision and security for his citizens would produce the results he desired. At the time, what he had relied on for reference was his own life as Suzuki Satoru, in a world where simply scraping by to live was the status quo, so a land where one did not need to worry about that seemed a novel idea.

Now, however, he had gone to various places; visited the societies of Humans, Demihumans and even Heteromorphs. His experiences, he thought, gave him a better idea of how he intended to rule the Sorcerous Kingdom.

There were parts of him that resonated with others. He recalled his disappointed feelings when he discovered what Adventures did in this world, and it turned out that they felt the same way. They were galvanized by the future he offered to them, and Ainz was excited in turn, certain that they would become excellent representatives for the nation.

Just as he had done for the Adventurers; just as he had done for the Runesmiths; just as he had instructed Demiurge to ensure that the Empire would be satisfied in their relationship with the Sorcerous Kingdom, so, too, would he need to find a way for his own subjects. Not just for the citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom, but for the children of his friends especially. So that the proud legacy of Ainz Ooal Gown could grow and flourish in this new world.

“Hmm…well, let me put it another way…”

He looked around at the occupants of the room, then settled his gaze on Albedo.

“While I have said that I’m not adept dealing with matters of the law, I have had some exposure as to how it is perceived. Touch Me and Ulbert shared a great rivalry and disagreed over a great many things, but there is at least one thing that they both understood that I noted was the same. That there is the letter of the law, and the spirit of the law – and that without its spirit, the letter of the law may simply be employed as a tool to crush the powerless underfoot. By your own words, this is at least roughly what is happening here, yes?”

“Yes, Ainz-sama.”

“You propose to change the laws, not only because of this sort of thing, but also because you dislike how they limit the powers of the sovereign. However, do you actually believe it has done anything of the sort?”

“…no, Ainz-sama.”

Even with absolute authority, he couldn’t possibly micromanage every aspect of everyone’s lives anyways – nor would he ever want to. Nor did he know what they each needed. But unlike before, where he considered himself the sole employee capable of producing a product entirely foreign to the NPCs, he understood now that there were indeed others who could be employed.

Just as he had done for Gondo, all he needed to do was set the stage. Those who knew what needed to be done would act upon it.

“The letter of the law is employed when the worst in people manifests. The spirit of the law allows the best in them to be drawn forth. Changing the letter of the law only redefines how undesirable behaviour is curtailed, but allowing the spirit of the law to be upheld both minimizes this behaviour and brings out the character of the people. We can always prune away those who choose to go against my wishes for the Sorcerous Kingdom, but, if the ground we plant on is sterile, nothing will grow at all.

“Tell me, Albedo: do you consider your service to the Sorcerous Kingdom a blessing to be embraced, or a burden forced upon you, to be cursed?”

“I-it is a blessing, Ainz-sama! Never would any of us consider it anything resembling a curse! We would happily grind ourselves to dust in order to carry out your will!”

“Umu.”

Ainz rose to his feet. He closed the file folder and held it up in one hand before him.

“Within this report, I see many instances of the letter of the law being employed in complete disregard to the spirit of the law. Yet who was it that submitted this report? Certainly not the perpetrators themselves.

“At the least, I see the same three names that you’ve presented in these other folders here. Talented, capable and hard-working individuals that you yourself have rated highly from an administrative standpoint, leaving their comfortable positions to deal with one of their peers. What I see is not the struggle of a downtrodden people rising against their oppressors. I see citizens rising to uphold the spirit of the law.

“And that is not all: I see Humans, Elves, Demons and Undead all working together for this common cause. I see denizens of Nazarick and citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom joining hands. All of differing stations, perspectives and opinions, yet all acting in a concerted effort to protect the nascent soul of our nation. This is what I desire to see, Albedo. This is what I mean by pride.

“It is not cheap, empty pride, nor pride in race, religion or creed. It is the pride of a nation: in its leadership and in the spirit of its laws; in the dignity and worth of its people. Pride that draws a line in the hearts of all, where all know why they must stand and fight – why sacrifices must be made, if need be. For king and country. For friends and family. No matter what challenges they face. In every place touched by the Sorcerous Kingdom; in every generation in the ages to come, this pride will be carried by my subjects and, by the world, they will be recognized as ours.

“Pride that can be found nowhere else: only in the citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom.

“This pride; this identity,” Ainz Ooal Gown declared, “will be their Birthright.”

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 26

Chapter 26

“No! No, no, no! That's absolutely absurd and you know it!”

An uproarious voice filled the crisp morning air and Clara Corelyn looked away from the rows of tents pitched along the road leading down the gentle slopes of the Katze River Valley.

Nearer to the river crossing was an odd gathering of individuals standing around a large stone table. They were sheltered under a pavilion not unlike the one she had used in Fassett County some time ago. There were four Elder Liches, five Humans and a Dwarf arguing over a set of plans laid out before them.

To an outsider, it might be considered strange that an Elder Lich would argue – and even stranger that one might argue with an Elder Lich – but it was something that happened several times a day as the architects and engineers for the new harbour drafted out its design and construction. An outsider might also have expected such an argument to be punctuated by curses, Lightning Bolts and Fireballs, but no such vibrant displays happened and the only curses were the verbal sort: Clara had heard several that were quite vibrant in their own way ever since she had initiated work on the wide array of developments throughout her demesne.

She approached the group with her escorts following in her wake. The clamour quieted as they turned to bow when she came to the edge of the pavilion.

“Lady Corelyn,” one of the foremen present greeted her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she replied with a warm smile. “Everyone appears to be quite animated today.”

“Just the usual, my lady,” the foreman replied. “The new guy is still wrapping his head around what is and isn’t possible around here.”

The ‘new guy’ was the Dwarf: a stonemason that had arrived recently from their kingdom to the north in the Azerlisia Mountains. He visited the harbour town’s construction site the previous evening and, flabbergasted by what he heard was being proposed, had decided to stick around and see just what in the world was going on.

The timing of the arrival of travellers and merchants from the Dwarven Kingdom had been shrewdly calculated to coincide with the announcement of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s new relationship with the Empire – a plan proposed by Liane Wagner. Simply put, rather than allowing trade to simply trickle in slowly on its own, Liane pushed to have an explosion of activity right at the outset in order to give the city the push that it needed to reassert itself as a major hub of commerce. The bold noblewoman had also preemptively plied her connections in the Empire to ensure that a sizable amount of traffic was ready to cross the border with their wares.

As the daughter of a successful magnate, Liane was well aware of the value of traffic and momentum in commerce, knowing that it would take on a life of its own once its infectious energy reached a critical point – as long as there was something to sustain it. By the time traders fully reestablished their routes with E-Rantel and the nations beyond, the midsummer harvests would be due and the flows of trade would happily carry away their uncommonly cheap commodities to the rest of the region.

When Clara, Liane and Florine reviewed it between themselves, it seemed a matter of common sense between the three noblewomen born to houses with merchant backgrounds. Liane would have the city entrenched as an irresistible port of call in a single, powerful stroke, and the Royal Court needed little convincing to place their seal of approval on her plan.

Though somewhat harrowing, their time in the west had solidified their sense of what the Sorcerous Kingdom required of them – as well as what would and would not be considered acceptable behaviour – and they were now all working in their own way for the benefit of their territories and the realm with a degree of confidence could not have existed before.

For Clara’s part, she had already been well on her way with Ludmila’s prodding some weeks ago. However, since most of the labour she required was tied up by the construction of the initial phases of the Demihuman District in E-Rantel, it was not until recently that the Royal Court loosened their grip on them. The nine which formed the core of her efforts in the construction of the harbour town were the Elder Liches, Human engineers and architects who were listening to the Dwarf ramble on.

“I’d like to see what you think is ‘capable’ of making these insane alterations to the river,” the Dwarf grumbled out his challenge. “Oh, I’ve seen those big, fancy golems you have out helping to lay the foundations of that new district in the city, but this is a giant godsdamned river you’re talking about reshaping like some sort of drainage ditch. You’ll need something a lot bigger than that.”

“He is about this tall, actually,” Clara held her hand level with her waist. “Lord Mare has been working on the Demihuman District and the Adventurer Training Area as well but, with the upcoming events and the first phase of the Demihuman District being completed soon, I was able to reserve him for an afternoon.”

The Dwarf stared at her incredulously. Clara could not tell whether he thought her speaking in jest or entirely unhinged. The foreman glanced at his reaction and quickly spoke into the silence.

“Anyways, I won’t fault him for his reactions, my lady,” he said. “He’s just come in and he knows his craft, so we’re glad to have him. Once we’re all on the same page, the harbour and bridge will easily exceed the requirements you’ve specified.”

One of the Elder Liches cleared its throat. Or at least it made the sound of one clearing its throat, as it did not have one. The foreman made a face.

“Was there something else?” Clara prompted.

“Er…yes, but you probably won’t like it,” the Foreman said.

“That will not change the fact that I should know what is going on,” Clara said.

“We’ve received some new…building standards,” he said. “Both the bridge and the harbour areas have been marked as essential structures for logistics and security by the central administration.”

“I have not received any such notification,” Clara said.

“It was just penned out by one of the Elder Liches,” he replied, “‘bout ten minutes ago. They need to be redesigned: fortified against attacks from land and air and fashioned to defend against assaults by tier five magic casters.”

Clara blinked. What did that even mean?

“Is it possible?” She asked.

“I have no idea,” the foreman answered. “I’ve never heard of such a thing, at least. The Elder Liches don’t seem to have anything to contribute either, so we’re all stumped.”

“I will look into it,” Clara said. “Does that mean we will need to postpone?”

“No, my lady,” he replied, “we can go on ahead with the broader work; the town too. It’s the structures in the harbour and bridge area going up after that that will be pending whatever we can figure out. There’ll be plenty to work on once the groundwork is done, so we can just reallocate our resources until then.”

Clara reviewed the development schedule in her mind: they could indeed just focus on building the town for the time being while she investigated the new standards. Lord Mare would arrive in a few days, after projections indicated the first wave of traffic from the Empire would reach its peak. The reshaping of the river to facilitate the new harbour district would serve as a demonstration of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s capabilities beyond the destructive potential that had become associated with them. A few days would be used to spread word for any interested in witnessing the applications of its magical might in civil engineering.

She had piggybacked on Liane’s efforts, finding this opportune time to show off the groundwork for the harbour. Most of the nobility was in constant competition now, looking for ways to both increase the duchy’s prestige and turn the events to the advantage of their own fiefs. Clara was no different in her thinking, but the vast majority of the work in her recently expanded demesne involved refurbishing the hundreds of hamlets and villages scattered throughout the fertile riverlands and reworking its poor infrastructure.

Even with the new sources of labour from the Sorcerous Kingdom, this work would take almost two years and would mostly take place out of sight of the highways, so she was relying on the ongoing construction of the harbour town to lend the sense that her own fief was burgeoning and that prosperity lay just around the corner. Barely seventeen, she could not begin to imagine what the reality would look like beyond the facts and figures in her projections yet, at the same time, the seeds of that bright future were already beginning to sprout up before her.

All she needed to do now was nurture these seedlings into the beautiful garden of her dreams.

“My Lady,” one of her footmen said to the side, “Your transportation will be arriving shortly.”

“Alright,” she looked to her workers in the pavilion, “I will be–”

The group appeared to once again be engrossed in the spectacle of the ornery Dwarf, so she simply smiled and turned back up the road.

The rows of tents to the north accommodated a small village’s worth of craftsmen and other skilled labourers: all brought in to begin laying down the foundations for the first sets of permanent buildings after Lord Mare had finished his work. A huge area had been cleared for outdoor storage and several temporary warehouses had been constructed, as well as a market area with all the services necessary to maintain the population. The tents would be dismantled as permanent residential buildings were completed, which would serve for the next few years as homes for their families while work continued on the town and its surroundings.

As the sounds of the carriage drew closer, she watched it make a wide circle around the market area before returning north to pull up in front of her. One of her footmen opened the door, while another assisted her ascent into the vehicle. She was met with the sight of Liane and Florine, who greeted her with relaxed postures.

“Heyo.”

“Good morning, Clara.”

“Good morning, Liane, Florine.”

Baroness Wagner was perhaps a bit too relaxed; she waved lazily from where she had slouched halfway down her seat, skirts riding up her legs. The footman who had assisted Clara into the carriage gawked open-mouthed at the sight before closing the door on his own head. Blushing furiously, he scrambled to remove himself and shut the door. The carriage driver leaned over to ensure that his new passenger had settled herself before coaxing the horses forward. Vineyards stretching to the horizon passed beyond the opened crystal panes of the window, which allowed a refreshing breeze into the cabin as they rode northwards towards E-Rantel.

Several minutes passed before Clara spoke.

“It could have been worse,” she said.

“Yep,” Liane agreed.

“I’m not sure what to make of this final decision…” Florine said hesitantly.

The decision that the youngest member of their entourage referred to was a notification delivered to the nobility of the duchy, concluding the matter of House Fassett. It was not a day and a half since their audience with the Royal Court, which rendered the decision with its usual shocking speed. Though their small group had the sense that they were successful in their task, the remainder of the House of Lords was still dreading the outcome.

Fassett County and its constituent titles had been dissolved, save for those within the barony which had been spared from the final verdict. As Humans had failed to manage the lands properly, the former territory was given over to the Monsters, Heteromorphs and Demihumans of the Sorcerous Kingdom who could make the gently-swelling hills and dense forests of Fassett County their home. In time, it would return to its primeval state – travellers passing through on the highway would never recognize it as land once inhabited by Humans.

In addition, a wide buffer zone along the border with Re-Estize had been established, and undesirable elements caught trying to sneak in across this buffer from Re-Estize would be killed or eaten – probably both – by the new inhabitants in the area. Count Völkchenheim’s remaining territory had been cut in half as a result but, in return, the independent baronies in the west had been consolidated under his title. Clara wasn’t sure if the sudden shift in power was a good thing or not – hopefully, the overly optimistic young Count would be able to administer his new territories and vassals well.

“Count Völkchenheim is nothing like the Fassetts,” Clara shared her thoughts, “and, by all accounts, he is a benevolent and fair ruler. The west should be stable now, I think?”

“Thank the gods for that,” Liane sighed. “We didn’t even spend a week away dealing with that mess and I couldn’t believe how much work piled up. I’m going to sleep for days after this…no, wait, that will just make more work pile up.”

“I haven’t had all that much to do at home, actually,” Florine said. “My demesne is always nice and slow and peaceful…maybe I should continue helping out with things outside my borders.”

“My paperwork lies beyond your borders,” Liane said. “Help me out a bit.”

“I was actually thinking of staying on with the efforts to organize and establish the migrants that moved out to the abandoned crown territories northeast of us,” she said. “Many were sent to occupy all those settlements ruined from the raiding along the Imperial border last year. I really need to find a way to distinguish myself – it feels like everyone is leaving me behind.”

“Aw, we won’t leave you behind,” Liane patted her friend on the back.

“You might not intend to, but you definitely are!” Florine said, “Clara was granted a huge county and I’m certain you are not far behind with everything you're doing.”

Clara understood the unspoken subtext behind their words: a realization that had crept up on them all as recent events had played out to their conclusion…or, rather than a conclusion, it was a beginning – a new constant presented before those that would act as administrators of the realm. Gone were the days when the lands would suffer abuses of power and displays of incompetence due to the lack of means to enforce the will of a faraway sovereign.

The power of the Sorcerous Kingdom was unmatched, and the will of His Majesty was absolute. Whether it be a village or a barony; a town or a county, considerations that normal governments might make out of necessity were of no concern in their new nation: undesirables were purged or removed. In their place awaited the armies of Undead administrators and various other servants that would facilitate a smooth bureaucracy.

Over them would be placed those talented and capable enough to orchestrate the operations of their respective territories, handling key decisions and managing overall development and direction. Clara was already proving that this was possible in her own county: she had fourteen baronies under her management, and all she needed was a trio of Elder Liches for each barony to organize the raw administrative data for her to analyze and draw up new policies and directives with.

She understood that she wasn’t exactly someone that one would compare regular nobles to, but she felt that even her astonishingly large territory was nowhere near the limit of her capabilities to manage under the new systems brought by the Sorcerous Kingdom. That was besides the point, however, and the message was clear: unlike their former nation of Re-Estize, there was no need for tens of thousands of nobles occupying the various levels of administration. The Sorcerous Kingdom only needed those both austere and capable enough to meet their standards, and only the exceptional few would truly thrive.

Of the nation’s remaining nobility, those old enough to understand this were spurred to even greater heights of activity. Desperately trying to prove themselves worthy of their station, yet daring to hope that their efforts would prove them qualified for new lands and titles where they could further prove their quality and grow their legacies. Carrot and stick, indeed.

“Ludmila is still Baroness,” Clara said. “She doesn’t seem to mind.”

Well, she actually did mind some of the recent developments, though in a way Clara found rather amusing. Frontier Nobles already possessed a reputation as stern, militant aristocrats, and her role in the fate of House Fassett had the rest of the nobility outside of their little circle jumping at shadows even when she was mentioned in passing. It was to the degree where Clara thought that, if Ludmila did ever pop up to look into something, the noble in question would just fall dead on the spot due to their own worries spiraling out of control.

“You can’t be serious,” Florine said, “you might be used to her as a childhood friend, but to us she moves like lightning! She’s so far ahead that I can’t even guess where she actually is – everything will just catch up one day and we’ll all just stand around with our mouths open.”

“That’s true,” Liane nodded. “Her fief might look all cute and lonely out on the border right now, but it is a border territory. Ludmila will come to realize this sooner or later and, you know, expand the border. That’s a part of her job, after all. She’ll end up with more land than the three of us combined.”

The Frontier Nobles of Re-Estize had been on the defensive for so long that the thought had completely slipped Clara’s mind. When territories managed by the militant nobility along the wilderness had the resources to spare, they would invariably attempt to expand the holdings of the nation. With the economic boon provided by Undead labour and the forces of the Sorcerous Kingdom made available to be leased at reasonable rates, this was a clear inevitability. There was very little reason for the central administration to bar her from doing so, and Ludmila would eventually outrank them all.

Though not necessarily a bad thing in itself, Clara could not help but worry about how it might change her dearest friend.

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The carriage slowed as they joined the queue awaiting entry into E-Rantel.

“When was the last time we’ve had to wait to enter the city?”

“Not since autumn?” Liane replied to Florine’s question with a smug grin.

She popped a wedge of roasted potato into her mouth as the carriage rolled to a stop, and Clara shook her head.

Liane had been so confident of the outcome of her scheme that she even had lunch prepared to enjoy at their leisure through the delay. The first day of the grand opening had been booked with several appointments which they decided to attend together to create a stronger platform for themselves.

“You engineered all of this," Clara said, "the moment they get into the city, they’ll know they've been played.”

“Everyone I contacted knows exactly what the play is without saying so,” Liane replied. “They see it for what it is and will take advantage of the traffic we’ve created for them. Only a fool would be angry over being provided with a lucrative opportunity for free.”

Clara could not fault her rationale but, as a merchant, Liane was by far the most ambitious and calculating between them. She was even bold enough to enlist the Royal Court to bend three whole nations to her will.

“It won’t be as effective if you try this again any time soon,” Clara said.

“Once is enough,” Liane said. “We have all the attention we need now.”

A trio of shadows crossed overhead. Through the window filtered the reaction of nervous horses; their drivers attempting to maintain control. Their own carriage remained undisturbed. After the unsettled commotion from the foreign visitors quieted outside, the carriage rolled forward another length.

"Who are we meeting with today anyways?" Clara asked.

“Hmm…there were a handful of representatives from prominent merchant companies based beyond the City State Alliance,” Liane said.

Clara rolled her eyes.

“You’re really not holding back, are you?” She muttered.

“I see no reason to,” Liane replied lightly. “This is a new era for all of us: let the others stay distracted with local offerings while we extend our influence outside of the immediate region.”

“I used to think that Ludmila would be seen as the scariest one out of all of us,” Clara said, “but now I’m not so sure…”

“You actually believe that?” Liane scoffed, “I got nothing on–”

Voices rose ahead of their carriage, and Liane opened the driver window.

“What goin’ on?” She asked.

“It’s the caravan right ahead of us, my lady,” the driver answered. “Looks like they couldn’t handle the customs inspection.”

Clara peeked ahead out of the window beside her. The wagon in front of them bore the sigil of a company from the Empire – one of the regional merchant lines that regularly operated between Arwintar and Hoburns. Clara opened her door and stepped out onto the freshly repaved road. One of the footmen attending to the carriage fell in line behind her as she made her way up the procession of vehicles. After passing three wagons, she found two of the city militia, an Elder Lich and a Death Knight standing near a wagon in the middle of the caravan.

The teamster driving the wagon and two labourers were filling the air with their panicked shouts. One of the city militia was trying to shout over their shouting as the Elder Lich looked on. The Death Knight had raised its guard and its massive flamberge loomed over them.

“What is going on here?” Her voice cut through the clamour.

She did not raise her voice – instead projecting it through her ability. The men immediately stopped and turned their gazes in her direction.

Ludmila would come and conduct experiments on occasion, particularly when she discovered something new, and they could spend hours pursuing some strange new ability or findings on previously discovered ones. Some Clara appeared to share in common with her friend, others she had absolutely no success with. The tentatively labeled Voice of Authority was one of the former.

It saved her quite a lot of shouting; in this case it had immediately suspended their shouting as well. The two city militia bowed as soon as they realized who had addressed them.

“Countess Corelyn,” one of them said. “Our apologies for the delay. We were just performing a standard inspection, but the men crewing this wagon reacted…poorly.”

She looked to the wagon crew: they were grown men all, with the look of well weathered and experienced caravan labourers.

“Is this the first time this has happened today?” She asked, looking back to the customs officer.

“Yes, my lady,” the customs officer answered. “Traffic just started arriving about an hour ago; this is the first lot that broke. Was something we were expecting to happen eventually, but this reaction is far beyond how the locals were when things started returning to normal. They were about to go for their weapons right before you arrived.”

Clara felt her lips turn down slightly. What would they even hope to gain by fighting a customs inspection? According to Ludmila, even a single Death Knight would take a large party of unspecialized Adamantite Adventurers an extended battle to overcome – assuming they were even prepared to deal with one. Beyond that, it was unheard of for a merchant to attack the officials of the very city they were trying to conduct trade in.

“The caravan master has submitted to this customs inspection,” she looked to the officer, who nodded. “Why are you defying your employer’s decision? I hope you’re not trying to smuggle anything…that would end quite poorly for you.”

The suggestion that they might be doing something illegitimate got through to the driver, who straightened to speak.

“I-it’s all like it says on the manifest, my lady,” his trembling voice had a hint of indignation, “it’s all legal. Unless something’s changed…”

“None of our commercial regulations have changed,” Clara replied calmly, “and I do not think your employer is paying you to create delays.”

The driver reluctantly nodded and the inspection team came forward. After a few steps, one of the crew members started shouting again.

“Back, you unholy monster!” The man held out a chain from which the symbol of the Four Great Gods swung back and forth.

The inspection team stopped again, and the Death Knight brandished its flamberge menacingly. Clara eyed the holy symbol: like Ludmila, she was a follower of the Six Great Gods, so the icon held no special significance to her beyond the vague notion that it was a product of heresy. Regardless, the secular governments of the northern Human nations – and by extension the Sorcerous Kingdom, which had adopted the laws of Re-Estize – meant that faith had no direct influence on policy and law.

“Is this man a priest?” She asked.

The driver shook his head, and Clara turned to the Elder Lich and the Death Knight.

“Are you two alright? Is that symbol even doing anything?”

“The effects are negligible,” it replied.

It actually did? They were lucky that the Death Knight didn’t just swat them out of existence. There were special orders issued for the occasion, with the understanding that something like this might happen. These orders, however, only covered a certain extent of behaviour. She looked up at the Death Knight, then back at the panicking man.

“Just what in the world are you hoping to accomplish?” She asked.

“I won’t let them take me,” he said in a tremulous voice, “I’ve devoted my soul to the gods! No Undead monster is gonna to eat me!”

“That is preposterous,” Clara said, lightly brushing her fingers over the Death Knight’s elbow. “They are not going to eat you.”

The Death Knight lowered its flamberge.

“The Undead stationed here are civil servants acting according to His Majesty's bidding, and you are wasting everyone’s time.” Clara turned to the inspection team, “You men guide this fellow away from the wagon. Once he is away, continue with your work. The next time this happens, do not hesitate to move impediments safely out of the way. This traffic will only increase, and extended delays will reflect poorly on the order of His Majesty’s city.”

She watched as the man was walked away from the wagon by the two city militia. The Death Knight came forward to draw the tarp back off of the wagon while the Elder Lich rose to compare its contents with the manifest in its hand. After a handful of minutes, it descended from the wagon and cast a spell.

“「All Appraisal Magic Item」.”

Its eyes scanned the wagon one last time before moving on to the next vehicle.

Clara could feel the gazes of the caravan labourers upon her as she made her way back to the carriage. Florine was looking up at her with sparkly eyes while Liane wore her impish smirk.

“Ah, the graceful Countess Corelyn,” she proclaimed in bawdy tones. “The mere sound of her beautiful voice stills the tongues of quarreling men; with but a gentle touch of her fair fingers, she soothes legendary Undead capable of ruining nations."

Clara poked her index finger towards Liane’s ribs, but the girl deftly danced away with a laugh, disappearing into the carriage.

“We taught you both how to use that ability already,” Clara said as she reseated herself, “and I’m sure the Death Knight was just playing along: they aren’t mindless, you know.”

“Hmph,” Liane crossed her arms, “you say that I’m the one that does bold things, but here you are making a legend for yourself. By the end of summer you’re going to have an endless procession of suitors courting you.”

Clara did not really look forward to that. Well, maybe she would have, but there were so many things that she wanted to do now that there was nowhere near enough time to find a proper consort, never mind starting a family. Perhaps, when things settled down, she might be able to settle down as well. If they ever settled down.

“I will post an Elder Lich that they can spew their flowery poems at,” she said. “If you are waiting for me to begin things on that front, think again. In fact, since you’re nowhere near as busy as I am right now, perhaps it is something you should pursue while you can.”

“Geh!” Liane recoiled as her playful teasing was turned against her.

“Maybe we can try the Empire?” Florine mused, “There’s a distinct lack of eligible candidates here and, after seeing what was going on out west, I don’t even want to think about looking in Re-Estize. Liane has plenty of connections in Arwintar and some of the other cities…”

“Or maybe we could just issue portraits of Florine in something outrageous instead,” Liane traced an absurd cut in the air. “They’ll come swarming here with just a glance. That way we won't have to waste our time wandering around.”

Florine rose and started hitting Liane in the arm.

“Help, my Lady Corelyn!” Liane laughed, “The Demon of Fertile Hills is upon me again~”

Clara smiled at the pair. Liane was very sensitive to their group’s collective mood: whenever she thought they needed some energy, she seemed to always be ready to pick up their spirits. To everyone else, she was a shrewd and ruthless magnate’s daughter, but to her friends, she was a playful and reliable companion.

The carriage rolled forward again, and Florine settled back into her seat. They slowed as they approached the gatehouse, then picked up speed again as they were waved through by the men at the checkpoint. Traveling through the military district, they passed row upon row of Undead labourers stretching out into the distance. In order to minimize the traffic issues resulting from thousands of Undead transitioning between order and assignment, they were mustered in the inactive district during the night, had their equipment delivered to them during the day, then sent out to the territories after traffic slowed again in the evening.

It took several minutes to traverse through the district to the next gatehouse, which led into the common area of the city. Within, the full scale of the preparations that had been made could be seen all around. Festive flags of every colour fluttered on lines drawn over streets which had been scoured until the cobblestones gleamed in the sunlight. The buildings had been re-paneled and repainted, fresh shutters thrown open and lined with planters filled with vibrant flowers. The air was filled with the sounds of civilization that only a city could have, and the atmosphere was abuzz with excitement from both residents and visitors alike.

The citizens strode through the streets purposefully with unworried expressions and occasionally small groups of children, released from their regular tasks in assisting their parents, played raucous games that only they seemed to understand the rules of. They did not care at all that they fought imaginary battles around the legs of the Death Knights posted at every corner, or that they would occasionally almost overrun an Elder Lich that was on some administrative errand from one part of the city to another.

Visitors could only stare in disbelief at the juxtaposition of life and death that played out before their very eyes. Overhead, flights of Dragons glided across the clear azure skies while Liches streaked over the rooftops. As the crisp northern winds banished the heat rising from the pavement, the women looked out from their carriage with a nascent sense of pride stirring in their hearts. In their own small way, they had contributed to this scene: merely a glimpse of the brilliant future which lay ahead of them all.

The Sorcerous Kingdom would rise – to the awe and wonder of the world.

Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 28

Chapter 28

I can’t move. If I move, hmm…Narberal has been neutralized as well.

The fatalistic line of thought wove its way through the mind of Pandora’s Actor as he looked down at the table where a variety of goods were arrayed before him.

On this busy first day of the grand opening, he was working full-time in his role as Momon: making his presence known to the citizenry, visiting with merchants and dignitaries alike. Initially, that had not been the plan: his Father had taken him aside a few days ago, instructing him to pose as the Sorcerer King. Momonga-sama would go out as Momon, where he could experience for himself the progress which had been made in E-Rantel.

Yes...that was the plan, and Pandora’s Actor had very much wanted his Master to see all the accomplishments that he and his fellows had worked hard to achieve. But, that dawn, he made his way over to the former Mayor’s residence and found Albedo waiting – no, blocking the door. With an angelic smile on her face, the Guardian Overseer had informed him that Ainz-sama had changed his mind and he would personally be holding audience all week as the Sorcerer King: with his Prime Minister at his side, of course. She then pointed to the gate leading to the rest of the city with Ginnungagap and suggested that Pandora’s Actor be on his way in tones that were far too friendly.

And, so, he wandered about the city, ensuring everything was in perfect order and the atmosphere was suitable for the festive event…which eventually resulted in his current quandary.

With the opening of the border came the flow of goods carried by the regional trade. With a word here and there and the skillful assistance of an ambitious young noblewoman who had volunteered to help coordinate things, several major purveyors of magical goods had been secured. Not only that; a delegation from the Imperial Ministry of Magic would be displaying their work – as well as several promising developments from the Imperial Magic Academy – in the main plaza.

I-it’s not just for me; the Adventurer Guild needs magic items, and the Sorcerous Kingdom should employ more magical utilities…yes…it’s not like I’m doing it to sate my own personal interests…

While he did not expect anything of even mid-level potency from their offerings, he was interested in the applications that they had come up with. Though generally low tier, the people here were remarkably innovative when it came to the development of magical items, and it was not uncommon to see things that were entirely unheard of in Yggdrasil. With their new magic came new magic items, and it was gratifying to expand his knowledge and expertise in this field. Not only that but, as the Guardian responsible for the Treasury, he considered it his duty to do so.

He had earmarked the time that he estimated it would take for them to set up and open their displays to the public, then positioned himself over at a stand nearby: pretending to browse the mundane items on display. One stand away from the Ministry of Magic’s exhibition, he had committed a grave error.

Did I drop my guard? No – I expected this…or did I? This amount…is strange. Definitely strange.

He had long become used to the attention of the women of the city; he had learned to converse with them cordially and set them down gently in conversation without bruising their emotions and shattering expectations. He could brush off the tails he occasionally picked up and developed ways to display his prowess in his efforts to both deflect their feelings and further stoke the citizens’ rising regard for the Dark Warrior. The citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom were also long accustomed to his presence, and most knew where the boundaries of admiration and respect were drawn.

They’re not from here, that’s why. It must be the case…

Usually, if he continued moving, the women of the city would not follow him all over the place. As he had wandered around the plaza today, however, the pack of women kept growing until he felt the sheer gravity of their emotions emanating from behind him. They would try to get his attention; asking him questions, trying to touch his cloak and armour or come into his line of sight. Recalling their assortment of garments and varied appearances, he was certain that they were a part of the influx of foreign merchants filling the city.

He skimmed the thoughts of the growing following of women, though he supposed he did not need to do so to discern what they desired. There must also have been a fluffy pink haze that trailed after him wherever he went. These women of travelling merchant stock were far more brazen than the local women in both physical expression and thought: merely seeking the thrill of a casual encounter before they packed up and moved on. With an ear to the pulse of trade, rumors and the tales which circulated with their travels, they projected their wildest fantasies onto the Legendary Momon. Having no experience with such…open…individuals, he had stopped to stand where he currently was to brood over how to extricate himself from the ever growing numbers which pressed at him from every side.

He had fallen into the trap of assuming his customary brooding stance: placing his gauntleted right hand in a contemplative position below his chin while he cradled his elbow in the other. He was quite fond of it – believing the dark image it presented was filled with cool mystique…and it appeared the women surrounding him thought so as well.

As one, they became silent, with faces flushed and lips parted while their glistening eyes gazed up at his figure in pained longing. He had inadvertently brought their emotional tension to a plateau, which could only be described as a razor thin wire stretched to its limit. If he did anything, that thread would almost certainly snap and chaos would erupt. Even the girl manning the stand gazed up at him in the same way: she blissfully shrugged off the fact that he was obstructing her business. He thought that if he asked for one of her wares he would have received a dozen for free.

What in the world is she selling, anyways? Food? A tool? It’s so ridiculous that I can’t appraise it. Why does this strange object cost so much?

He wanted to sigh, but he couldn’t. He wanted to walk away, but he was trapped. He would probably be able to escape by suddenly leaping up onto the rooftops but, seeing that his objective was right beside him, it would look awfully strange if he were to simply hop back down again.

Oiiii...Nabe? Narberal? Narberal-sama? This Hero is in distress…

Nabe, his first and last line of defence, remained unaware of the thoughts he was casting in her direction as he eyed her out of the corner of his visor. Well, she did only have a single level in Doppelganger, after all. Her cold manner and sharp words were effective at chasing off even the most amorous individuals, but this convenient ability had been sealed away by a gaggle of curious casters from the Ministry of Magic exhibition that had surrounded her.

“Adamantite caster! What tier of magic do you possess?”

“What are your most effective combinations of spells in crowded quarters?”

“I have scrolls and wands on me: would you like to exchange them with some of yours?”

“What are your thoughts on Slime-centric research for urban utility applications?”

“How about Van Gushmond’s thesis: Fundamental Principles of Magocratic Governance?”

“Oh, Beautiful Princess, sign my grimoire!”

Narberal had been explicitly instructed to be at her absolute best behaviour by Ainz-sama for the duration of the event, so she stood stuck in the crowd of magic casters near the exhibition. Tersely answering what questions she thought would be allowed, her face looked like she was being forced to chew on rivets forged out of Adamask alloy. Minutes passed as they both weathered their respective sieges.

The exhibition would open soon, yet he couldn’t move to inspect all of their magic items: what sort of cruel and unusual torture was this?

“The Ministry of Magic is proud to present the World of Magic exhibition!” A woman’s voice floated over the din of the crowd with the assistance of a magical loudspeaker, “Come one, come all – a plethora of rare and advanced magical items to feast your senses upon!”

He knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t want to – no, he wanted to but he couldn’t. He had to.

Pandora’s Actor turned his head towards the voice.

Oh schei–

The thread of tension snapped, and the trap was sprung: the ninety-three women who had surrounded him exploded into a screaming mass, like a swarm of Banshees unleashed upon the crowded plaza. With all their excitement directed at him, the sound entered through the gaps in his armour, reverberating endlessly throughout the metal suit.

S-s-sonic damage? Why does it feel so effective, they’re so low level!

“Kyaaa! Momon!”

“Momon!!!”

He twisted and turned, trying to make his way out of the crowd from under the crashing waves of amorous intent. He felt the entire main plaza staring in his direction.

Ah, I’m supposed to revel in attention – why does it pain me so?

“Touch me, Momon!”

I can only be one or the other!

“I want your babies, Momon!”

The women seemed to feed off of the competition for his attention, fighting to press themselves against him.

Hello? I’m in armour, you know? You’re not going to be able to feel anything. Woah!

He couldn’t feel their bodies, but he could definitely feel their thoughts, which continued to rise on the crescendo of emotion. He continued working his way through the crowd.

Slowly, slowly. Yes, miss, that’s flattering but…

No, no, I don’t want to know how many lovers you have in each city, nutte!

No! Why? What is the point in me doing that!

!!!

That last imparted thought made him freeze. A chill ran over his body.

Psychic damage? Who…who was that! What are you making me wear in your head! Actually…I’ve never seen some of those items befo–nein! Which one of you degenerate–

His gaze fell on the source of the horrifyingly obscene thoughts: with bright, emerald eyes and hair the colour of bright flames, she couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Sensing his intense gaze focused upon her, she returned a smouldering one of her own as she lasciviously traced her tongue over her lips.

Nope! Nopenopenopenopenope.

Finally breaking past the edge of the crowd, he leapt away onto the nearby rooftops and hopped back down into the alley behind, darting into the rear entrance of the Adventurer Guild. He made his way through the back hall, emerging near the reception desk – startling Ishpen and Wina – and scurried up the stairs to the second floor. Walking over to one of the windows overlooking the main plaza, he peeked through the shutters. After a moment, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him and quickly turned around to see who had tailed him.

“Is there something wrong, Momon?” Pluton Ainzach asked him – apparently he had come to see who had run through the back areas of the Guild Hall.

“Nothing, nothing at all…”

His voice trailed off, and Ainzach looked up at him curiously.

“Do you think me a prude, Ainzach?”

“Pardon me?”

“No, never mind. I was just thinking about how advanced young people seem to be these days.”

“That may be so, Momon,” Ainzach replied in a neutral tone.

Pluton, auch du?

“Well if you need anything,” the guildmaster said as the silence stretched on between them, “I’ll be working in my office – we have some stocking up to do.”

Pandora’s Actor sighed and continued to stand at the window. Fifteen minutes later, the crowd of women had dispersed and it seemed clear enough to peruse the offerings of the Imperial Ministry of Magic.

『Hello…? Pandora’s Actor?』

He received a Message just as he began to descend the stairs.

『Shalltear, is it? Hm…』

『Yes, I tried using a Message scroll: I see that I got it right arinsune.』

『Is there something I can help you with?』

『I would like to consult you on the use of a few magic items arinsuka…your insight would be greatly appreciated.』

『But the exhibition…』

『Hm?』

『No, it’s nothing. I should be able to set aside an hour or so to help you.』

『Oh, thank you – I will open a Gate at your location.』

Stepping through the portal which opened on the second floor, he entered a dark and cramped room. Below a dim oil lamp which seemed to barely shed any light at all, Shalltear Bloodfallen reclined on a simple wooden chair across a rough dining table from Ludmila Zahradnik. A Human maid stood ready to attend them nearby.

“Welcome back to Warden’s Vale, Momon,” Baroness Zahradnik stood to greet him. “I’ve never had the opportunity to express my gratitude for everything that you’ve done for me.”

“Umu.”

Before everything else, the first thing he felt – or rather he did not feel – was the cacophony of thoughts that had inundated him in E-Rantel. Gently assuaging his frayed sensibilities in the blessed psionic silence, he observed each person in turn: Shalltear was Undead, so his ability to detect thoughts did not work on her. He could read the maid, but her thoughts were as calm and quiet as a pristine pool of still water. The Baroness…was blocking him.

No, that shouldn’t be possible.

He ran his gaze over her slender figure until he noticed the dull grey Ring of Mental Fortitude on her left hand. Shalltear had requested one from the Treasury and, after seeing it on her vassal’s middle finger, all of the pieces which composed the current situation fell into place. Developments on Shalltear’s end had advanced at a rapid pace, and his gamble continued to pay out the various other dividends which he had dared to hope for.

Taking a seat at the table with a flourish to distract her from the dull glow of the ring, he continued to observe the Baroness’ outward appearance. It seemed that she had matured both physically and mentally; it was nearly impossible to see the naive noble scion he had shrewdly tested several weeks ago.

Pandora’s Actor let out a satisfied sigh with his peace of mind restored.

“Is something the matter?” Shalltear asked.

“Ah, no,” he replied, continuing to register the changes in the young noblewoman. “If anything, being here in your home sets my mind at ease.”

“Wow~” Shalltear said.

The maid’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hands. The Baroness’ lips trembled slightly as a maidenly blush coloured her cheeks.

Huh?

“I-I am...quite flattered,” she replied in a slightly flustered voice, “but I do not wish to come between you and Nabe.”

“Eh?” He stared blankly at her through his visor.

“You are a…couple, yes? You two seem so close, so this must be the case. It is said that you came here from some far away place, pursuing some great cause around the world together…I feel it quite romantic.”

No...no...give me back my peace of mind!

“Though there is one thing I am curious about,” she shifted in her seat to look at him. “Do you plan on settling down somewhere once you start a family together?”

Pandora’s Actor raised a gauntleted hand to his helmet.

Birthright: Afterword

Afterword

Hmm…well, after five acts and probably too much time editing, the first volume of Valkyrie’s Shadow has come to an end. Thank you for reading this far thus far, and I hope you’ve enjoyed things so far!

Many more thanks also go to those who have provided feedback and commentary on the writing – it’s been interesting to see how various elements of the plot, characters and interpretation of the canon material have been received.

As many have probably noticed long before reaching this point, Birthright is something like the reverse of the Overlord Light Novels: the majority of the cast consists of New World natives, living in an environment that they consider mundane in what mundane ways they know. Even scenes of the powerful members of Nazarick that make their various appearances tend to not focus on de facto power, but rather how each ends up interacting with the weak and alien elements of the Sorcerous Kingdom that they have been charged to oversee by Momonga. Kingdom building is not just about the construction of farms and blacksmiths, but also exploring aspects of law and culture, establishing national spirit, as well as addressing the various domestic/international events and problems that crop up along the way.

It starts with a whimper, and ends with a bang…at least relative to how it started. A slow ramp-up from the rather plain lives of the characters to hints of the more power fantasy-ish developments to come. The influence of Nazarick will change the Sorcerous Kingdom, and the Sorcerous Kingdom will extend its influence over the world…but not all at once and not even all parts of it at the same time. Valkyrie’s Shadow is the story of that journey, written within the plausible bounds of the canon material.

Volume Stuff

On References and Allusion

I packed the story full of these, as well as subtext in various dialogues and scenes, but I rarely see commentary on it. Maybe those that notice just don’t discuss it, as it is something to be personally discovered and enjoyed. I suppose I can point out a few, however, just to show that it’s there in many forms…

Example 1:

It was a bewitching appearance that anyone would fall to; any feelings of jealousy or envy swept aside by adulation and longing. Wealth and power beyond all reason would be squandered to obtain even a moment of her favour. She was possessed of a legendary beauty that could topple nations and spark wars that set the world aflame, and the world would gladly become ashes for her sake.

This is the first highlight of Shalltear Bloodfallen in the story, seen through the eyes of Ludmila Zahradnik. It is written as a three-layered irony, though it’s probably hard to catch for those not familiar with what it refers to.

When read at face value, it is a description of Shalltear’s world-class beauty. In Ludmila’s eyes, it becomes ironic as she can also see the True Vampire form of Shalltear. However the description itself is a flowery paraphrasing of ruinous beauty – the Four Great Beauties of China. In Overlord, this piece of Earth’s folklore appears in the form of Downfall of Castle and Country. Shalltear is being described in the same terms as the WCI that brought about her fall in Volume Three of the Light Novels.

It’s meant to reinforce the idea that she’s still in a state where she’s languishing in the fragments of her broken pride and uncertainty over her own worth, thus unlikely to be acting completely like the Shalltear that everyone is used to.

The final irony in the description is that, rather than a ruinous beauty and what many of her fellow NPCs believe her to be, she and her subordinates become a force for change in the right direction when it comes to the Sorcerous Kingdom.

Example 2:

“…Even we who stand closest to His Majesty are not above the Will of the Supreme One. If it was known that the Guardian Overseer herself sought to undermine Lord Ainz’s Will, the rest of us would set upon her without hesitation and render her into nothingness: only the disgraceful memory of her treason would remain…”

“As above,” her declaration resounded through the air, “so below.”

Shalltear’s conclusion to the lesson that she conveys to the noble quartet. Taken at face value, it is as it says: even the Guardians follow the same rules, and if the highest figures in the Sorcerous Kingdom are subject to them, so is everyone else.

There are two other meanings, however: an allusion layered upon another allusion.

“As above, so below” is a line in a piece of Hermetic text called the Emerald Tablet. You may also know it as Tabula Smaragdina. It is a declaration of intent, invoking the name of the Supreme Being that created Albedo: that if Albedo acts out of line, the Guardians will carry out the will of the Supreme Beings themselves and smite her.

“As above, so below” in Tabula Smaragdina is an allusion to a part of the Lord’s Prayer: “Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.” Shalltear’s statement has become a prayer – that the glory of Nazarick will descend upon the New World. This statement has dual connotations within the context of the scene: that this glory will come in the form of the Sorcerous Kingdom, or in the form of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s retribution.

So...yeah, stuff like that. There are minor jokes and such that do the same thing, like Jezne saying that Yuri Alpha is the only one that has their head on straight in Act 1(not knowing that she is a Dullahan) or Mare’s point system suggestion(which is from his experience in the Drama CDs), so not everything is super deep. There are plenty of small references woven in everywhere. They will continue to appear throughout future acts.

The Nobility

Though many types of nobles exist in the LN canon, Maruyama tends to focus on two loose groups in Overlord.

The first are what I affectionately term lolnobles, who are the very basic caricatures that appear in stories everywhere: sleazy authority figures who solely exist to be slapped down by the protagonist to the applause of the reader. They usually don’t make any sort of sense when examined closely. House Fassett is the first iteration of these types of nobles in Valkyrie’s Shadow, written in what I feel is how people like that can actually rise to power and stay there. They are not arbitrarily stupid/belligerent/mean-spirited, but they are essentially big fish in a small pond, entrenched in the ways that they have become accustomed to. A short-sighted and narrow-minded group of people, who employ their rights and powers in a way that cannot be legally challenged by outsiders.

The other group of nobles somewhat explored in Overlord are those leaders that are anywhere between average and extraordinary, surrounding themselves with capable people. There are actually a lot of them: Emperor Jircniv, Calca, Raeven, Pe Riyuro, Osalid’arc and Zanac, to name the more recognizable ones. They get Nazarick’d in various ways, without exception. Birthright mainly features this end of things but, as the nobles portrayed are on team Nazarick, they get a chance to shine rather than get flattened/mind-melted all the time.

One major thing I tried getting across in Birthright is that nobles are creatures of authority, rather than arbitrary characters that exist in a vacuum for plot convenience. That authority is defined by the law of the nation that they reside in and, as such, nobles are creatures of law. This will range from them being exemplars of good rulership and administration, to selfish and cruel people who turn the law to their personal advantage and to the sorrow of others. For the most part, they are what they are: the middle management of a feudal bureaucracy. As Ainz tends to roll 20s where it really matters, the Sorcerous Kingdom in Valkyrie’s Shadow also gives rise to a set of exceptional nobles, as well as some other interesting characters…

The Guardians’ Tests

There are several tests laid out by Nazarick’s Guardians: Pandora’s Actor essentially interviews Ludmila before deciding whether she’s useful or not in Act 1, Shalltear first gets a feel for Ludmila’s character in Act 2 before sending her off at the end of Act 4 – with what would be considered a ridiculous level of power for a New World native – to see how she behaves. Demiurge tests Clara during the audience at the end of Act 5. Albedo also has her own tests, but she uses them in a rather malignant way: trying to find examples to present to Ainz so he will approve of the things that she promotes, raising her own value while suppressing that of her rivals.

As most readers probably know, the NPCs are fundamentally different from regular people. They are created to serve, and see things in an arbitrary way that would be hard for New World natives to understand. This being the case, when it comes to outsiders, the denizens of Nazarick would not only have to figure out who is a useful tool and who is not, but also figure out who can be entrusted with real responsibility.

In Re-Estize, the nobles are generally the ones who believe they are in these positions, and in the Sorcerous Kingdom you see them pass or fail to various degrees. You have old Count Fassett, who reaches too far and gets chucked, then you have his children who inherit his ways and think that everything can carry on just as it had previously. You have a member of the old guard in the form of Countess Jezne who, while set in her ways, quickly realizes how different the Sorcerous Kingdom is. While the nobles who can simply get by will get by, especially with Elder Liches to help, very few will earn any sort of general trust by the NPCs.

Nazarick Cast Notes

Pandora’s Actor

The Almighty Janitor of Valkyrie’s Shadow, the figure that moves in the shadows of the stage, ensuring that everything moves according to the Great Master’s Plan. He is usually portrayed as a silly sort of character in canon but, at the same time, he always appears to take his job seriously and does exceptionally well in doing so. As the story is the story of what goes on behind the scenes, so, too, does Pandora’s Actor show that serious and competent form of his more often than not. It’s my hope that I have accomplished this in my delivery of his persona.

Albedo

The maliciously evil, yet supremely austere, Guardian Overseer. As malevolent as she is, she plays by the rules – and expects everyone else to play by them as well. The effects of her management can be seen throughout the story, as well as her interpretations of how things should be. Ironically, there are many people that respect and admire her work in the Sorcerous Kingdom, while those working for her outside of it only perceive her in shades of dread.

Aura and Mare

The Dark Elf twins pop up a surprising amount in the story, though I guess it should be expected as they’re almost always around doing their work in the Sorcerous Kingdom. There’s also the fact that they are a part of Shalltear’s ‘family’, so they share many interactions and common acquaintances. They will continue showing up as the story progresses, as they have a lot of behind-the-scenes work that brings them into contact with new world natives.

Momonga

After much dodging of his responsibilities, Ainz Ooal Gown finally shows up near the end of the volume, fresh and sparkly from the Dwarf Kingdom. When writing Ainz, I feel that he’s either being used in some way for the readers’ humour, showing off some power fantasy hijinks, or rolling chains of 20s at a crucial juncture. Or Expositing. In his first original scene, I started with some humor, catching up with all of the things he left behind and forgot about and being subjected to stuff he’s uncomfortable with. But, as Valkyrie’s Shadow is a kingdom builder, the return of the king must naturally be a chain of 20s. Will he remember anything by the end of next month? Knowing him, probably not, but everyone else certainly will. I’m sure something shiny will draw his attention away again. Speaking of which, have you heard of Runecraft™️?

Shalltear Bloodfallen

Though new world characters usually take centre stage in Valkyrie’s Shadow, Shalltear Bloodfallen is the central figure of the story – the Guardian that somehow manages to pull everything together and sets off on the path to achieve what Ainz Ooal Gown envisions for the Sorcerous Kingdom. At her core she is always quite the monster, but, beyond that, she is honest, earnest and hard working. Rather than try to puzzle out everything through raw intellect, she relies on her extraordinary intuition to feel things out.

The understanding that she isn’t some infallible existence leads her down paths that many of the other NPCs would not dream of taking. When Pandora’s Actor sets her up with Ludmila Zahradnik, whose role as a Frontier Noble puts her in a position similar to that of an Area Guardian, she gains a conduit through which she starts learning more about the new world side of the Sorcerous Kingdom. Not only that, she gains what she eventually considers a new and trustworthy vassal.

With the events of Volume 11 behind her, she’s regained much of her confidence, but is still tempered by her past experiences. Unfortunately for those in the New World, it means she’s also patched up a lot of the cracks that allowed Ludmila to slip in close to her, so any new acquisitions had better step lightly…

The Noble Quartet

The noble quartet is the group of nobles followed through the story of Birthright, and they will continue to make appearances in the future. Formed out of the ashes of what one might call a disaster for the Kingdom of Re-Estize, they are talented young women who have inherited their titles after the men in their families met their end at the Battle of Katze Plains. Without this catastrophic event, they would have gone to become wives of other nobles elsewhere, or lived out their lives quietly out of notice. With the advent of the Sorcerous Kingdom, however, they have come into the unprecedented opportunity to make their mark on the world.

Though initially formed out of old ideas of political convenience and generational ties, the noble quartet is less a political faction and more a group of close friends that rely on one another for support; a surrogate family of noblewomen who have lost their own. To the outside observer, they are viewed as a force to be reckoned with – especially with the stupendously wealthy and charismatic Clara Corelyn at their centre and the grim spectre of Ludmila Zahradnik at her side.

Beyond their own respective duties, however, they have no overarching agendas that they try to push in the House of Lords. They instead become an anchoring force in the legislature of a nation that still doesn’t understand what it is they are a part of. The noble quartet are the first who have made the transition from being nobles of Re-Estize: coming to understand and accept what it means to be a noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom. Their agenda is the agenda of the Sorcerous Kingdom – the Supreme Will of their undying sovereign: Ainz Ooal Gown, the Sorcerer King.

The first MC introduced in Valkyrie’s Shadow, Ludmila starts out as a rather common noble – at least when you look at what nobles are historically: militant administrators, responsible for managing and personally defending their little slice of land. This type of noble, possessing the Noble Fighter class in Overlord canon, is usually far away from centre stage and thus the central events of the LNs. Where they do appear, however, they are extraordinarily strong by New World standards. Two of the Four Great Imperial Knights are Noble Fighters, recognized for their ability even with their scuffed class builds.

Ludmila, however, is just a young woman recently come into adulthood and unexpectedly inheriting after the battle of Katze Plains. She is possessed of a militant lineage and an extraordinarily steadfast character, though pretty much nothing else. Her Talent draws the eye of Pandora’s Actor, and, well, the rest is history.

When she is introduced, she is a straightforward and rather colourless woman that thinks along rigid lines and preconceived notions of how the world treats duty and obligation. Her character gains flavour over time, however, as more and more people come into her story and challenges are placed before her. When she finally starts seeing the truth of the world when measured against her old perceptions, she doesn’t turn away in disgust or try to change the core of what she is. Instead, she holds on tightly to her values and faces the world head on.

In doing so, she achieves what would be considered an impossibility to nearly everyone both within Nazarick and in the New World at large: she earns the trust of Shalltear Bloodfallen, becoming her vassal in truth.

Ludmila’s childhood friend and almost-sister-in-law, their close relationship has many aspects of themselves rubbing off on each other. Most notably, Ludmila’s stalwart nature has rubbed off on Clara, while Clara’s phenomenal talent in administration and economics has rubbed off on Ludmila. They would not be who they are today without their past together.

When we first meet her, Clara is tearful and timid and seems very much damsel-like in character type. Once she finds her feet again and begins moving forward, however, we find out she is much more than that. By the end of Birthright, even Albedo believes that her raw ability is substantial enough to note to Ainz.

Possessed of superlative intellect, beauty and charm, the Radiant Jewel of the Riverlands leads with a graceful acumen admired and envied by her peers. Like Ludmila, she is a worshipper of the Six Great Gods. As the administrator of the prosperous Riverlands – where the Sorcerous Kingdom shares a border with the Slane Theocracy – she is the perfect choice.

Despite all of her strengths, however, she is still a shy girl at heart who needs to work up the courage to take the first few steps regardless of what it is she’s doing. But once Clara gets going, she just keeps going. Her convictions lead her to speak her mind, which often results in her verbally lashing those whom she perceives as demonstrably incompetent or wrongheaded.

The elder of the two city nobles in the quartet, Liane Wagner is ambitious, playful and caring of her few true friends. She’s quite merciless when it comes to her competitors, however, in the way that nobles and merchants often are. The vast majority of people are only exposed to her cheery or merchant side: she only allows herself to show vulnerability to her close friends.

She is her father’s daughter and, growing up in his footsteps, she has become a savvy merchant with a broad worldview. Being exposed to so much, however, makes her judgmental and she eagerly dishes out justice when infractions appear before her. With her father’s death at Katze, she has taken the reins of House Wagner with a solid foundation under her feet and the ambitions of her family in her heart.

Liane is the closest to a cosmopolitan aristocrat when it comes to the insular nobility of Re-Estize, and she knows much more of the world than any of her friends. Possessed of the mindset of both a magnate and a technocrat, she now boldly pursues avenues that will bring the civilized world from beyond their backwards little corner of the continent to the Sorcerous Kingdom’s doorstep.

The youngest of the noble quartet, Florine is Liane’s best friend, having a demesne sharing a border with her. A city noble, she bemoans the fact that she never seems to draw the right sort of attention. Due to her stunning beauty and generous figure, people tend to see her as a young woman to be desired or envied, the object of longing and amorous fantasies.

Beneath the surface of her quiet and reserved personality, however, is an adept administrator who is unafraid of toil or hardship. The Mistress of Gentle Pastures is a moniker well earned, for her lands overflow with agricultural bounty as a result of her years of care. She claims that she doesn’t have much work to do, but the fact is that her efficient and adept management of her territory just makes it seem that way.

Within her circle of friends, she views herself as lacking. She neither has the martial excellence of Ludmila, the wealth and renown of Clara, nor the bold and ambitious drive of Liane. In an effort to show her worth, she has volunteered for many duties outside of her own demesne, from the resettlement of the ravaged Human farmlands in the northeast, to working with a myriad of Demihuman and Heteromorph populations in both E-Rantel and the untamed lands beyond.

Toiling in silence and without complaint, she secretly dreads that the distance between herself and her seemingly superior friends will be too great and they will drift apart. There is at least one person, however, that is making sure her work doesn’t go unrewarded.

Aaaand that’s it, I think? On to the next story arc, Winter’s Crown. It’s a lot longer than Birthright. Chapter releases will be slowing down as well, as ensuring two chapters per day come out nice and polished has been a bit crazy…the pacing will become faster, however, as we’ve got quite a lot of the basics already covered in Birthright. Or at least I hope it will.

The first act will be back in Warden’s Vale, since we haven’t been there for a while and things have happened. Before that, however, the second MC of Valkyrie’s Shadow will have a brief introduction~

Ah, that's right...as we're done with a volume, please vote, rate and review(if you're feeling generous) when you have the chance! Full reviews are more powerful on RR, apparently? Also, I've heard that upvoting existing reviews lends them more weight, so even if you don't write one, you can help out that way by just going through and 'liking' them.

Don't hurt me, please :0

Winter's Crown: Arrival and Departure

O’er icy wave; o’er looming berg,

Through misty air, the chill winds surge

‘Till lonely shores where dales give rise

To Azerli’sia’s crystal skies.

By moon and star and bold sunlight,

Sweet waters pure do make their way

From sov’reign peaks of matchless might,

To canyons deep and valleys grey.

A shim’ring crest of glaciers fair,

A band of moor and meadow green,

A gown of verdant forest where

Lush bounty thrives, by sight unseen.

A land pristine; a respite rare,

In her embrace, now lay thee down

In gelid grace beyond compare;

The majesty of Winter’s Crown.

– Dame Ilyish’nish=Verilyn,

Songs of the Sorcerous Kingdom

Arrival and Departure

A warm updraft carried tiny crystals of ice into the skies, joining the currents flowing to the distant south. The sun blazed overhead and the air was clear, revealing a rare full view of the Azerlisia Mountains far below. Beyond its forested foothills, a vast panorama of plains and wooded lowlands stretched to the far horizons before her.

Ilyshn’ish was in a good mood, humming to herself happily as she soared on the icy winds. Her figure would be but a tiny white speck to anyone watching from below: indiscernible from the cerulean skies and scattered wisps of cloud to all but the most skilled observers who just happened to look above them. She had a filling meal yesterday, no one had appeared to challenge her and nothing horrifying had popped up to attack her in the past few days. When nothing happened, she generally counted it as a good thing, for Frost Dragons lived simple lives and most of her kind preferred a quiet and uneventful existence.

Most of her kind, at any rate.

Her outer eyelids narrowed and a tendril of cold anger rose as she recalled one such individual who did not aspire to such a life: the Frost Dragon Lord, Olasird’arc=Haylilyal. Over a century ago, her father had brought together his consorts scattered throughout the glacial ranges, settling to create a colony deep in the midst of the Azerlisia Mountains. To the Frost Dragons, who lived naturally solitary lives – they usually only came together to mate and go their separate ways again, the Dragon Lord’s actions were considered eccentric to the point of deviancy. Even those of his broods: Ilyshn’ish’s siblings and half-siblings who were hatched and raised in the ruined dwarven capital, Feoh Berkana, had the inkling that their situation was unnatural.

Olasird’arc was the reason Ilyshn’ish was soaring far above the mountain peaks, returning from her ranging far to the north over the icy sea. Several months previous, she had come across a fat elk cow and returned with it to the city to dine in safety. Except it wasn’t safe – not from her own family, at least. After slipping through an opening and into the vast cavern containing the open areas of the city, she was immediately ambushed by her father.

She tumbled end over end in the air after the Ancient Dragon – well over twice her length and ten times her mass – knocked her aside, sending her meal to the streets below. By the time she had recovered and glided down to the city, her father had already set upon her kill. To her angry protests, he had replied simply:

If you wish to retain what is yours, become stronger.

It was the unbreakable rule of the world that applied to everyone – Dragons were no exception.

Ilyshn’ish snapped her jaws shut after that, taking off in a huff. Certainly, she would supplant him one day. If she was feeling generous and he submitted to her, she might not even kill him. She shook the foolish thought from her head; there was no way he could be allowed to live. If any of her lazy brothers tried to challenge her, she would thrash them thoroughly as well. The enclave would be hers, and the others would bring her food instead.

Though that day was but a distant dream, she did not mind waiting. Frost Dragons could be said to have a sort of perfect memory for events, and had a patience that came hand in hand with their long lives. Be it centuries or millennia, she would nurse her ambitions until they could be attained, and that far off day of reckoning would be all the sweeter as the ages passed.

Ilyshn’ish studied the terrain below before angling into a slow descent to the mountain face where the dwarven capital opened to the surface. Gliding in slow, lazy circles over the mountain peaks, her sense of caution grew as the icy crags loomed large below. Flying too low exposed Dragons to a number of their natural enemies. While older Dragons such as her parents would only be wary of strong Frost Giants and a handful of powerful monsters that made the glacial peaks and valleys their home, younger wyrms such as Ilyshn’ish had a far wider range of dangerous things to look out for.

Looking this way and that, she peered at shadowed cliffs and crevasses, half expecting a spear or a net or a rock to come flying up at her. In the shadows of her mind, Frost Giants lurked: waiting to catch her and turn her into a slave. Or maybe it was a gigantic Polar Worm biding its time under a thin crust of ice that would leap out and snatch her out of the air like a convenient snack. She even imagined the horrible Adventurers she had read about coming to turn her into any number of trendy articles.

As the spectre of her fears grew, so did her altitude. By the time she came back to reality, she had ascended several thousand metres again. Her caution still accompanied her thirty minutes later, even as she descended along the final stretch to the gaping holes in the mountain that led down to her home. Not wanting to stay vulnerable at the lip of the entrance, she slipped in quickly and resumed flying through the vast cavern within.

Her first sense that anything was wrong was the scent that wafted up from below. It was the smell of corpses – Quagoa corpses. She ate a few on occasion, but the taste and texture were far down the list of her preferences. The odor grew overpowering as she skimmed over the buildings of the city. She thought that perhaps someone had gone on a rampage – perhaps the silly Demihumans had tried to rebel and were slaughtered as a result. It would certainly explain why none could be seen scurrying about in the wake of her passing.

She glided silently through the air, trying to puzzle out what had happened. There was no sign of either Quagoa or Dragons – only the overpowering odour in the eerie stillness of the city. After circling over the various districts several times, she alighted on the parapets of the Royal Palace. It was there, overlooking the central promenade leading out from the fortified gate, that she finally located the source of the smell.

The entire promenade was buried in what was left of countless Quagoa. It could not even be described as any number of corpses, just a thick carpet of Quagoa parts and accessories. Blood painted the stone faces of the buildings lining the promenade: over the statues and fixtures; a dark crimson flow which oozed into the surrounding streets and alleys. The gory scene had frozen solid as time passed – Ilyshn’ish hoped she wasn’t the one who would be told to clean it up.

She let out a puff of frozen breath, which scattered loosely into the air. This explained the smell, at least, but it didn’t explain the absence of her kin. She crept down off the walls and into the huge courtyard of the palace where her parents usually lounged about. Here, too, there was no sign of anyone, nor was there even a single coin left of the Dragon Lord’s hoard. She swallowed nervously at the unsettling sight of her empty home.

Entering the arching halls of the palace, Ilyshn’ish could feel her pulse hammering up her sinuous neck as caution rose once again. There were no Dragons anywhere; no sign of a long and brutal battle. She searched through the floors and finally ended up at the door to her eldest brother’s room: it had been smashed and twisted off of its hinges. Poking her head inside, she found it empty – even her poor, shut-in of a brother seemed to have been violently whisked away.

Ilyshn’ish continued anxiously down the hall, further into the depths of the palace until she found something which shocked her far more than anything else.

The door to the dwarven treasury, sealed shut for longer than she had lived, lay open.

All other thoughts flew from her mind at the sight. She trotted towards the treasury with the dusting of frost in the hall swirling with her passage, towards the tantalizing sensation of valuables which lay just beyond the yawning portal. A note of caution managed to somehow squeeze its way into her consciousness, and she slowed to stop just before the opening. She tentatively stuck her head into the vault, followed by her sinuous neck.

Laid in neatly organized piles along the length of the chamber was more treasure than Ilyshn’ish had ever seen in her – admittedly short – life of 107 years. Gold coins and jeweled adornment of all manner were piled on the floors, in crates and chests. Suits of armour and enchanted weapons gleamed brightly, untouched by the passage of time.

She took a deep breath, sighing in satisfaction. Though there was a small voice which continued to question why the vault had been apparently left open with its vast wealth still stored within, the allure was too great and Ilyshn’ish could only think of how she might explore its recesses. Carelessly coming in with her 10-metre length would undoubtedly make things even worse, possibly breaking the countless valuable items strewn about and potentially triggering whatever security measures lay within.

After some consternation, she spun a thread of magic into song, her voice quietly weaving its enchantment about her form. Within moments, only the stocky form of a female Dwarf, clothed in a set of white and blue garments, stood before the arching entrance of the vault. Disliking the idea that her tiny self was standing vulnerable in the open entrance, Ilyshn’ish quickly made her way deeper in, marveling at the contents as she passed.

Whereas the front of the treasury contained vast amounts of what one would consider material wealth, the articles stored deeper within were more notable for their age. If she still had talons, they would be flexing in excitement as she passed from the glittering halls to the dusty shelves and cabinets beyond the piles of valuables she walked around.

It was something of a quirk of her own family – both her mother, Kilistran=Denshusha, and her eldest brother placed a special value on knowledge and lore which exceeded that of simple, raw wealth. She perhaps felt this more keenly than any of her kin. The weakest amongst their kind, Frost Dragons and their normally solitary lifestyle could fall prey to any number of powerful enemies.

Her mother had learned Divine Magic, which had helped her triumph over many Frost Giants and assert her dominance over rival Frost Dragons. It had even attracted her mate, whom she adamantly asserted to her children that she finally let him win her over when she decided to raise a brood; he just happened to be the best option available. With her success in life, she had passed on her values to her children: knowledge gave one the edge to survive – helping to win wealth, power and suitors.

With the ability to retain the memories of their experiences in perpetuity, Frost Dragons would eventually be able to collect enough knowledge and develop enough magic to reign supreme over the Azerlisia Mountains and perhaps beyond. It was a cherished ambition of Kilistran’s, and the reason why she had eventually gone along with Olasird’arc’s overtures. She and her children would, with this doctrine, eventually rule over the colony with unassailable strength drawn from the wealth of knowledge and magical might that they had collected between them. The other Frost Dragon broods would be but servants and soldiers to their own.

Kilistran’s children embraced her teachings to various degrees. Hejinmal, Ilyshn’ish’s eldest brother, embraced the idea perhaps a bit too tightly and locked himself away in his room with his books entirely. Her other two brothers leaned more towards their father’s side, primarily valuing raw, physical strength and only learning a few spells to shore up natural weaknesses.

Ilyshn’ish thought herself somewhere in between: she neglected neither her pursuit of knowledge nor the honing of her natural strengths: in her own estimation, she was one of the strongest Frost Dragons in her generation. If she continued on this path, she thought, dominion over the Azerlisia Mountains was but an inevitability. For now, however, she simply enjoyed learning about new things, so the archives now laid out before her was a tantalizing vision indeed.

There was something wrong though. When she finally reached the shelves where rows of tomes and manuscripts should have rested, she found many spaces conspicuously absent of the dust of ages. She mulled over what it meant as she reached out to the nearest remaining tome with a greedy hand, wondering what secrets it contained, but managed to stop herself before her stubby fingers brushed the shelf. Pulling her hand back, she stroked her frosty beard, looking around cautiously. A moment later, her voice rose in song again. It was much smaller than it would have been were she a Dragon, but the spellsong worked anyways.

The magically infused waves of sound rippled out over the surroundings, leaving faint auras over everything they washed over. The shelves in front of her indicated that the tomes were exactly that – bound parchment not even enchanted with preservation magic – but it was a shimmering gleam of white and blue in the corner of her vision that pulled her attention from the morsels of knowledge.

Not far from where she stood was an item, rather than another tome. Propped up on a shelf was an ancient drum, marked brightly by her melody of magical detection. As her gaze had been pulled over, she felt herself walking towards where it lay. Forgetting she was a Dwarf for the moment, Ilyshn’ish crawled forward on all fours, sniffing experimentally at the instrument.

She wove another enchantment, this time checking for traps…but received no reaction to her magic. Apparently the Dwarves had relied entirely on the up-to-this-point impenetrable vault to secure their legacy – or whoever had opened the vault had disarmed everything before her arrival. The latter struck her again as exceedingly strange: why would anyone go through all the trouble of unsealing and disarming everything, only to leave it mostly untouched?

Recalling the partially disturbed contents of the vault, unsettling thoughts arose. Perhaps she had arrived while the one who gained access to the treasury – surely one more powerful than the Dragons who had tried without success to open it for decades – had stepped away momentarily, and was already on their way back. She would be trapped in the vault with no way out. Perhaps the room itself had some undetectable trap that had dealt with the first intruder without leaving a trace of their demise...

Ilyshn’ish tried to step back – to escape before it was too late – but her desire for the musical artifact rooted her feet to the ground. Unable to escape her own greed, she finally reached out for the drum. Her shaking fingers lightly tapped its taut skin and the instrument let out a low boom that rumbled through the aisles, sending streams of coins skittering down gilded slopes. She cringed at the sound, frantically looking all around her even as her fingers closed on the item.

As with most magic equipment, it adjusted itself to accommodate the user, shrinking into a modestly-sized hand drum meant to be held in one arm and played with the other. With her new treasure in hand, she rushed for the exit: the spectre of her imagination once again feeding her mounting panic. Past the dusty archives and piles of glittering treasure she ran on stubby Dwarf legs. She reached the narrow entrance of the vault and prepared to shift back into her regular self but it was too late. Someone was already in the hallway on the other side, a looming monstrosity many times her own size.

“Ah, sister, you’ve returned!” A familiar voice called out, echoing through the halls.

Eh?

Ilyshn’ish blinked as she looked up, pushing away the worries from her overactive imagination. In the hallway stood her brother, Hejinmal. She reflexively hid the drum behind her back.

“Hejinmal!” She greeted him cheerfully, “Yes, I have returned…from…uh… Hello!”

She didn't have a bad relationship with her brother, as far as relations between Frost Dragons went, but he was currently very large and she was currently very small. There was a good reason why Dragons did not often learn ways to take other appearances: a Dragon was the strongest being in existence already – even if they retained their strength and various traits while doing so, there was very little reason to invite unwanted aggression. Barring that, not many deigned to even imagine themselves in an appearance considered infinitely inferior to their own.

Ilyshn’ish backed away cautiously, well back between the aisles filled with treasure, as his snout came closer. Surely he must have noticed the artifact in her possession. She considered what would happen if they fought: she was not well-practiced as a Dwarf, so combat would be quite awkward to say the least. Counting his teeth as he loomed over her, she wondered what she should do.

“Hm? Why do you keep backing away, dear sister?”

“Why do you keep coming closer, dear brother?”

“...”

“...”

She considered turning back into a Dragon, even if it meant making a mess out of the vault. As she was about to do so, Hejinmal withdrew his head from the doorway, fatty dewlap wobbling at the movement.

“Well, whatever,” he said as he looked down at her with an animated expression. “You’ve missed out on quite the event!”

“Yes, about that…why is the entire Quagoa civilization scattered across the main promenade? Where are mother and father?”

“The Quagoa made an…unfortunate choice,” Hejinmal answered. “Father is dead. Toranjelit as well.”

“What!”

Her voice boomed down the hall as she returned to her Dragon self beside her brother – this time it was he who flinched and backed away.

“Was it an uprising?” She asked, “Was father slain in the conflict?”

Her feelings were plainly mixed. On one hand, the death of the Frost Dragon Lord was welcome news: a future obstacle to the seat of power eliminated. On the other hand, he was also their strongest deterrent against their rivals: the Frost Giant clans whose tribes occupied the moors and valleys throughout the range. Toranjelit, the foremost of Munuinia’s brood, was older and physically stronger, but Ilyshn’ish was reasonably certain she could defeat him on her own. Like her mother Kilistran, Ilyshn’ish sought paths to power beyond the natural strength of Dragonkind to complement her aptitudes and gain an edge over competitors.

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Hejinmal said. “Father was slain in single combat against a powerful magic caster. It was very one-sided, actually. He didn't even get a chance to attack even once. After that, mother and the rest of father’s consorts were rounded up and taken away with their broods. Except for you, of course.”

The statement broke her away from her rebalancing of the scales of power. Ilyshn’ish mouth fell open, then she closed it again with a snap. Did she just miss the opportunity of a century? If it was a magic caster powerful enough to one-sidedly slaughter an Ancient Dragon in such a manner…the only possible beings that came to her mind were the legendary Dragon Lords of old. Had one of the heroes of yore come to claim their enclave? To rule and lead them to a new age of prominence? She glanced around as they reentered the courtyard, seeking a glimpse of the majestic existence that had come to lift them up and out of their situation, but the space remained as empty as it had been before.

Ilyshn’ish shook her head. No, of course he wouldn’t linger in the ruins of this ancient dwarven hovel, littered with the leavings of the rodent-like Quagoa. Surely, her mother and the others had been whisked away to this Dragon Lord’s fabulous harem in some far off palace…and poor Ilyshn’ish had been left behind. Her brother too. It seemed that he was deemed too fat and useless to take along.

How did he even get so fat, anyways? Could he even fly? Her scales crawled just from watching the rolls of flesh wobble and jiggle as he chonked down the hall. She didn’t think she had ever seen him out of his room – at least not for the past four or five decades. The only times she really interacted with him was when she exchanged a kill or three of hers for another book when she was done reading the last one she had traded him food for.

The breath of her sigh frosted the air of the courtyard.

“What now then, brother?” She asked, “The two of us cannot hold this city alone if any real threats come our way.”

“Ah…we can’t stay here, actually,” her brother replied. “The Dwarves are returning to reclaim their city.”

“The Dwarves…” She repeated the words idly, “Eh? You mean all of them?”

“That’s right,” he said. “Well, enough to repopulate their capital at any rate, so most of them.”

She looked over at him in dismay. The two relatively young Frost Dragons could not hope to fight so many Dwarves.

“What do we do, brother? …I guess I should pack my things if we’re leaving for good.”

“Yes, I believe that’s a prudent idea,” he nodded. “I myself came back to pick up a few things that I missed from my room.”

Hejinmal turned back and disappeared into the palace.

Ilyshn’ish went off in the direction of her own place, trying to decide what to bring. It was mostly old books, taken from various places in the city, containing whatever tidbits she found interesting. The majority ended up being tales of Dwarf history: their various achievements, culture and society, technical knowledge and such…plus a few more exotic ones she had found detailing trade and travel beyond their kingdom. Between them, Ilyshn’ish figured that she and her brother had scoured the city clean in their formative years, and all that was left was to read the same old texts over and over again.

Still, she was loath to leave anything behind: it was what amounted to her hoard, after all. In front of the door to her room, she spread out a huge canvas banner that she had snatched off of its mounting in the hallway. Upon entering her room, she was greeted with a most dreadful scene. Across the decades, she had collected what could be called a small library of lore. Taking bookshelves that she had found around the city, they had been neatly arranged to line the walls of the room and filled with her precious trove.

Ilyshn’ish always looked forward to when she could retire to her lair and sleep in the midst of her treasures...but now all of its shelves lay bare. Dashing into the room, she frantically paced in a wide circle, looking desperately for anything that had been left behind until she finally collapsed onto the floor despondently. This was too much. She wanted to cry. Her eyes looked up to a bare patch of the wall where a composite map of the world that she had painstakingly pieced together once hung, marked with all the places she wanted to visit in the future when she thought herself strong enough to travel. Then she really did cry.

Who would do such a horrible thing, and why? She wallowed in depression and misery for a long while before her mind began to work towards finding a culprit. The Dwarves would certainly have taken them, but she had not sensed any in the city and, by Hejinmal’s account, they were still on their way. The Quagoa were generally too timid to intrude upon the palace; they did not read or eat books anyways. Her collection would surely be a pittance to whoever had taken the enclave. Amongst the enclave, there was her mother and Hejinmal…

Sorrow turned to fury as Ilyshn’ish exploded out of her room. An unlearned individual would normally associate beings of larger sizes with ponderous movements, but generally the opposite was true – especially amongst predatory species. The charge of a furious Dragon was not something a mere mortal would normally be able to avoid, and the momentum which accompanied Ilyshn’ish’s magically enhanced speed as she streaked down the palace corridors towards the courtyard was such that whenever she made a turn, she ran along the walls and ceilings before returning around again to the floor.

Hejinmal had half a heartbeat to register death in the form of his little sister pouncing out from the palace entrance. His obese form was blown all the way back to the main gate by the impact, where he was pinned by her as she snarled.

“Where are they!”

“Hiiiieee!”

“Hiiiieee?”

Hejinmal eyed the deep gashes left in the magically reinforced steel gate by her talons before returning his fearful gaze towards her.

“W-where are what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, brother! My things! Where did you take my treasures?”

The fat Dragon’s eyes swam in their sockets as he tried to comprehend what she was saying. He started to panic and hyperventilate, squirming pitifully against the gate. Ilyshn’ish opened her jaws over his neck.

“Ahh! Don’t kill me! I didn’t take them!”

“I don’t believe you! Prove it!”

“Prove it??? How do I even – AAAAH! It was the one that came and killed father!”

His words gave her pause, and she backed away slightly.

“Why would that person steal my books?”

“I-it wasn’t just your books. Minions were instructed to go all over the place collecting all of the books and manuscripts and such from the entire palace. I was instructed to collect them as well.”

Ilyshn’ish peered at her brother. He did not appear to be lying – she did not think his will was strong enough for him to lie to her face. She withdrew; the gate groaned loudly as she removed her talons. Hejinmal collapsed onto his side, heaving for breath.

“So why was this person collecting books?” She looked down at him and asked.

“…seeking knowledge,” Hejinmal said between breaths. “Wisdom…and information…valuable.”

Her evaluation of the unknown subjugator rose by another two notches. She pondered her own situation once again: with the Dwarves coming, she was basically homeless. She could either make a new lair elsewhere…or perhaps she could chase after this mysterious conqueror. Several minutes passed before Hejinmal caught his breath and rolled back to his feet.

“I’m surprised you didn’t soil yourself there, dear brother.”

“That’s…well, I experienced something far more terrifying recently – maybe I’ve gotten a bit stronger as a result?”

Ilyshn’ish eyed Hejinmal. He didn’t seem any stronger from the last time she saw him. As she tried to judge his supposition, her treasure sense brought a small pouch slung around his neck to her attention.

“Brother, is that…”

“Oh this?” He did not miss her gaze. “It’s something that we’ve all received. Something like a Bag of Holding that allows us to easily fly things around.”

Ilyshn’ish twisted her neck curiously, leaning forward to look more closely at the container. They had been subjugated and received gifts? That didn’t make any sense at all.

“So you weren’t cast aside, then?”

Hejinmal stared at her, blinking stupidly. His mouth opened and closed several times before he answered.

“O-o-o-of course not,” he laughed nervously, not sounding entirely convincing. “Like I said, I just came back to pick up some things before going back. Since you’re part of the enclave, you’ll need to come as well – you’ve barely been around recently, and not at all in the past few months…I thought you finally got fed up with father and left, or maybe you were caught by the giants.”

“I see,” Ilyshn’ish replied absently.

The ember of ambition had rekindled within her once again, and the tip of her tail twitched lightly as strategies started to form in her scaly head. She was nowhere near as powerful as her mother or the rest of Olasird’arc’s consorts, and her accomplishments did not yet vastly overshadow their own. This new individual appreciated knowledge, however, so maybe she could make some sort of connection on that front. She also had the advantage of youth, which had an undeniable charm on its own…

She looked at the icy wall, examining her reflection. Panning her head back and forth, she thought her lithe figure was not bad. She was a good hunter, and she had felled many dozens of Frost Giants. A sudden thought interrupted her preening.

“The one who defeated father: were they male or female?” She asked Hejinmal, who was looking at her with some bemusement.

“Uh, Ainz Ooal Gown is…male? Why do you ask?”

Ainz Ooal Gown. The name was not Draconic. An alias likely used by a shrewd individual: names held power, after all. The mysterious Dragon Lord went up another few notches in her estimation.

“It’s no business of yours, brother. And stop looking at me like that, it’s disgusting.”

“Uh…ok?”

Hejinmal turned his attention to his bag, opening the flap and peering into it with one eye.

“By the way, brother,” Ilyshn’ish asked, “you said that everyone received one of those bags?”

"Yes, indeed,” he said. “It depends what the circumstances are, but we usually have four: each holding five hundred kilograms – two tonnes of cargo capacity per Dragon. I only brought one of them along since it was a private errand.”

Private errand? His words made little sense. It was as if he considered the valuable item on his person someone else’s property. No sane individual would expect a Dragon to return their valuables for nothing once they had them in their possession. Well, it didn’t matter, she supposed. The more immediate concern was becoming known to this powerful male and enticing him to father her first clutch when the time came. She could worry about other things later. A last, lingering feeling prompted her to ask one, final question.

“Those bags, brother: will I receive them as well?”

Hejinmal chuckled, perhaps taking comfort in the customary draconic avarice in her tone.

“I said everyone, didn’t I? Without exception. You will get yours too…”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“‘Twas a chill night, wasn’t it miss?” A cheery voice piped up beside her.

Ludmila looked to her side: the owner of the voice was a young woman who occupied the space in the hold beside her. Both her auburn hair and light spring blouse fluttered loosely in the wind as she juggled her nursing child from one side to the other. Ludmila’s mantle shifted slightly as she turned, and she offered a smile as she responded.

“Yes, the river is always chilly,” she said, “but we’re well into the spring now, so it won’t be so cold in the Vale.”

The sound of men and women beginning to stir from the shivering groups that they had huddled into for the night rose as the morning sun finally crested the ridge of peaks to the southeast. On the other side of her, Aemilia was putting away the blankets they had brought for the trip – which had ended up being lent to the people around them instead. The woman, along with her husband and child, had received Ludmila’s.

“Isn’t your first time, then?” The woman asked, “Sounds like you know how things are like out there.”

“I was born and raised there; I’ve just been away for a couple of weeks.”

“The gods must have sent you to help us, then,” her free hand moved in a reverent gesture. “I can’t imagine how things would have been if we hadn’t met you. Thanks again for lending us your cover.”

“It’s no problem, a good mantle is enough for this time of the year. I was worried more for you and your baby – it seems most of the passengers here weren’t ready for the weather.”

“Aye, seems so,” the woman agreed. “Don’t think we got any warning of it.”

Ludmila nodded lightly before she turned away, after which her smile slowly faded. Though she had been entirely occupied recently, she thought that she had adequately covered her responsibilities as an administrator. Now that she was on her way home and able to witness her work personally, however, she noticed various oversights; things she could have done better everywhere she turned – even before she actually arrived in her fief.

As the young mother had indicated, the migrants to her territory were ill-prepared for the journey; after a brief period observing the other passengers, Ludmila figured that they were ill-prepared for life in the highland valley as well. She had experienced the issue once already when Aemilia first came with her to her home, but for some reason it had never occurred to her to warn of the conditions that the migrants would experience before summer fully set in.

Watching her hopeful new subjects shiver in the cold as they huddled together between the cargo in the hold that night made her feel woefully inadequate. That she had even erred in such a simple matter felt outright neglectful in her responsibilities as their liege.

She felt a nudge at her arm and looked down to see an early lunch being offered by Aemilia. It was a meal prepared by Terah: between the food she set out for dining in the manor – which seemed standard for the nobles of the city – and the food that she packed for travel, it seemed that her Housekeeper was far more skilled at making the latter for some reason. It was so much better than the standard fare that she often requested her sandwiches and baskets for regular dining over the local cuisine.

Ludmila accepted the offered meal with thanks, and continued to observe the ship and their surroundings. Beyond Aemilia, the Linum family sat together in the hold: Lluluvien and Wiluvien with their mother between them. There was no sign of Ilwé’s condition having improved since being separated from Count Fassett. The dozen or so other passengers were all in the forward areas of the ship, putting the cargo in the hold between the Undead crew and themselves. Ludmila instructed her maids to not act in a deferential manner towards her on the trip, and had them all dress in common clothing to blend in and interact with the new migrants.

Three of the families were from the list of prospective tenants provided by Bishop Austine, while the fourth family was that of a journeyman weaver who had been contacted through the Merchant Guild. There were two farmers, as well as a cobbler, and the four families would eventually join the farming village undergoing reconstruction as more homes were constructed. For the time being, they would stay in the administrative village, using the vacant residences in the hill. There, they would receive orientation for life out on the frontier, as well as familiarization with Undead labour.

A low murmur rose as they sailed out of the gorge and the vista of Warden’s Vale opened up before the passengers. Spring had fallen fully over the verdant highland valley, and blossoms filled its flooded marshes and slopes. Ludmila, as usual, was looking out for changes rather than solely appreciating the natural beauty of her fief. To even a casual observer, her gaze would have probably held a tangible edge; Demihumans from the wilderness had been reported encroaching on the land, and she focused her attention fully with this idea in mind.

A conflicted feeling had risen from within her at the news: duty had called her far to the west and, shortly after answering that call, other duties demanded her attention in the south. While she relished in her solidified sense of purpose, at the same time she could not be everywhere at once. There was the Adventurer Guild as well…she wondered just how far behind she had fallen, and how they would treat her extended absence from her commitments with them.

A little over two hours later, she spotted the first problem as they pulled into the harbour. Rather than damage incurred by Demihumans or anything overtly threatening, this problem took the form of two tents on the flats where her ever-growing glut of timber stockpiles were laid out. It was something entirely unexpected, and she could not for the life of her figure out why the tents were there. They appeared to be stitched together from a patchwork of rough, undyed fabrics. A few men and women sat around a campfire as the boat sailed by.

Ludmila’s puzzled gaze lingered over the group before turning to the pier as the vessel made its landing. Nonna awaited at the shore with a clipboard in hand; the tome that she carried everywhere was placed into a small satchel slung over her shoulder. The points of crimson light in her skull did not appear to follow Ludmila as she hopped onto the wooden planks and approached, instead intent on watching the migrants preparing to disembark.

“Report to the manor after you’re done here,” Ludmila said as she walked by the Elder Lich.

As much as she wanted to ask about the unexpected arrivals right then and there, Nonna had her own work to do and Ludmila was loath to interrupt the exchange of cargo. Her single vessel was not nearly enough to keep up with the goods awaiting transport, and she didn’t want to personally make things any worse.

She made her way up the hill, stopping to check on the homes along the way. Upon finding vacant dwellings, one of her fears was put to rest. Her initial thought was that she had somehow committed an error while issuing her orders from E-Rantel, which had resulted in a shortage of accommodations for incoming migrants. Nonna would most likely be able to explain what was going on with the people at the tents. Continuing on her way, she stopped at the warehouse.

“Ah, Lady Zahradnik,” Jeeves greeted her as she appeared in the entrance. “Welcome back.”

The small Skeleton in his curious outfit bowed in greeting beside his lacquered black box. Within the warehouse, the aisles of shelves were partially filled, but the absence of dust overall indicated that things were being moved around regularly.

“Thank you, Jeeves. How are things going here?” She asked, “Have you identified any problems?”

“Inventories are flowing according to the schedules that you’ve outlined,” he replied. “There have been no additional demands beyond the projections…though our exports are being severely throttled – we still have plenty of area for storage on the flats below, but I am uncertain if it will be sufficient for the long term.”

“The supply of timber is solely from the clearing being done for the areas slated to be developed into farmland,” Ludmila said. “Once we’re finished there, the amount you see coming in should be drastically reduced. I don’t plan on stripping the valley bare, though I do intend to set aside an area for growing and harvesting trees at some point.”

“I understand,” Jeeves nodded. “If that is the case, then there should be no problem. Aside from that, a villager who came by informed me that a few strangers had been going around procuring cloth from the residents…I am uncertain what for.”

“That must be how those people below got the material for their tents – have you heard anything about what’s going on with them?”

“Unfortunately, I do not,” the Skeleton shook his head. “They have not come to interact with the village inventories at all. As far as I know, they have only been dealing with the Human residents.”

“I see…” Ludmila took one last look around the warehouse, “You’ve done well so far, Jeeves: don’t hesitate to inform me of anything you think requires my attention.”

Jeeves straightened at her words and smiled. At least she thought he smiled: without flesh it was impossible to tell for sure. His overall image, however, seemed to convey the idea that he was pleased.

“It is an honour to be of service, my lady,” he bowed, “have a pleasant day.”

Exiting the warehouse, Ludmila continued on her way. Following the ring of hammer on anvil, she soon found herself looking over the space where Ostrik Kovalev continued his labours. The smith was still working out of the portable forge which he had brought with him to the barony, but the workspace around him had changed drastically. A makeshift roof had been constructed over a length of the terrace, providing a warm and dry area to work under in relative comfort. Rows of crates filled with charcoal and bog iron were stacked in the spaces leading up to the forge itself, while beyond several bloomeries continued to burn as they smelted iron. There was also something else in the rear of the bloomery area which she had no idea about.

Four children scurried about the area – two boys and two girls – and one of them finally noticed her watching the whole operation as he came out to retrieve a basket of charcoal. He stared up at her with big blue eyes before running over to pull on the edge of Ostrik’s shirt.

“Whaddya want, kid?” He said absently as he continued to work.

The boy tugged more insistently, and the smith finally turned away from his work with a baleful gaze.

“Now listen here, you: I thought I–”

His voice cut off as he noticed Ludmila standing nearby.

“Lady Zahradnik,” he made to bow, wiping his hands on a cloth nearby, “I–”

“There’s no need to interrupt your work,” Ludmila said. “I just dropped by to see how things are going here.”

The smith nodded as he turned back to the forge, and Ludmila circled around to stand across from him nearby. Over the ledge of the rampart, she could see that nearly all of the piles being burned for charcoal were gone. The children continued about their tasks, tending to the clay bloomeries and keeping various parts of the workspace well stocked and clean. From her vantage, she could also see skeletal labourers pumping bellows attached to the furnaces.

“You’ve adjusted quite well here,” she noted. “You’ve even picked up a few apprentices.”

“With construction prioritizing the farming village,” he replied while waiting to reheat the piece he had been working on, “I figured I should make myself comfortable here. As for the kids, well…with as much as you seem to be planning on doing so far, I took as many as I thought I needed. I can’t say I could’ve taken any more though, we’ll need a bigger space for that.”

“I appreciate your initiative,” Ludmila said. “It was something I was going to approach you about sooner or later. Once the first village is done, there should be some time to construct a forge here while we wait for the woodsmen to clear away the next set of fields.”

“Ah, then, about that apprentice thing, my lady,” Ostrik said slowly as he resumed working. “There’s quite a bit of confusion as to how you plan on organizing your tenants.”

“How do you mean?”

“The way you’ve been running things here so far...how do I say it…” he said, “it’s uh, very controlled. For the time being, you’re providing for all of the needs of your subjects: food, clothing, sundries, fuel – everything. Nonna goes to visit the farming village twice a day, the villagers put in their requests, then Jeeves has the orders delivered via Bone Vulture or through a cart with those Undead Beasts if whatever they want is too heavy. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great: it’s all very orderly and clean and convenient, but it leaves your living subjects quite...detached, if I were to describe it.”

Ludmila furrowed her brow at the word. The system that she had devised was what she thought would be the best way to organize things based on the means she had at her disposal. Lady Shalltear had noted that it was a unique way of employing her resources, but Ludmila did not think she meant it in the way that Ostrik described. Her smith shifted uncomfortably and turned his gaze back to the forge.

“It’s, well…maybe it’s something like this,” he said. “The people are used to seeing shortages of things, or the price of services and goods to figure out how their little piece of the world is doing. It’s like that basically everywhere I’ve been. Here, though…here, you ask for something, and it arrives within an hour or two if it’s available. You put up goods for delivery, and something comes to pick it up and it disappears into the warehouse for Jeeves to take care of. They see all the timber harvested get carried by their homes and the ship goes up and down the river…but they really have no idea what is going on. Everything they do seems to vanish into an unknowable void, and that same void provides everything that they need.”

She thought over his words again, wondering what she could do to satisfy the lack which he described. Ostrik continued after completing the piece he had been working on, placing a new bar of iron into the forge.

“It was like that with the apprentices I picked up too,” he said. “Normally kids follow after their parents’ trade, and if their family has a feeling that they might not be able to survive doing the work for whatever reason they’ll try and send the kid off to apprentice in something that they think will work out.

“I was willing to take in those kids because I knew that you at least need this many – probably more – new smiths working eventually, but even so the things I have to figure out: how to provide for them, what to pay them when as they become more skilled in the trade, finding places for them to work…I really have no idea. Their room and board is provided for by you, so is their food and so is everything that they work with. This sort of formless future leaves people really wondering what’s ahead of them, and it can be quite frightening to some.”

“You understand that things are currently arranged the way they are due to the availability of goods and resources, yes?” Ludmila said, “My ability to provide for the population is limited at the moment, as there is only one ship transporting goods along the river – I need to keep our imports balanced to ensure the needs of the people are adequately addressed, so I can see how it can be perceived as my being…controlling. Even if I were to open a market in the village, however, the selection would be quite meagre.”

“Yes, I had a feeling it was like that, my lady,” Ostrik replied. “The people might understand that things are as they will be for a year or two as well. It might be because they’ve just moved in, or they’re being exposed to new things and getting used to life here…but they have the look of being lost beyond their immediate occupations. The things that they’re used to having as a gauge for how they are doing don’t exist, and there isn’t anything to show them where they fit within the framework of everything.”

“I see,” she said. “I believe I understand what you’re trying to say now…are you sure you aren’t some sort of Sage from somewhere?”

Ostrik laughed, shaking his head at her words.

“I’m no Sage, my lady,” he smirked. “Just a traveller.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ludmila left Ostrik to his work, stepping out from under the makeshift forge and into the light of the blazing sun overhead. It was plainly uncharacteristic weather for this side of the border ranges, especially in the transitions between winter and summer, which had the tendency to be overcast and wet. It wasn’t any mystery as to what was causing it, however.

Due to the slow start on the spring planting season, Lord Mare had altered the weather slightly throughout the duchy in order to ensure the crops grew and ripened on time. Well, it was slightly altered when it came to the lowlands, but the weather in Warden’s Vale had changed by quite a lot as a result of being downwind from everything. Ludmila’s territory only represented a small fraction of the land in the duchy, so she couldn’t reasonably ask Lord Mare to change everyone else’s weather on her behalf.

Between Lord Mare’s control of the weather and the magic he had cast over the fields once the crops were sown, her oats were easily on their way to meeting the harvest schedule with previously unheard-of yields. The implications were abundantly clear to all who bore witness to what would have been considered a miracle in their former nation of Re-Estize. Though magic being used to assist in agriculture was not a novel idea by any measure, the sheer scale at which it was employed in the Sorcerous Kingdom was unheard of.

Continuing her way up the village lane, she looked down towards the pier where Nonna was still overseeing the loading of timber. Once the summer harvest was ready for transport, Ludmila was not sure if her single vessel would be enough to transport all of the grain before the next harvest in the early winter.

The most straightforward solution was to build more ships, which was something Clara and Liane were looking into: a part of Clara’s long term plans for Corelyn Harbour was to include a shipyard to construct more vessels for the river trade. Another option would be to restore the bridge to reconnect her fief to the rest of the duchy by land. Doing so would be expensive, however, and nowhere remotely near as cost-effective as having more ships.

Voices on the terrace below drew her attention: the families that had arrived were being guided by villagers that had volunteered for orientation duties. She watched them silently from above, thinking of the issue that Ostrik had brought to her awareness.

Ludmila wasn’t sure if he honestly did not know what he was attempting to describe or simply trying to be polite, but what he had said amounted to there being a lack of purpose and leadership in the fief. In addition, despite its necessity for the time being, her control over the flow of goods made people feel powerless when it came to the smaller elements of their daily lives. With her continual absences from her own territory, Ostrik noted that new subjects were becoming more and more directionless. Thinking ruefully to the words she conveyed to Momon during their trip to E-Rantel, she supposed that it not only applied to kings, but leaders in general. She still wanted to thank the Adventurers of Darkness for their help, but she had not seen them since.

As for what she could do about the current state of her subjects, several solutions came to mind, some of which would probably manifest on their own at some point – such as the arrival of merchants when the population grew large enough. Ludmila’s long-term goals, however, were still relatively undefined. Her personal duties to Lady Shalltear did not really suggest what she should be doing with her own fief, and matters regarding taxes and other mundane contributions to her liege would need to be discussed before delivery of the harvest was completed. For the time being, she had settled on finishing the extension of farmland along the valley but, once the golems being used in the capital were free to lease, the schedule would be pushed forward rapidly.

She mulled over her options. Seeing that the boat had nearly finished loading, she strolled over to the manor entrance where a Death Knight stood sentry, as well as…something else. On the opposite side of the doorway there was a giant Demihuman with feline features, which was nearly four metres in length. Ludmila looked from the cat-thing to the Death Knight and back again: given that it wasn’t attacking and looked decidedly Undead, it should be something she could ask Nonna about when she received her reports. Giving it one last look, she shook her head and entered her home.

“Aemilia,” Ludmila called as she entered, “did you see that cat…thing…outside the door?”

“I did, my lady,” her maid replied. “It was just standing there, and the Death Knight didn’t seem to care so I just went in.”

“Did you hear anything about it on the way up here?”

“No, my lady. I just came in from helping the Linum family move in next door.”

“I see…how are they faring?”

“Lluluvien and Wiluvien are ecstatic – they already love the Vale. As for their mother…she is unchanged, as far as I can tell.”

Aemilia rounded up her Skeleton assistants and led them out of the door. Shortly after her lady’s maid had departed, Nonna appeared at the door. The Elder Lich placed several documents on her desk as Ludmila seated herself.

“Is there anything that requires my immediate attention?” She asked.

“Not at the moment, no,” Nonna replied.

“Then…what is that cat outside the door?”

“It is a Squire Zombie,” Nonna said. “Beings that fall to a Death Knight are raised as Squire Zombies under its control. Beings slain by a Squire Zombie will be similarly raised as Zombies under the Squire Zombie’s control.”

Rather than a cat bringing in its prey to display before its owner, the Death Knight had brought in a cat. Ludmila wondered if it would keep happening.

“I…didn’t know they could do that,” Ludmila said. “I assume this has something to do with the report of Demihumans encroaching on the border?”

“That is correct,” Nonna replied. “Several Demihumans of this species appeared on the borders of the fields several days ago. A pair of Bone Vultures intercepted them before they intruded too deeply, but they were destroyed. A Death Knight then arrived and dispatched one while the other Demihumans fled into the forest. This Squire Zombie is the result.”

“I don’t suppose anyone asked what they were doing here…can we ask the Squire Zombie?” Ludmila said.

“They approached in the middle of the night,” Nonna replied, “and the servitors were ordered to guard the fields. Death Knights utilize the corpses of the slain to raise Squire Zombies; they are not the same individual that was slain.”

Ludmila tapped her finger on her desk idly. The Undead Demihuman outside her door was not of a race she had ever seen before, so it was difficult to speculate as to why they had appeared. Still, the security of her demesne – and the border of the Sorcerous Kingdom – stood as a priority: one of her most basic duties.

“Then they performed their task as instructed. As requested by your report, I submitted the order for new Bone Vultures before I left the capital, so they should arrive at any time, if they haven’t already…were there any more encounters?”

“None,” Nonna said. “Though the Bone Vultures are currently the best detection assets we have deployed on patrol duties – they were unable to sense the approach of these Demihumans until after they left the trees and exposed themselves on the fields.”

This problem was something that Ludmila was already well aware of. Lady Aura’s rough outline of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s forces came to mind once again: there was a distinct shortage of forces that were capable of reconnaissance work beyond direct observation of subjects with poor concealment abilities. Trackers and other advanced detectors were relatively few, and Ludmila had resolved to train Rangers to make up for the shortfall in her own demesne – perhaps the nation’s armies would find a place for them as well. For the time being, however, she was the only Ranger in her fief.

“Was the Royal Court informed of the incursion?” She asked, “What did Lady Aura have to say?”

“The report is pending further investigation,” Nonna replied. “Would you like to inform the Royal Court immediately?”

“No, I believe you have the right idea,” Ludmila decided. “I don’t want to waste the Royal Court’s time – minor incidents are my responsibility to handle, anyways…before we move onto regular business, I have one more thing to ask: why are there tents outside?”

“Several Humans arrived without the proper authorization to migrate into the territory,” the Elder Lich answered.

“Without proper authorization?” Ludmila wasn’t sure what Nonna meant, “Did they stow away onto the ship in the past few weeks somehow?”

“They arrived overland yesterday. As they appear to be citizens, I thought it best to wait for you to render a decision on their...disorderly conduct.”

It barely took Ludmila a moment of thought to understand what had happened. She closed her eyes and sighed – yet another oversight.

“Indeed,” Nonna said. “Why must Humans move without orders? Such senseless and wasteful behaviour.”

Ludmila didn’t bother correcting the Elder Lich’s misinterpretation of her expression, as it was actually accurate in a twisted sort of way. The sensitive balance she was keeping in Warden’s Vale depended very much on the idea that people would only appear when she could provide for them. She had no expectations of people randomly arriving overland simply because it was close to unthinkable for common folk to make their way through the previously dangerous routes that led to her fief.

Under the rule of the Sorcerous Kingdom, travel within its borders was fairly secure unless one went somewhere they weren’t supposed to go – at which point security happened to you. His Majesty’s Undead armies had cleared away all of the hostile elements that could threaten its people along roads both new and old, so independent travel without personal protective measures was something that the people would eventually become accustomed to and expect.

“I’ll speak to them after we’re done here and find out what I can,” she finally said. “Hopefully this won’t become as large of an issue as I think it could be...”

The door opened, and Aemilia appeared with her skeletal assistants. Seeing her mistress at work, her lady’s maid quickly instructed the Skeletons to empty their buckets of water before going to the kitchen area to prepare tea.

“Speaking of immigration,” Ludmila looked back to Nonna, “there are several things that should be kept in the ship’s hold, just in case the new tenants are not prepared for the journey.”

Several minutes passed as she outlined improvements to the sparse accommodations on board the ship, as well as updates to be relayed to the manor in E-Rantel to deliver to the cathedral and Merchant Guild.

“This will reduce our cargo volume,” Nonna noted.

“It should only be a moderately sized crate, yes?” Ludmila replied, “A little bit of hospitality on the journey will help towards acclimating our new arrivals. Speaking of which, how goes the transfer of citizens to the village?”

“Due to the size of the residences ordered, each home takes roughly a week to build. Between them, the construction crews are raising homes at an average rate of one per day. The waiting time for new immigrants has remained stable as a result…do they really need such large accommodations? These buildings are far beyond the standard cottage size of the other rural fiefs observed in the duchy, not to mention the difference in material and construction quality.”

“I have a lot of space and not enough people,” Ludmila said as she shuffled through the summaries piled through her absence. “I am also competing with every other territory for skilled labour in this insane race to stay ahead of the deflating commodity prices. Being so far from civilization puts me at a marked disadvantage. If I want to bring civilization here, then civilization must look like it belongs here.”

Between the dusty dreams piled up in the manor archives – which consisted of what was in the small locked cabinet where the demesne accounts were held – and her own understanding so far of the strengths and weaknesses of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s forces, the layout she had plotted for the farming villages was ambitious: at least if one considered the duchy’s previous state as a territory of Re-Estize. With the availability of cheap Undead labour, all one needed was land and resources, which was something the mostly untapped expanse of her fief had plenty to spare. What resulted was a strange concept far removed from the traditional appearance of rural villages anywhere in the region.

Instead of a manor to house a member of the gentry or some sort of other Human administrative agency, Ludmila had instead come up with what she in the end had settled on calling a Lichtower. It consisted of several sections: the main, central part of the complex was an administrative office of two floors where she would station its namesake. The first floor would be used to service the villagers, while the second would house the village archives. Two wings were attached to store reserve Undead for the village if required, as well as provide space for future government facilities. The tower itself was twelve metres in height, providing a commanding view of the village’s surrounding farmland for sentries. Attached by a drawbridge, which provided access over the main road, was the warehouse office where parcels from Bone Vultures would be received and either transferred to the storage buildings nearby or picked up by awaiting residents.

The village itself was divided into two raised sections, which lay on their respective sides of the main road running through the farming terraces. On one side was the warehouse area, while the other housed the residents, services and essential facilities of the village. A small market square existed as well, but would probably not find any use until trade established itself. Both sections were enclosed in their own respective walls, which were connected to each other through gatehouses that straddled the road between the two parts of the village. Each entrance from the road into those sections also had a small gatehouse of its own.

When finally completed, the haphazardly constructed hamlet with its buildings strewn over a large area would be gone; in its place would stand an orderly and defensible farming outpost which rose over the fields. The village would house roughly 200 to 250 residents in its fortified enclosure: a stronghold which stood safe from sudden raids.

In any other place, it would be absurd to call it a village, and insanely expensive to construct. The fortifications were intended to shelter her subjects and the village’s goods, allowing the powerful Undead forces stationed there to focus on eliminating attackers as quickly as possible on the field. With the raw martial strength sufficient to handily destroy major cities in other nations being deployed by a single village, Ludmila deemed it more than enough to deal with anything short of a large army – which would probably become a matter of national security rather than something a farming village was expected to deal with.

The village was not without issues, though. As Nonna had stated, construction times were markedly slow in comparison with the much simpler construction that rural villages usually saw. Then there was the recent ordinance sent out by the central administration to harden crucial points in national logistics against attacks from both land and air. She also needed to somehow make them defensible against magic casters of the fifth tier. The latter was still something she was studying: slowly developing a grasp on the possibilities and potential applications of various forms of magic.

The initial concepts which went into the village were clearly only drawn up with defence against attacks from land in mind. Currently, with as little knowledge as she held in magic and aerial combat, her only solutions involved using brute force to overcome such attackers: throwing what she thought might be effective against various types of intruders. Hopefully, she could consult with Lady Shalltear – or perhaps Lord Mare – over these problems at some point. Beyond this, however, she was fairly confident that it would do what it was supposed to, and word would spread that her fief on the border was a prosperous and safe place to live as the seasons came and went.

“Besides,” Ludmila smiled lightly, “you agreed that the village layout was far superior to those of the inner territories, yes?”

“For all intents and purposes, before the new guidelines came in for fortifications,” Nonna affirmed. “Considering the tendency of you Humans towards disorderly conduct, however, I am dubious that the additional long term purpose of these settlements will work as you describe.”

The additional purpose Nonna referred to was essentially enforced by the limitations of each farming outpost. Each could normally support and house a set population within its walls, so the excess would be encouraged to migrate. Each would hold one of the future schools that Clara had described, as well as facilities to train apprentices in all the trades that went into supporting a small settlement. Ideally, it would raise successive generations of skilled workers with a basic standard education. A substantial portion of these new generations would move out due to lack of space, and the capital of her fief would by then be ready to welcome them.

“I do not expect everything to work exactly as planned,” Ludmila replied to Nonna’s doubts, “but it should work well enough. Our systems will always be subject to refinement, so we should always be on the lookout for ways to improve on the development of the demesne.”

Aemilia appeared from the back of the manor with tea, placing the simple wooden cup on the desk.

“I suppose that now is a good time to see to all of the petitions around the village,” Ludmila said. “Nonna: prepare a list of all the villagers in this settlement that have requested an audience in the time I’ve been away – I’ll hold court in the farming village tomorrow. Aemilia, check if the Linum sisters are settled in: if one of them is available, I’ll have her deliver my summons.”

Taking a careful sip out of the steaming cup in front of her, Ludmila settled in for a long afternoon of work.

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ludmila was on her fourth cup of tea by the end of the second hour, and she was beginning to think that drinking so much hadn’t been such a good idea. Shifting slightly in her seat, she kept a straight face as she continued to address the concerns of her subjects from behind her desk. It was a duty she had assisted in since she was fourteen but, after recent events, she felt amazed at just how mundane it now felt by comparison.

“We want to paint the Skeletons, m’lady,” the housewife standing before the desk said.

“You want to paint them?” Ludmila blinked, “I suppose it might make for a colourful sight…can they even be painted, Nonna?”

“Such…measures would only be temporary,” the Elder Lich replied from behind her shoulder. “They would disappear when repairing damage or simply weather away over time.”

The vision of colourful Skeletons working all over her fief faded. Ludmila turned her attention back to the stocky, middle-aged woman.

“Was there any particular reason why you wanted to do this?” She asked.

“Ah, yes, m’lady,” the housewife replied. “With all the Skeletons around, we’re already starting to mix them up. If more’s to come, it’ll be a mess.”

It was something she had wondered about, and the answer seemed to have finally arrived. With some testing between her maids, it was determined that the Undead labourers somehow understood who was supposed to be controlling them and the overall hierarchy of authority. They would follow parents over their children, shop owners over their employees, Ludmila’s Household over her tenants, and so on.

The people, however, had no such sense unless what they were doing was distinctly different or separate from the others. While one couldn’t command the Undead labourers of others if they were at the same level of authority, trying to figure out which ones belonged to who in an area full of identical Skeletons was probably quite the hindrance.

Roughly seventy percent of her fief’s ‘population’ was Undead at the moment. Every home had also been assigned a single Skeleton labourer: as a means for every family to become familiar with the presence of the Undead and how to use them for various tasks. As with the first batch of immigrants, the adoption process was much the same and every household eventually saw their trusty skeletal assistant as an inseparable part of their daily lives.

The lease rates for various types of Undead labour were still in flux as the central administration continued to collect data on their overall productivity, but Clara had put forward the notion with the Royal Court that household Skeletal labourers should be provided freely as a means to familiarize the citizens and future generations on their use. Deliberations were still ongoing, and a decision was not expected until a more comprehensive picture on their overall value was developed.

“Since you will have to repaint them eventually anyways,” Ludmila told the housewife, “keep the markings simple and proper. If I see something strange painted on one of them…”

“Of course m’lady,” the woman nodded in agreement, “we’ll try to keep things in line; I’ll let the others know.”

With a swirl of heavy skirts, the petitioner turned and left the Hall. A wiry young man in a rough labourer’s outfit appeared to replace her, taking off his brown worker’s cap and placing it over his chest.

“A-afternoon, Baroness,” he bowed, “I, er, uh…”

“Is something the matter?”

Ludmila looked down at the list of petitioners provided by Nonna. The man was a journeyman carpenter; currently tasked with fashioning furniture for the new village. He and his family seemed to have adjusted well, and there were no reported issues surrounding them.

“That is, er – no, nothing at all,” he said.

She patiently waited through his tongue-tied response. They looked across the desk at one another for several seconds before he seemed to realize that Ludmila was waiting for him to continue speaking.

“Oh! Uh…yes, about the instructions your Lich handed down to us about the feast day preparations: it said to prepare tables that could be reused for the market there, but there’s no mention about style or appearance.”

“The weavers will be making some coverings for the occasion,” Ludmila answered, “so you don’t need to worry overly much about appearance. Though their first use will be for the feast day celebration, their main use will be as tables for market stands. Keep them simple, functional and durable: if the merchants that come by want something more, well, then I suppose they’ll have to order it from the local Carpenters.”

“I understand, Baroness,” he bowed slightly. “Back to work then – I’ll leave the measurements with the weaver here in the harbour.”

The Carpenter scurried out of the hall. Upon crossing the Squire Zombie, he gave a startled shout and jumped backwards, bouncing off of the Death Knight on the other side of the door. Didn’t he notice it on the way in?

Ludmila waited for the next appointment. The door to the hall opened but, rather than another petitioner, Wiluvien entered the manor. Ludmila glanced down to the papers on her desk: there should have been at least two more.

“Did something happen to the others?” She asked her chambermaid.

“It seems that they’ve already migrated to the farming village, my lady,” Wiluvien replied. “One yesterday, the other this morning.”

Ludmila looked over her shoulder to Nonna.

“I will add it to the items to be cross-referenced from this point forward,” the Elder Lich said.

Ludmila looked out of the window beside her: it was still mid-afternoon, and it appeared that she had seen to the questions of the harbour’s current residents. The sight of the two makeshift tents down on the flats near the timber yard reminded her that she still needed to visit the unasked-for migrants. It occurred to her just then that she should have asked her petitioners about it when she had them. She would have to see about their mysterious appearance after looking over several other things in the village.

“How is your family doing, Wiluvien?” Ludmila turned back to address her maid.

“Lluluvien and I are most pleased to be here, my lady,” she lowered her head. “Your lands are so beautiful; we far prefer it to E-Rantel. There is less work here for us at the moment, but it seems only a matter of time before things grow to the point that we have more things to do. As for our mother…she is not much changed from when we recovered her from Fassett County. Her health visibly improves, but she is still listless: we do not fear for her life, but recovery may take time.”

“I cannot even begin to imagine everything she’s been through, so she may have all the time that she needs,” Ludmila said. “You may return to your home – Aemilia will send for assistance if it is required.”

She looked back down to the list of petitioners as Wiluvien curtsied and withdrew from the Hall. While the unexpected end to her audiences for the day was the result of an oversight rather than an actual error, it still made her wonder where the limits of the Undead administrator lay. It had certainly not been outlined in the manuals. When she had initially encountered them, Ludmila’s thoughts were that they were simply unfamiliar with the specifics in management of Human lands. After several weeks, however, she decided that they were simply not experienced with administrative matters at all until recently.

“Nonna,” she said, “is the Elder Lich ordered for the new Lichtower sufficient to manage the civic administration of the new village in its entirety?”

“Barring oversights such as the one which was just identified and situations without precedent,” Nonna replied, “administrative anomalies should be next to nonexistent. Management of the civilian administration, logistics and the defence of the constituent territory of each Lichtower are all well within the capacity of a single Elder Lich as far as my experience here has suggested.”

“We have barely scratched the surface of what needs to be done here, so there is still much to learn. Can we expect every administrator dispatched to us to perform accordingly?”

“Though there should be practically no difference in the capabilities of my peers, who are all summoned by His Majesty, there is also no precedent to suggest that it may be the case…”

Ludmila shifted her seat around to face her aide. Though she could still not get a clear read on her Undead features, Nonna appeared to be deep in thought.

“If you know of any problems that may arise…” Ludmila prompted.

“Personally, I do not believe there will be any issues,” Nonna said, “but the data collected so far from the other territories is…unreliable, so this assessment is at best founded on conjecture.”

“Unreliable? Have there been problems in the other territories?”

“Adoption of Undead servitors has been embraced to various degrees,” Nonna replied, “due to efforts to balance Human and Undead labour pools, as well as factors involving religious practices and cultural perceptions. Each territory has enacted its own approach based on their specific circumstances, so creating standards for even basic skeletal labour has been a challenge.

“The Elder Lich administrators have also been presented with their own difficulties. If I were to describe it simply, they have been…injected into existing systems of Human administration, and each Noble and their vassals have personal styles of rule that are non-uniform quality. Only Corelyn County has appeared to achieve perfectly seamless integration between new and existing systems, which were already at a high standard. The methods there are still distinctly different from your own approach, which has optimized its labour, administration and all aspects of its planning around the availability of Undead servitors.”

“So I guess it really was a boon to be able to start from nothing,” Ludmila said somewhat ruefully.

“It appears to be the case, yes. The only locations that have been able to roughly mirror your early progress have been the recently resettled areas of the crown lands that were razed last spring.”

Ludmila made a face. The various elements of development within her demesne were supposed to give her an edge in attracting migrants. Though it was presumably for the greater good of the realm, the notion that her ideas would be used elsewhere before she could reap their benefits made at least a small part of her want to cry foul.

“Does that mean that villages like the one under construction here are going to be popping up all over the territories directly managed by the crown?”

“While the Lichtowers and their fortified villages have received a positive review,” Nonna said, “it was determined that the resources are not readily available to convert the hundreds of settlements in the crown territories into such strongholds. Materials found here are impractical to source and not worth the expense of importing. Broader defensive arrangements have been devised instead, using elements from His Majesty’s armies patrolling those lands.”

“Then what did they use from the information collected here?” Ludmila asked.

“They primarily revolve around the findings made from Undead labour for farming and forestry, as well as the use of Undead Beasts for light transportation on the road networks. Most territories do not have major obstacles such as the marshes in yours, so Bone Vultures are notably absent as well. The villages are managed by Human chiefs, who in turn report to the Undead administrator assigned to oversee their constituency.”

“I see…” Ludmila placed her chin on the back of her hand, “do you think that I went overboard with the design of these villages, then?”

“The goals of your development and the purpose of the lands directly administered by the crown fundamentally differ,” Nonna said. “While your goal is the rapid development of an urban centre, the crown is primarily concerned in the production of basic commodities. They will be allowing the excess population to flow to the city through traditional mechanisms, as improvements to E-Rantel are still ongoing.”

“The House of Lords has been issued no such directive,” Ludmila frowned, “should I be making considerations for this commodity production? I’ve been entirely focused on laying the foundations for advanced industries rather than expanding basic ones.”

“There has been no indication of such a policy being drafted. As long as the lease for His Majesty’s Undead servitors is maintained, the central administration should have no issues with their current usage. As Lady Shalltear is your liege, the matter of your taxes is also something you will need to take up with her – they are not the purview of the crown.”

The last part Ludmila understood as such, but it was nice to have confirmed. She rose from her seat, pushing the chair back under its simple, wooden desk and stretched away the hours of her afternoon audience. Aemilia began to move seeing this, preparing for an outing.

“Then everything is in order for now, I suppose,” Ludmila said, “unless there is something else you can think of. When the new administrator arrives, I will be relying on you to familiarize it with how we do things here. Each Lichtower will report to you, as well as the office that will eventually be set up in the port town here. This is markedly different from the old systems that I am used to: a member of the gentry or a village chief does not administer this many people, nor anywhere near this degree of productivity, so we will both be learning how to make these new administrative structures work.”

While Ludmila was quite excited by all the new prospects presented by the advancement of her fief, Nonna displayed the same dispassionate expression as always.

“I’m curious,” Ludmila said. “Are all of the Elder Liches in His Majesty’s administration kept as well-apprised of the state of the realm as you are?”

“Those working directly for the central administration may be, yes,” Nonna replied, “but probably not as well as myself. Due to the contributions that I have made to the administration in my time here, as well as the progress made in this fief, I have become a sort of...consultant for my peers. My feedback is valued throughout the realm.”

“Do you mean to say that all of this information about what is going on elsewhere is due to the other Elder Liches contacting you to complain?”

“None would consider complaining in their service to His Majesty,” Nonna replied. “Even the smallest contributions have value, and no effort is considered in vain. The correspondences are for practical purposes…though if one were to use such measures, it could be said that they are envious of my position here.”

“Two point five percent more envious?” Ludmila smirked.

“That should be the figure listed on the most recent assessment, yes.” Nonna said, “But, at this juncture, I would say what is presented in numbers belies what occurs in practice.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The characteristic north wind and the uncharacteristically blazing afternoon sun greeted her outside, and Ludmila shifted in her mantle to part the front slightly. The magically-induced clear skies had the side effect of turning the flooded valley significantly warmer and more humid for the spring months, and she started to wonder if maintaining such ‘perfect’ weather indefinitely would produce adverse effects over the land. In addition to the accelerated growth of all manner of crops and wild vegetation, the insects were out in force far in advance of when they would usually appear in their summer swarms.

Skirting around a cloud of bugs that hovered over the lane, she hoped that the conditions wouldn’t become horrific by the end of the season. The normally muddy stretches of village paths, too, were caked and dry. The song of the forge sounded dimly in the air as she made her way down to the flats where the two tents with their small campfire stood against the backdrop of harvested timber.

Though Ludmila had noted more on her way into the harbour, only two men and a woman now tended to the fire. As far as she knew, they had not really done anything beyond collecting the scraps of cloth for their makeshift shelters and bits of wood for the fire. How or where they procured food and other supplies was unknown, though she suspected that they were poaching from the river and her surrounding lands. The three rose to their feet upon registering her approach; one of the men pulled a thick staff from the tent behind them. All wore suspicious frowns as she came forward, and the man without the staff spoke.

“Don’t come no closer,” he said. “We’ve had it up to here with you people comin’ to gawk at us like some sideshow.”

The crunch of boots on gravel ceased as Ludmila stopped a fair distance away from the trio. Despite Aemilia’s protests, she had decided to come out plainly dressed, without an escort or any indication of who she was. She sensed that they were no stronger than most of the villagers on the way in, and the manner in which the migrants on the trip to Warden’s Vale opened up to who they thought was a future fellow villager encouraged her to find out why these three had arrived on their own in a similar fashion. The rude reception was entirely unexpected, and she glanced up to count the Bone Vultures circling in the skies nearby.

Were they mistreated in some fashion by the villagers before she had arrived? Or maybe they were put off by Nonna – though Ludmila had not ever actually received any complaints about the Elder Lich from anyone in all of her time here.

“Why are you here?” Ludmila asked.

The man looked to his companions before replying with a scoff.

“Why’re we here? We moved here’s what.”

“All of the migrants here come by way of the river,” Ludmila said, “by the invitation of the local lord.”

“Invitation?” He sneered, “Lords don’t go inviting no one. We’re freedmen, y’know. We ain’t some stupid serfs bein’ shipped in on a boat. We can go wherever we please. Heard there’s plenty of land ‘ere, so we’ll be staking a claim when we find us a nice patch, eh?”

The strange mess of twisted understanding that came out of the man’s mouth struck Ludmila silent for a moment – it took a conscious effort to keep a straight face.

“I think you are confused about how things work,” she explained. “This land is a fief managed by the local administration.”

The three only offered her blank looks over the fire in response.

“A noble house rules these lands – it is someone’s property,” Ludmila explained. “It is not just some piece of unclaimed wilderness that you can decide to settle without permission.”

“Nah, yer the one that’s confused,” the man crinkled his nose at her. “This here’s the Sorcerous Kingdom now, and we’re it’s citizens. No noble’s gonna give us a hard time, just ask ‘ol Fassett.”

“…what does Fassett have to do with this?”

The man looked to his companions again and gave a short bark of a laugh.

“‘Ey now, looks like these swamp hicks really do live underground,” he said, and the two others chuckled. “The Sorcerous Kingdom don’t like it when you mess with its citizens. They found out what Count Fassett was up to and now he ain’t there no more. If th’ lord here messes with us, they’ll send someone out to off ‘im as well.”

“You’re from Fassett County?” She didn’t think it was possible for Lady Aura to miss anyone in their sweep of the territory.

“Naw, Crosston next door,” he said. “Place was being turned upside-down: some new guy got put in charge. Made ourselves scarce...not like it was any good there anyways. Now we’ll get some nice land to ourselves, then we’ll be the lords and no one’ll tell us what to do.”

Ludmila was at a loss as to what she could say. Not only was the man entirely oblivious to how the lands were managed, he had also concocted some sort of nonsensical worldview that only served to fuel his cocksure manner.

“Didn’t I tell you we don’t like being stared at?”

The man scowled as Ludmila stood pondering, and the man with the quarterstaff stepped forward threateningly.

“If y’ain’t got anythin’ fer us, get the hell out of our faces.”

Ludmila turned around and walked off back the way she came. The loud sound of someone clearing his throat caused her to glance over her shoulder, and the man spat in an exaggerated way into the campfire.

“Stupid bog bitch,” he said, “come out all this way fer nothin’.”

She turned her head back to face forward. On a whim, she focused her senses. An unmistakable sensation emanated from the group behind her, a lighter feeling than what she had perceived while she tracked down her quarry in Fassett County: indicating that they were indeed undesirable elements, though nowhere near as bad. They had not run afoul of any laws in her territory, either, so she could not act...well, she technically had the right, but it would be like she was lashing out against the group simply for being rude to a stranger.

Releasing the ability, she calmed herself down. At first – once she had explored its use in helping to clear out Fassett County – she thought it would make her life much easier when it came to sifting out problematic elements in the realm. After testing it several times after returning from the west, however, she discovered that, while it helped her track down what might be problems within the greater scope of order in the Sorcerous Kingdom, the severity gauged had many degrees and never provided any insight as to why such elements existed.

The sense associated with specific individuals could vanish the next day without any sort of intervention; and trying to do something about the problems she encountered sometimes actually made things worse. It could mean anything from a lack of direction in the general populace to individual swells of emotion manifesting into a temporary disposition that would shortly dissipate into nothing the next day. Findings that turned out to be rebellion, severe crime or heavy corruption were practically nonexistent – at least in the places where she had been.

In the end, the most use she could normally make out of her ability was the loose idea of whether things were going in the right direction or not, and employing it in crowded places like E-Rantel overwhelmed her entirely. From the brief period that she had tried while she was in the city, though, nothing appeared to be anywhere near the severity that she experienced in Fassett County.

Reentering the manor hall, she found that Nonna and Aemilia were still inside.

“Was there something that we missed, my lady?” Aemilia asked, glancing around the small space that was the manor.

“No,” Ludmila replied, “I just returned from speaking with the group that pitched those tents out on the flats.”

“Already? They didn’t attack you or anything, did they? The bunch of them seemed quite dubious, even from a distance.”

“No, they didn’t go so far as to physically attack me,” Ludmila said. “Nonna, have them put on the next ship out: tie them up if necessary.”

“What are they to be charged with?” The Elder Lich opened her book and looked at her.

“If you are required to provide a charge to the administration, then I suppose that they are technically trespassing on my territory. That isn’t the reason why I am sending them away though: I simply don’t wish for people with the sort of behaviour that they demonstrated living in my fief. The last thing I want is their spitefully using a charge laid against them as the basis for malicious rumours about my territory not accepting immigrants. Well, they may end up doing it anyways, but I’m not about to give them any ideas.”

Ludmila put her mantle aside, accepting a fresh cup of tea offered by Aemilia as the scratching of Nonna’s pen filled the silence.

“Let the captain know that they’re to be delivered to Corelyn Harbour – I’ll have to warn Clara about them as well.”

“Should they be detained until then?” Nonna asked.

“Not unless they look like they’re about to go somewhere,” Ludmila pointed in the general direction of the flats. “Set a Bone Vulture to specifically watch over them from overhead. I don’t care if they loiter around outside without bothering anyone, but I want them out–”

“You haven’t even invited me in yet,” a light voice chimed from the door, “never mind throwing me out. I think I’m hurt.”

Nonna bowed in front of her and Ludmila spun around, curtseying deeply towards the narrow doorway as soon as she confirmed the owner of the new voice.

“I am dreadfully sorry!” She cried in a horrified voice, “My words were meant for some other people. You are, of course, always welcome in my home, Lady Shalltear.”

The lightly-frilled hem of Lady Shalltear’s black ballroom gown filled her downcast gaze as her liege stepped over the threshold of the manor. Ludmila was made painfully aware of the dust from the road that she had just tracked in being swept up by the exquisite and incalculably valuable dress.

“You may raise your heads.”

With a bit of hesitation, Ludmila rose to face Lady Shalltear. Her silhouette filled the entryway, and her glowing crimson eyes were laid upon her in some bemusement.

“While it’s fun to find opportunities to tease you,” she said with a small smile, “your skill at groveling is decidedly lacking. I suppose I shall have to find other ways to derive my pleasure from you, Lady Zahradnik. So what was this about throwing people out?”

Ludmila guided Lady Shalltear to the rear of her home, taking a seat across the small dining table from her. Aemilia attended to them near the table.

“Do you take tea, my lady?” Ludmila asked.

“I can drink tea, yes,” Lady Shalltear replied.

Aemilia turned away to prepare what little hospitality they had to offer as Ludmila explained what had occurred.

“The capital has bylaws that address this sort of behaviour,” Lady Shalltear noted, “do they not exist in your fief as well?”

“Not as such, no,” Ludmila answered. “Laws against rowdy and belligerent behaviour short of inflicting grievous injury and committing murder have never existed in Warden’s Vale. To be frank, my lady, it has always been a place where the people are rough, rowdy and rude…but not that kind of rude. My people knew where the boundaries of respect were drawn, so there was never any need for such measures.”

Populations in territories charged with the defence of the realm had a distinct culture of their own, which stemmed from their principal duties. Unlike inland territories that generally had docile tendencies encouraged in their populations, frontier regions had a martial culture that harnessed aggression and the skills required to defend their homes. Children and adults alike were allowed to wrestle, roughhouse and fight and, in doing so, also developed a code of behaviour that understood where the lines of such conduct lay.

Dealing with ‘militant’ individuals from the inland territories was always a vaguely annoying thing. Be they a fresh member of the militia or an Adventurer, it was like interacting with people that only recently came into ownership of a weapon and didn’t know how and when it was to be used, or what it could do. From what she had seen, brawls and domestic conflicts in the city were also like this: one had to break up altercations because the people involved often fought without reserve. They just acted like their lives were being threatened, or acted with deadly intent – even over ridiculously minor things. Though the inland nobles seemed to equate the borderlands with brutal militancy and savage conduct, the populations of border territories might consider inlanders undisciplined and soft.

“Well these people are here now,” Lady Shalltear looked up at her, “and your new migrants are not the same villagers that you grew up with.”

“It is as you say, my lady,” Ludmila admitted. “Even so, I was hoping to carry my own culture forward with the new migrants. They do not seem to share the same proud, independent spirit of my people and it seems that they are floundering about when left to their own devices. Whether I can instill them with the same ideals as before, I am uncertain…but at the least I would like to see roughly the same freedoms enjoyed.”

“Then I suppose we will see where your path leads you,” Lady Shalltear said after taking a sip out of the cup of tea laid before her. “I have no worries about you personally, but keep in mind that you are a rarity amongst your kind. Your experiences beyond the borders of your fief should have provided you with ample evidence of that.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Ludmila lowered her head. “I will keep that well in mind. So what is it that brings you personally all the way to my humble fief?”

“Those Frost Dragons are finally behaving properly for the capital’s grand opening, so I came over here to see what was going on. I was curious about the Demihuman intrusion that was reported, but I suppose all that’s left of it is standing outside of your door…”

“There have been no further incidents beyond the first one, my lady,” Ludmila said. “Unfortunately I have no way of knowing why they even appeared.”

“Is there even a point to knowing this?” Lady Shalltear looked at her curiously, “Your role as a Frontier Noble was always to keep intruders out, yes? The result here seems a satisfactory conclusion.”

“I suppose when dealing from a position of power that might be the case, my lady,” Ludmila said. “I suppose it is a vestige of our ways of thinking when House Zahradnik had limited strength and numbers. You are correct that our duty was to keep the borders as clear of hostile intruders as possible, but it rarely resorted to facing our neighbors directly in combat. When you only have a hundred or so villagers and there are potentially thousands of Demihumans in the wilderness nearby, understanding when deterrence is sufficient and when force is required is essential.”

Lady Shalltear nursed her drink in both hands, frowning down at the surface of the table. It was probably not something she would have to consider: her liege was an extraordinarily powerful Cleric, and leveling entire towns with a single spell was well within her capabilities.

“Then…what were you hoping to discover?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“No two Demihuman species are the same,” Ludmila answered, “and the Squire Zombie outside of the door is of one that I have never seen before. As imposing as it appears, it is no guarantee of its actual behaviour. Some vicious-looking Demihumans are perfectly benign, while the opposite is true for others. If it was a part of was an envoy and a series of misunderstandings is in progress, it could very well culminate into a full scale reprisal. Even the last time someone fought with the Undead here, it was a Human thought he was saving me from them.”

“How often do Demihumans send you envoys?”

“Most would only resort to diplomacy if they respect the other side’s strength…or if dire circumstances arise that force them into it. Around here, it is extraordinarily rare, as we keep our borders well-defined. The Theocracy is not very far away, either, so the local Demihumans tend to stay away from Humans, and understand that Human reprisals are extraordinarily deadly.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, they wouldn’t get very far even if they did come by,” Lady Shalltear took another sip of tea. “The reports on the local Demihuman tribes during our initial sweeps over the area indicated no substantial threats.”

“Please forgive my saying so, my lady, but that is not the point. I still consider it imperative to understand as much as is possible, to have the most complete picture of the situation so that I may make sound judgements.”

Lady Shalltear looked up from the table, and Ludmila shifted slightly under the scrutiny of her gaze.

“Your outlook is genuinely surprising,” Lady Shalltear said, “and not only because of your apparent duty to exterminate invaders. Do the teachings of your gods also not promote such behaviour?”

“The faith of the Six Great Gods does promote the agenda of Humanity first and foremost: it is a religion for Humans, after all. The faithful in the Theocracy are reported to be as zealous as you suggest, but in Re-Estize and the other northern Human nations, our faith is in the minority and we have a degree of temperance when it comes to such things by necessity. The faithful inland are even far more mild, from what I have seen…if anything, frontier populations may be the most extreme in their outlook beyond the borders of our neighbor to the south, as we do experience periodic hostilities with nonhuman races.”

“I think your definition of ‘extreme’ differs slightly from mine…”

“Perhaps,” Ludmila smiled slightly, “but my desire for information is not the product of some benevolent and optimistic outlook: it is to make the best decisions possible in any given situation. If that decision happens to be the extermination of hostile invaders, then the understanding that I have developed will help me come up with the best ways by which to do so.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s more like you,” Lady Shalltear’s eyes gleamed. “If that’s the case, then maybe you should resurrect the fellow outside and ask directly.”

“You would do this, my lady?”

“No,” her liege’s lips turned down in a small frown. “The budget that has been allocated to me is scarce enough as it is – I swear Albedo is giving me a hard time on purpose. Speaking of which, this brings me to another reason I came to visit you.”

Lady Shalltear turned her head to the figure standing nearby in the hall.

“Hm…Nonna, yes?”

“It is an honour that Lady Shalltear would remember this one’s designation,” the Elder Lich bowed.

“Return to your duties,” she told the Elder Lich. “You do not need to be here.”

Nonna once again bowed respectfully before leaving the manor. After the door shut quietly, Lady Shalltear turned her attention back to Ludmila.

“Now where was I…ah, yes – the reason why I came.”

“It wasn’t to investigate the report of intrusion, my lady?” Ludmila asked.

“I suppose that was something like a reasonable excuse,” Lady Shalltear answered. “I have enlisted you to aid me in my new duties: it is as good a time as any to begin.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Lady Shalltear’s lips parted to speak again; then she stopped and scanned the room carefully.

“「Silence」.”

The dim sounds of the village leaking through the thin walls of the manor hall abruptly ceased, leaving an eerie stillness in the air. In the corner of her vision, Ludmila saw Aemilia glance about nervously. Going by the still-audible shuffle of her maid’s feet, it seemed that Lady Shalltear had cast the same enchantment from the night she had visited Ludmila’s solar in E-Rantel.

“My lady?”

“「All Appraisal Magic Item」.”

Taking one last look around the room, Lady Shalltear nodded in satisfaction before answering.

“I doubt you’ve forgotten that your attaché is one of Albedo’s creatures,” she said. “Since the Prime Minister seemingly wishes to abandon me to my own devices in the pursuit of my task, then I will keep her big nose out of my matters entirely. Do keep this in mind, Ludmila: she’s been gleaning the fruit of your own efforts as well.”

“I understand, my lady,” Ludmila replied. “I will keep information regarding this separate from my other work…will we be headed somewhere later? If so, I’d like to ask for some time; I’ve not completely caught up to all of my duties here – it should take another day or two provided nothing unexpected occurs that pushes things back.”

“We’ll just be conducting an overview today,” Lady Shalltear dismissed her concerns with an absent wave of her hand, “there are also several other things…I believe you mentioned wanting to discuss something to do with our contract the last time we parted?”

“Yes, that’s right, my lady,” Ludmila nodded. “I need to discuss my taxes with you.”

“The taxes of the Sorcerous Kingdom should go to the Sorcerer King, should they not?”

“As far as I know, the tax laws have not been changed. Nobles have the right to collect revenues from their holdings independently, and their liege similarly collects revenues from their vassals in addition to what is garnered from the holdings that they administer directly. Land taxes are of course separate from customs duties, tolls, fines and such, but, as you are my liege, you are who receives my taxes…is this not something you normally practice?”

“It’s not,” Lady Shalltear said. “We don’t pay taxes to His Majesty – though there have been occasions where we’ve offered personal tributes to him. His Majesty even offered to provide us with a salary at one point, but since all of our needs are provided by him in the first place, one thing led to another and the notion was abandoned.”

“I’ve heard of subsidies and stipends being provided to fund various projects or address security concerns, my lady, but I’ve never heard of vassals being compensated simply for being vassals…”

Ludmila wondered what sort of salary Lady Shalltear would command. Surely it was some fabulous amount, and the proceeds would go into something equally so.

“Then what would you do with the taxes I paid you?” Ludmila asked.

“Hmm…there’s at least one thing I would like to do: how many years of taxes do you think it would take to come up with one billion gold coins?”

Ludmila mouthed the amount silently while Lady Shalltear looked on in expectation. What in the world would one do with so much currency? More to the point: did so much coinage even exist?

“Er, well…I don’t expect prices for commodities produced by Undead labour to maintain their current levels, but even so I don’t think that’s something my demesne could produce in my entire lifetime…”

“But your descendants will serve me as well, yes?”

“I do indeed desire this to be the case, my lady, but I’ve no confidence in making such long range economic projections.”

“That’s a shame. I suppose that in the end the full amount would go to His Majesty, though…every little bit counts, yes?”

The unfathomable nature of the Sorcerous Kingdom once again made itself plainly clear to Ludmila. Even the plans that she had wrought for her demesne and its resulting productivity seemed less than a mote in comparison. She needed to find some way for her contributions to have more meaning than simply being an indistinguishable drop in an ocean.

“You mentioned some budgetary constraints and the Prime Minister…what was that about?”

“Ah, yes,” Lady Shalltear said. “As you know, the Ministry of Transportation is establishing an aerial transportation network, using the Frost Dragons as the backbone for the project. The Prime Minister has allocated, well, nothing to the project, so I’ve been using my own resources for it.”

“The Prime Minister has allocated none of the nation’s budget to a national project? That doesn’t make much sense…”

“To be honest, I technically do have everything needed to make things run, which is ultimately His Majesty’s anyways…the reasoning should be somewhere along those lines…”

“If that’s the reasoning, then perhaps the Prime Minister considered the matter of my taxes as well. Regardless, I believe it would be a productive way to put the resources to use. Once we’ve developed this network into a workable form, the revenues from the nation’s effective monopoly over aerial transportation will be well worth the investment.”

“The revenues?” Lady Shalltear tilted her head curiously.

“Even transporting goods over land has associated costs, yes? My vessel needs to be maintained, plus I need to pay harbour fees and such. Then I have to hire a wagon to transport my goods from the harbour to the city for sale. I’m not sure how much the Frost Dragons cost to maintain, but we’ll have to balance the service’s expenses, at least.”

Lady Shalltear tilted her head the other way, and Ludmila held her words in check. Considering what Lady Shalltear had said about the arrangement of her own resources, she might have been approaching the challenge from an entirely different angle.

“Apologies, my lady – I’ve only been considering things from my own limited understanding,” Ludmila said. “Rather than getting ahead of myself, I should have made sure that I was on the same page first. We should start from the beginning to avoid misunderstandings.”

“I agree,” Lady Shalltear said. “I’ve made a great study of these Frost Dragons in the past few weeks, and I believe I’ve come up with a number of ideas to best put them to use. Let’s see…”

Lady Shalltear’s voice trailed off as she reached into a hole in the air in front of her. Ludmila and Aemilia watched as her arm made rummaging motions as she muttered to herself.

“No not that one…

“It should be somewhere around here…

“Hm…I thought I left that at home…

“Oops, I forgot to turn this off.

“Ah, here it is.”

Her hand reappeared, holding a light blue notepad with an expensive-looking pen clipped onto it. After she placed the item on the table between them, her gown shimmered briefly before being replaced by an entirely different outfit. Ludmila could only see the portion of it above the table: her liege now wore a white silken blouse with long sleeves; a rich crimson tie at her collar. Over the blouse was a sleeveless black vest with grey pinstripes: fastened by three large, glistening, buttons.

Oval half-rimmed spectacles with dark frames appeared on her face, while the bow and bonnet on her head disappeared, releasing the lustrous waves of her silver hair to spill over her shoulders and down her back. Lady Shalltear reached up to loosen the tie and unbuttoned her collar to expose the slender lines of her pale neck and collarbone. A moment passed before a small furrow appeared on her brow and a large clip appeared in one hand; a brush in the other.

“I guess the quick swap crystal in the clip won’t work so conveniently,” she murmured, then looked towards her. “Fix my hair, Ludmila.”

Ludmila stared blankly after the sudden request, blinking several times.

“Noblewomen here are trained to be Ladies-in-Waiting, yes?” Lady Shalltear asked as she pulled out a ghostly-looking hair band.

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila replied. “Just one moment.”

She stepped away to make sure her hands were clean, wondering how things had gone from planning an aerial transportation network to arranging her lady’s hair. Returning to stand behind Lady Shalltear, she knelt down and held out her hands, clasping and unclasping her fingers nervously. Aemilia had surreptitiously inched over to closely watch – somehow the entire affair had become a trial.

“How would you like your hair arranged, my lady?” She forced out a calm and even voice.

“Just keeping it up and off the floor is fine,” Lady Shalltear replied lightly. “There’s no need to be so nervous…”

“Is this…invisible?” Ludmila asked as she picked up the strange hair band.

“Yes, it’s an invisible hair band. Usually my Vampire Brides deactivate the invisibility before using it, but I suppose that’s not a problem for you.”

Even Lady Shalltear’s hair ties were magic items. Ludmila hoped she didn’t accidentally break anything.

The first challenge Ludmila thought she would have was confusion over which hair was currently her hair, but her concerns eased as she was able to accurately work with the hair that was actually there. Her shoulders loosened, and her stiff movements grew more fluid; the light aroma of her lady’s sweet, cinnamon perfume drifted up with each stroke of the brush. It was only after Lady Shalltear’s hair had taken a soft sheen in the light of the lamp overhead that she gathered it into her hands, twisting it up into a large bun over the nape of her neck and fastening it with the clip. Stepping from one side to the other, she teased out strands to lightly frame her face with lazy curls that fell in front of her shoulders.

Ludmila stepped back and waited anxiously while Lady Shalltear examined her work with an ornate hand mirror produced from somewhere. She turned her head this way and that, tilting both her head and the mirror in several angles before a hole opened up in the air again and she put the mirror and the brush away.

“This is quite nice,” she smiled. “It seems that you’re adept at organizing all sorts of things.”

“You honour me, my lady,” Ludmila said. “I suppose I should be thankful to Clara for dragging me into these things all the time. Speaking of which…Clara and the others would help greatly in envisioning this transportation network – Liane, especially. Their background as merchant houses would be an advantage here. Should I see about enlisting their talents as well?”

“As tempting as this might be,” Lady Shalltear replied, “they still report directly to Albedo as His Majesty’s direct vassals, so I’ll not risk their direct participation. Perhaps in the future I will have the confidence that I can bring them in under me as well but, for the time being, I dare not request more than what His Majesty has already provided me. Our work will have to earn recognition beyond the shadow of a doubt if you wish to have your friends join you.”

“The fact that is possible is encouraging, my lady. I look forward to our future success.”

“Oh my...filled with conviction now, aren’t we?”

“Well they are my friends, so yes. I would very much like to be able to work more closely with them.”

“Friends, hmm…” Lady Shalltear repeated absently, “well, that will most likely be far in the future. Now that we’re in the spirit of things, let’s see what you can make out of my notes.”

Ludmila reached out and took the light blue notepad in her hands, flipping open the cover. Within...were notes in some language that she had never seen before. Continuing to flip through page after page, she saw a multitude of diagrams, maps and dense blocks of the same elegant, yet unknown, text throughout. After her reaction to the initial report on Fassett County, Ludmila thought her liege might be averse to lengthy and meticulous documentation, but going through her notes it seemed like it might not be the case.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” she said as she looked back up, “I’m unable to read this…what are you doing?”

In front of her, Lady Shalltear was holding a dark green notepad, writing something within.

“Taking notes,” she said.

On what? Ludmila wondered.

“Er, anyways...if you’d be so kind as to provide a translation, I’ll scribe a copy for myself. Aemilia, how much paper do we have left lying around?”

Before her maid could reply, Lady Shalltear’s hand disappeared into a hole in the air again, withdrawing a stack of expensive-looking paper.

“I have plenty to use,” she said. “Feel free.”

She kept piling up more and more stacks of paper until Ludmila thought there should be several thousand sheets towering on the table. Just how many platinum coins was this worth? Aemilia circled around to start storing them away before they toppled over.

Placing the first sheet over a hard writing surface, Ludmila took pen in hand.

“By the way, my lady,” she asked, “is this your native language? I’ve never seen such script before.”

“It is,” Lady Shalltear replied. “And If you do encounter it somewhere, you are to report your findings to me as soon as possible. Consider it a matter of utmost importance.”

“…is this language dangerous?”

“Not in the way that you probably mean, but those who use it are. In all likelihood, your trying to fight such a person is about as futile as trying to fight me – your best chance of survival would lie with us, though escaping such an individual is unlikely should you provoke them.”

There was a stern tone to her liege’s voice: a hard edge bordering on hostility that she had never heard Lady Shalltear express before.

“Understood, my lady,” Ludmila nodded. “Though I hope to never meet someone like that. I will avoid confrontation and report to you immediately if I do.”

As they settled down into translating Lady Shalltear’s notes, Ludmila could not help but marvel at her attention to detail. After several hours, they had only gotten a third of the way into them; the majority of what was completed being a meticulous breakdown of characteristics and behaviours of the Frost Dragons. Everything from their natural habits, abilities and the known personality traits, performance and tendencies of each individual Dragon under her management. From just the notes, she could understand why they were so suited to serve in their role as the core of the nation’s aerial logistics.

A Frost Dragon could cover vast distances through the air: a day’s travel for a mundane and laden caravan in good conditions and paved roads would amount to less than an hour of unhurried flight. They never forgot what they experienced, making them ideal for navigating even the furthest reaches of the world – they would never get lost, as long as they had been there before. Very little in the world could catch one in the air, never mind defeat one, so security for cargo was similarly low on the list of concerns.

“These Frost Dragons,” Ludmila said while stretching between sections of notes, “how did they come to join the Sorcerous Kingdom?”

“They were a bonus, I suppose,” Lady Shalltear shrugged. “His Majesty was negotiating with the Dwarf Kingdom for various things and the topic of their old capital, Feoh Berkana, came up.”

“I suppose that part had something to do with the Dragons?”

Lady Shalltear leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands.

“Yes,” she replied. “The Dwarves had one of their other cities destroyed by a clash between two Frost Dragons, and the Dragons that ended up joining us were the ones that had turned Feoh Berkana into their lair. Hm…how did it go again? We broke a siege by the Quagoa on the final Dwarf stronghold, then one thing led to another and His Majesty promised to liberate Feoh Berkana in exchange for amicable trade relations, technical assistance and one of their ancestral crafts.”

“What about these Quagoa you mentioned?” Ludmila asked, “It sounds like the Dwarf Nation was at war with them.”

“You could say that they were rivals over the same territory,” Lady Shalltear answered. “They’re hairy, rodent-like Demihumans that stand around my own height. I guess if the Frost Dragons were a bonus, then the Quagoa were a bonus of a bonus? They were servants of the Frost Dragons, so after the Frost Dragon leader was defeated the Quagoa were given the option to submit or die.”

“What happened to them?”

“They asked for us to prove our strength, so they died for a while. Then they submitted. Those who remained after everything was said and done were transported away, along with their intact dead. Hm...I wonder what that shorty did with the rest of their pieces? She had better still not be carrying it all around with her – that would take forever to air out.”

“Ah, I guess they were that sort of Demihuman then.”

“That sort? What do you mean?”

“I mentioned something along those lines earlier, I think,” Ludmila said. “Many Demihumans will only negotiate if they respect the other side’s strength, so something like a skirmish or contest to prove this is often required before they are willing to resort to diplomacy.”

“Ah, that you did,” Lady Shalltear nodded. “Yes, that’s precisely what happened. As expected of someone accustomed to dealing with Demihumans. Ah–I’m glad I managed to get things right, finally…”

Her voice trailed off, and Lady Shalltear sat silently in her seat. Ludmila straightened in alarm as her liege’s lip started to tremble, and tears gathered in her shining crimson eyes. Rising from her chair, Ludmila circled around the table as she fished a handkerchief from a pocket. She lowered herself down beside Lady Shalltear, offering the folded linen cloth to her.

At first, Lady Shalltear looked down at it wordlessly, trying to contain her emotions. Then a tear escaped and she quickly took the handkerchief to catch it. She stared at the damp spot on the cloth for a moment before her composure collapsed completely. Ludmila laid her hand soothingly between Lady Shalltear’s shuddering shoulders as she sobbed quietly into the handkerchief.

“I’m sho glad,” she said in a muffled voice. “Lord Ainzsch…”

Ludmila remained beside her, and Lady Shalltear sniffed loudly.

“I…I should stop,” she sniffed again, trying to regain control of herself, “He shaid – he said I can’t waste my face on tears.”

“Tears of happiness are not a waste, my lady,” Ludmila said gently.

Lady Shalltear’s sobs started anew.

A long while later, Lady Shalltear finally settled down and Ludmila returned to her seat after helping to fix up her appearance again. Her liege blew her nose into the handkerchief and looked back down at the sheets on the table.

“The Quagoa…Demihumans…” She murmured between sniffles, “That reminds me: Cocytus wanted to speak to you about something.”

“Lord Cocytus? I’m surprised he would mention me at all.”

“Well,” Lady Shalltear sniffed again, “he’s been aware of your existence for as long as I have, and your name has come up several times since. Though he is a man of few words, it does seem like he has some sort of request for you.”

Ludmila set the pen down on the untouched page in front of her.

“Should we see to this immediately?” She asked, “How long has it been since he asked?”

“It’s not an urgent matter,” Lady Shalltear answered. “He’s busy with security arrangements for the events in the capital at the moment anyways. We’ll arrange a visit in advance at some point. For now, let’s continue with these notes, hm?”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Beyond the documentation of the Frost Dragons and their characteristics, Lady Shalltear’s notes consisted of a variety of ideas and concepts that she had come up with regarding how the Frost Dragons could be utilized and how the transportation network would work. As a result, their progress slowed down considerably since Ludmila needed to often expand on their ongoing transcription to understand what her liege was attempting to convey. While the idea of air transport was something she had grasped on a minor level with the Bone Vultures, many other things, such as ideas revolving around magic and magical items were far outside of her personal experience.

“Are these items so readily available for purchase?” She stopped to ask at one point, “Even one such as myself understands the implications of such items being used. Surely someone must have thought of something like this for other forms of transportation at some point, and the concept would’ve become widespread. There’s no way I can think of that can compete with this aside from the spells that you use for transport: you could even use these items in conjunction with those spells and it would become even more ludicrous.”

“We do – it’s an everyday thing for us,” Lady Shalltear answered. “Also, when we went on our trip to the north, there was at least one Dwarf that used a similar item to carry the ores that he was mining…he didn’t appear to be a well-off fellow either, compared with some others we encountered later.”

“Alright…suppose we use these Infinite Haversacks that are described here,” Ludmila said. “What prevents a Frost Dragon from strapping on any number of these, effectively allowing them to fly all over the place with the capacity of a large ship?”

“Being able to fly does not make one immune to encumbrance,” Lady Shalltear told her. “The Infinite Haversacks do weigh enough on their own that the burdens of carrying multiples will add up. I’ve determined that four is the maximum that an average Adult Frost Dragon can manage without affecting the consistency of their long-distance performance. They become larger and more powerful as they age, so an Old or Ancient Frost Dragon will be able to handle more.”

“Then what if we put an Infinite Haversack inside of another Infinite Haversack?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that. The results would be…unfortunate.”

“Alright,” Ludmila said. “But the question still stands…are such items so freely available? Something like these Infinite Haversacks must be exorbitantly expensive, even if they were. The profits a merchant could garner from even a single wagon loaded with these would be enormous, and the demand for them equally so.”

Lady Shalltear was silent for a moment at the question, then her hand disappeared into the mysterious hole in the air again. After withdrawing a rolled vellum parchment, a small frown appeared on her face.

“What’s that?” Ludmila asked.

“It’s a Message scroll,” Lady Shalltear replied. “When I use it, it casts a Message spell which allows me to converse with a single target over long distances. I haven’t had to use one before, so I’m just making sure that I remember what to do.”

The described function of the spell seemed conspicuously similar to Ludmila’s own ability. Had she been using magic all along?

“Are there limits to its use? Range and such.”

“Hmm…I haven’t heard any reports of range limitations – it’s used quite often over hundreds of kilometres. It can be interfered with, though.”

“Oh.”

“That sounded suspiciously like disappointment.”

“It’s just…well, it sounded like one of my own abilities, but the spell appears to be far superior by comparison.”

“You have the ability to use Message?” Lady Shalltear eyed her curiously.

“I don’t think it works the same way,” Ludmila said. “I’m fairly certain it has to do with my command abilities: Clara and the others can do it as well, but what they do seems slightly different as far as we can tell. Going by my own experience there doesn’t seem to be a limitation on range, but distances beyond a few kilometres take a fair bit out of me. Hearing that Message can contact others hundreds of kilometres away makes my own ability seem unremarkable.”

“Well, if it’s not the same thing, there must be other advantages. What else can you do with it?”

“You mentioned that Message reaches a single target, but this ability can be heard by multiple individuals if desired…as long as I know roughly where they are. It’s the same ability that you witnessed me use when sending out the first batch of Undead labourers ordered at the administrative office in the city. We’ve found some rather useful applications, but the range is very short in comparison to this spell you’re using.”

“Are you able to do it right now? It doesn’t take any mana or components or anything special does it?”

“Just a little bit of concentration – next to nothing when we’re this close.”

“Ah, then give it a try! I want to hear.”

『Hello, Lady Shalltear.』

“Oh, I heard it!” Lady Shalltear perked up in her seat, “Okay, how do I reply?”

“As far as I know, it’s one-way only,” Ludmila said.

“Oh.”

Lady Shalltear’s voice fell in disappointment. Ludmila tried thinking of some benefits to the ability.

“The four of us – Clara, Liane, Florine and I – are able to freely communicate in complete silence as long as we are within range of one another and we know where each one of us is,” Ludmila said. “Group conversations are also possible. It’s unknown whether the other nobles here have learned how to harness this ability, but it doesn’t seem to be the case…they are keeping it a well-guarded secret otherwise. Between ourselves, we’ve decided not to spread the knowledge of this ability outside of our own little circle.”

“Do you know if it can be interfered with?” Lady Shalltear asked, “Or if the communication can be intercepted?”

“We have no way to find out, really. At the least, no one has been able to interfere with the ability…but it could simply mean that no one has cared to try. The idea that someone might be able to listen in on our discussions is unsettling, though at that point I suppose it would be no different than eavesdropping on a regular conversation.”

“We should find out one of these days,” Lady Shalltear said, “this ability is quite intriguing. Your decision to keep it to yourselves is prudent as well: Lord Ainz has expressed similar sentiments over what knowledge should be promoted, and what should be restricted.”

“His Majesty is wise,” Ludmila agreed. “Just the idea of this ability being utilized by corrupt nobles or those with harmful designs against us seems like it would be a nightmare to deal with.”

Lady Shalltear tapped the roll of vellum several times on the table. Then she took a deep breath and released it.

“Well, here I go,” she said after resolving herself. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

“「Message」.”

Lady Shalltear released the scroll, which unfurled itself and floated into the air between them before being consumed by azure flames. Raising a hand, she held it to an ear. After a moment, her look of concentration turned to one of success, and she smiled at Ludmila while excitedly gesturing with her free hand. Ludmila smiled back, and Lady Shalltear went through a range of expressions as she silently conversed with the recipient of the spell.

“It worked,” Lady Shalltear said in relief as she lowered her hand. “That was a good thing too: I only brought one to try out.”

Looking around the manor, Lady Shalltear’s gaze settled on an open section of the hall near the manor entrance.

“You won’t mind if I bring them here, yes?” She asked.

“My land is yours, but I don’t mind if you trust them,” Ludmila answered. “Who is it?”

“You’ve met them before: I’m sure you’ll recognize them immediately.”

Stretching her hand towards the empty area, Lady Shalltear cast a spell.

“「Gate」.”

The familiar black portal opened in the hall and a familiar figure, clad in black plate armour, stepped into the manor. Ludmila rose from her seat and turned to greet him.

“Welcome back to Warden’s Vale, Momon,” she said with a warm smile. “I’ve never had the opportunity to express my gratitude for everything that you’ve done for me.”

“Umu,” he replied as he stood before them. Ludmila still did not know what it meant.

The Adamantite Adventurer looked over her for a moment before walking over to pull out a chair and seat himself to her left. Ludmila reseated herself as well, folding her hands over her lap. Momon’s visored gaze continued to scrutinize her for a long while, and it took an active effort not to shift in her seat. Finally, a long sigh escaped from beneath his helm.

“Is something the matter?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“Ah, no,” Momon said as Ludmila continued to feel his intense gaze upon her. “If anything, being here in this home sets my mind at ease.”

Huh?

“Wow~” Lady Shalltear’s mouth slowly formed into a smile.

Ludmila felt warmth creeping up her neck and blooming over her cheeks. She turned her gaze away from the Adventurer, and out of the corner of her vision she could see Aemilia covering her mouth with both hands.

Why now? It was an ambush against which she had been entirely unprepared. Lady Shalltear was sitting right across from her as well…if anything, shouldn’t she be the one who would normally receive such compliments? The notion that he was paying more attention to her than Lady Shalltear sent several more fragments of Ludmila’s composure tumbling into the abyss.

Fighting to wrest back her peace of mind, she couldn’t quite look at him before she found a thread of reason to cling onto.

“I-I am…quite flattered,” she struggled to force coherent words out of her mouth, “but I do not wish to come between you and Nabe.”

“Eh?”

“You are a…couple, yes? You two seem so close, so this must be the case. It is said that you came here from some far away place, pursuing some great cause around the world together…I feel it quite romantic.”

Ludmila did feel that it was quite romantic: something that you might only expect out of fanciful tales. The reliance and commitment in one another that would surely blossom into genuine love and respect over the course of their many trials…

Perhaps the old saying is true, that all men are wolves.

“Though there is one thing I am curious about,” she was finally able to turn back to face him. “Do you plan on settling down somewhere once you start a family together?”

Momon planted his face in his gauntlet. It seemed like she had successfully fended him off.

“Yes, that’s right,” Lady Shalltear added. “I had expected that Nabe would be with you. She would have surely loved to hear this.”

Momon jerked suddenly and went into a fit of coughing. Maybe it wasn’t the first time Lady Shalltear had seen him attempt this.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Ah, ehm. Nabe is with the magic ite–I mean, Nabe is at the exhibition set up by the Imperial Ministry of Magic in E-Rantel. We were about to start cataloguing the magic items they have on display there. You mentioned that you wanted to consult with me on the subject of magic items – is that an office lady suit you’re wearing?”

Momon finally turned his attention away from her to speak with Lady Shalltear, and Ludmila stared down at her hands while she resettled herself. Eyeing the inert Ring of Mental Fortitude on her finger, she wished that it would protect her from mind-affecting attacks of that nature as well.

“Yes, it gives off just the right image for desk work, doesn’t it?” Lady Shalltear replied. “Lady Zahradnik here arranged my hair…not bad, yes?”

“More to the point,” Momon said, “you two seem to have become quite close…”

“Human noblewomen are trained to serve as handmaidens, and my Vampire Brides are all busy making preparations for the new transportation network. Which brings me to the reason I called: we wanted your feedback on the magical items I’ve proposed should be standard to each Frost Dragon for their transportation duties. Lady Zahradnik – show him what we were just talking about.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila replied.

Ludmila looked up and reached over to pull an open folder filled with sheets of paper in front of her. Leafing through the pages, she withdrew the dozen which outlined the subject of their discussion. Placing them in front of Momon, they waited quietly as he scanned over the details.

“Hmm…two Infinite Haversacks for Juveniles, four for Adults, six for Old, eight for Elder and twelve for Ancient Dragons. Periapt of Health, Ring of Sustenance, Ring of Regeneration, Greater Ring of Fire Resistance – three rings?

“The one Lord Ainz gave to Aura had his own spectacles, so we started seeing what else they could wear. Barring body armour, it appears that they can equip nearly everything – including a band for their tails.”

“That’s...rather interesting,” Momon said. “I follow the general idea so far: they won’t get sick, you’ll save on the costs of feeding them, they’ll regenerate injuries that they might receive while on the job, and you’re reinforcing them against their primary weakness.”

“Yes, this is the basic equipment I was thinking of to start off with,” Lady Shalltear nodded. “The set should keep them working and prevent the most likely of maintenance issues. Lord Ainz told Aura and Mare that they should rest and eat since they are still growing, so I’ve scheduled time for the Dragons to do so as well to eventually improve our cargo capacity: they’re free to hunt game in the Azerlisia Mountains and the Great Forest of Tob.”

“What about these other pages?”

“They are optional equipment loadouts that I’ve been considering, though I am leaning towards providing Message scrolls as part of the basic provisions just in case they encounter unforeseen events and emergencies that need to be relayed to us. They’ll be able to report anything suspicious that they notice as they fly around as well.”

“Optional, huh…” Momon murmured as he continued reading through. “Why do some of these look like you’re equipping them for war instead of cargo shipments?”

“That’s just in case the Sorcerous Kingdom becomes involved in some conflict. If the risks involved with their work increases or they are called in for some reason to fight or deliver our forces somewhere, then they should be suitably prepared, yes?”

“Some of these suitable preparations would make some of these Dragons you have capable of destroying small nations single-handedly…perhaps you should stick to something simple for now. There is also the fact that they are Dragons, so being inundated with so many items at once could trigger undesirable behaviours.”

“Is that so? Then would it be possible to secure the first set of accessories for all of the Dragons? The Infinite Haversacks as well, of course.”

“I will ask around and find out whether it’s possible or not,” Momon replied. “The Adventurer Guild has been clamouring for magic items as well, but the Ministry of Transportation would most likely take priority for practical reasons. The Message scrolls are a prudent addition as well: I’m certain that there should be no problem with those.”

“Excellent,” Lady Shalltear smiled brightly. “Please let me know once you have a definitive answer for me.”

Momon flipped through the pages quickly one last time before returning them to the table and rising from his seat. Ludmila rose as well, to see him away.

“I should get back to E-Rantel,” he said. “Nabe is probably still waiting for me at the Imperial Ministry of Magic’s exhibition. I will send word once I have an answer for you, Minister. Still, though...I had no idea that you had such an eye for coordinating magic items.”

“Well, I do have quite an expansive wardrobe of magical equipment,” Lady Shalltear replied, “so this much should be natural, no? Though I suppose I found out how addictive it could be while I was figuring out what might best suit Lady Zahradnik. The hours simply seem to vanish when one has so many magic items to mix and match.”

“Indeed…” Momon chuckled, “It is somewhat surprising that you would part so readily with your own precious possessions, however.”

“Well, after seeing the others being so free-handed with their own subordinates, I decided that my own should not be so easily overshadowed. She has proven herself a faithful servant thus far, and much has changed since I claimed her as my vassal, don’t you agree?”

“This is very true, in many ways. Much has changed for the better since I first encountered her in this place. So what did you end up bestowing Baroness Zahradnik with?”

“I’ve only been able to get her to take a ring so far,” Lady Shalltear held up a hand in a helpless gesture. “She is quite stubborn even after I told her that I considered such refusals foolish. As pragmatic as she usually is, like Cocytus she believes that everything one receives from their liege must be earned through merit or come with some important duty. Though she is a noble, she also has that same, obstinate warrior spirit – can you imagine what would happen if you put the two of them together?”

“Hmm…I do wonder how such a meeting would play out: either they would hit it off spectacularly or they would barely say anything to one another at all. Speaking of which, you remember he was asking after you two?”

“Yes, we’ll be visiting him after he’s seen to organizing his part in E-Rantel’s events.”

“I see,” Momon turned away from the table and walked out into the hall. “Well, I should be on my way…if you please.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ludmila turned around as Momon left and the Gate closed in on itself. Upon doing so, she found Aemilia reaching above the dining table towards the oil lamp hanging from above.

“Please excuse me, Lady Shalltear,” her maid apologised for the imposition. “This lamp needs to be refilled.”

Facing back away, Ludmila worked off the neutral expression she had frozen onto her face as the two members of the Royal Court conversed with one another. As she had not been called upon to speak, she could only remain silent without a reason to interrupt their discourse. She felt a presence at her arm and looked down to see that Lady Shalltear had come out to stand beside her.

“You went from hot to cold quite quickly there,” she said as they looked out the manor window. “I believe most of the women around E-Rantel would have flung themselves bodily at Momon if they sensed even the hint of a proposition from him.”

“I had no expectations at all,” Ludmila replied, “so I was caught completely by surprise. My mind has been on everything else but, recently. I think it’s been that way for all of my friends as well – too much has changed: there’s just so much to do, and never enough time…even if there was, the pool of suitable consorts is sparse.”

“It’s not as if the land is completely bereft of men,” Lady Shalltear looked up at her. “Being in your position, you should have plenty of options.”

“If it were only that simple. Liane and Florine might be more open to certain matches, but Clara and I are far more selective…I guess it boils down to our respective religions. I hope you don’t mind my bringing it up, as you are a Cleric yourself, my lady.”

“You are speaking of Human religions, yes? I’m a bit curious, actually.”

“In that case…”

Ludmila paused for a moment, thinking on how to best explain.

“The faith of the Six Great Gods once dominated these northern lands but, at some point in the past, a heresy took root – a schism, if you will – and the faith of The Four rose to prominence, supplanting the tenets and much of the culture promoted by the faith of The Six. The great cathedrals that founded long ago alongside the cities became quiet, and only a few strongholds remain: such as Warden’s Vale and the territories that now form Corelyn County. There were many differences that caused this schism, but, by and large, the central tenets of the faith of The Four are far more convenient for the northern nations, if I were to describe it. Their paths are not as straight and narrow as ours, and how each faith views family and marriage is an example of that.”

“I see,” Lady Shalltear said. “so the Humans that are picky are followers of your faith, and the ones I see rubbing themselves all over one another on the city streets belong to the others.”

“That’s a bit too general of a statement, I think,” Ludmila frowned at the mental image. “But if you observe Clara and I alongside Liane and Florine, the difference in behaviour is distinct enough that it doesn’t need to be stated directly. For lack of a better term, Clara and I are more reserved. The faith of the Six encourages its followers to evaluate potential partners based on their strength and ability with the hope that our children and their descendents will, too, become stronger with each generation through this practice. The institution of marriage is sacred, and faithful relationships are not only prized: they are expected.”

“Ah, that explains why you started to bristle after you recovered from Momon’s words.”

“I…bristled?” Ludmila didn’t think she did, “I didn’t mean to openly, but I did feel that way inside. As a follower of The Six, those are the values I was raised with. In the northern nations, where the faith of The Four holds sway over the vast majority, our tenets that harness the truths of the world have been cast aside and forgotten. Partners are often chosen using frivolous criteria, bloodlines are thinned to the point where they might as well not exist at all, and the potential of entire generations is left to the winds of fate. All sorts of wrongheaded ideas manifest, such as one’s worth being judged on the basis of inherited wealth and social status, which only serves to make the problem even worse.”

“Then,” Lady Shalltear asked, “as a noble, you do not believe yourself above your fellow Humans?”

“As a noble,” Ludmila answered, “I understand that I have the education and training invested in me to do what I am supposed to be doing, just as a professional in any other vocation. I do not believe in any inherent sense of superiority conferred simply by occupying my station: the expectations and trust placed in me are components of duty, not privilege.

“Also, as my house has remained faithful, I understand that my lineage is more reliable when it comes to producing individuals of higher calibre. It is simply a fact proven in every generation that members of our house are martially superior compared to the average individual. House Corelyn is the same: they consistently produce excellent administrators every generation, and are in a position to harness that potential. Both Clara and I are a product of the tenets of the Six Great Gods – born and raised to excel at what our bloodlines demonstrate aptitude in. We do not run around with the idea in our heads that we are wholly self-made. By the same token, we tend to respect others for what they are born into, be they a farmer, smith or merchant.”

“…I didn’t realize there was so much behind your reaction,” Lady Shalltear lightly scratched her cheek with a finger. “I suppose Momon should resign himself to his fate.”

“Not only are both Momon and Nabe strong,” Ludmila said, “they have such a close history together…I guess the very idea of his infidelity was offensive. Besides, since they are like that…he should be the same as Nabe, yes?”

A small sound issued from Lady Shalltear’s nose. She struggled to control herself for a moment before giving up and laughing outright.

“My lady?”

“This is too much!” Lady Shalltear said as the light chime of her laughter filled the manor, “Of all the things that could…cheating on Nabe! Bahaha!”

A few minutes went by before Lady Shalltear finally reined in her mirth. She wrapped her hand around Ludmila’s elbow, drawing her close.

“「Silence」.”

The sounds of Aemilia working deeper inside ceased once her liege cast the spell. She felt a cool touch as Lady Shalltear reached around to hold her other hand, pulling Ludmila lightly to face her.

“You’re not angry?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“What about, my lady?”

“Through your perception,” Lady Shalltear told her, “you have discerned that Momon is the same as Nabe. That the Hero of E-Rantel is not who the people believe he is – a champion of humanity: the legend that lifts their spirits as subjects of the Sorcerous Kingdom. Does that not bother you?”

“I knew that Nabe wasn’t Human when I first met her,” Ludmila said. “It didn’t change my recognition of her as an Adamantite Adventurer – Adventurers are not solely Human anyways. When we first met, Momon asked me what I saw. His reaction to my answer told me that, at the least, he knew as well. After learning bits and pieces of Darkness’ tale from the Adventurer Guild, I guess I naturally came to that conclusion. That he isn’t what others might expect does not change the fact that he willingly took on a burden that was not his own, and continues to shoulder that burden to this day.”

“I know you to be an even-handed individual,” Lady Shalltear noted, “with a perspective far more broad than most of your kind. Do you really think other Humans would share the same sentiments?”

Ludmila withdrew her hands from Lady Shalltear’s light grip, turning back to look out past the river to the distant north.

“Though it would not be prudent to announce it at this point, I do not believe the majority would care all that much. Nonhumans are becoming more and more commonplace in the Sorcerous Kingdom and, sooner or later, it will just probably be received as nothing more than an odd bit of news. Many are coming to the realization that the future of our people is bright in the Sorcerous Kingdom, and it was Momon who was there to lift them up and help stir them to action. He is still the Hero of E-Rantel and, in a way, he is still also a champion of humanity.”

“…so that’s how you see things,” Lady Shalltear said. “Well, since you already seem to be keeping it to yourself, I don’t believe I have to tell you to keep your lips sealed on this matter.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila nodded. “Momon suggested that I do the same when we first arrived in E-Rantel – it is not really my place to say anything anyways.”

“It’s good that you’re so accommodating,” Lady Shalltear said as the sounds from the rear of the manor resumed, “on some things, at least. If you plan on being so selective, what will you do about a consort?”

“Eh…we’re continuing from there? If it comes down to it, I can always consult with the cathedral.”

“Are you saying that your temples are also matchmaking agencies?”

“It should be expected, considering everything that I’ve mentioned. The temples keep track of lineages and such and, in certain scenarios, there are allowances for polygamy.”

“Didn’t you just say that faithful relationships are expected?” Lady Shalltear raised an eyebrow.

“I did, but the faith of The Six is not simply made out of lofty ideals: unexpected things can happen: war, raids, famine or disease that decimate populations. If anything, it’s the faith of The Four that–never mind.”

“I guess that makes sense. So what happens after you apply for polygamy? Do several men just appear at your door one day?”

In the back of the manor, Aemilia suddenly froze.

“T-that’s probably not how it works,” Ludmila replied. “Anyways, I have time aplenty to see to that end of things later…we should get back to the Frost Dragons, yes?”

“Of course,” Lady Shalltear said with a slight smile before they made their way back to the table.

As they seated themselves again, Aemilia came forward and exchanged glances with Ludmila.

“Will you be having dinner with us, my lady?” Ludmila asked.

“This should take us until tonight some time…did you need me to leave?”

“You may stay if you wish, of course. I was more concerned about the council meeting that usually happens around this time…”

“Ah, that. His Majesty is currently in the city during the grand opening of the capital, so most of the evening functions revolve around entertaining dignitaries from the Empire.”

“Should you not be there as a member of the Royal Council and as the Minister of Transportation?”

A displeased expression appeared on Lady Shalltear’s face.

“The venues have all been arranged by Albedo,” she said in dubious tones, “so I suspect that she’s planned something along the lines of dumping me into the midst of a swarm of Imperial Nobles to distract them while she looks down from beside the high seat smugly. Rather than needing to politely suffer their attentions, I would much rather be here: seeing to my newly assigned duties. Should I do well, I will have more meaningful audiences with His Majesty in the future.”

“I can’t imagine I’d do well in that sort of setting either,” Ludmila said. “I would much rather do as you’ve chosen. Hmm…I’m not sure if our food would suit you: is there anything you can’t take?”

“I don’t require food, but I wouldn’t mind trying a little of what you’re having.”

Aemilia lowered her head before turning around to begin her preparations. Ludmila sifted through the papers on the table, looking for the page where they had left off.

“Should we continue under the assumption that the equipment will be available?” She asked.

“Yes, let’s,” Lady Shalltear answered. “I can’t imagine it being any less than the basic set that he agreed was appropriate. We should put together our projections based on this equipment – if there are substantial changes, we’ll be able to see how much the overall picture would change as a result.”

It seemed reasonable enough: if the alterations had too pronounced of an effect on their projections, they would have a base to argue from in favour of meeting their requirements for equipment and securing the means to do so. Ludmila had no idea how expensive one set of these magic items would be, however…each seemed to eliminate an aspect of maintenance in transportation, so the practical value of each was readily apparent even to her. Finally finding the half-filled page that she was looking for, she picked up her pen and looked up to Lady Shalltear.

“Alright, the last part we left off was arrangements in E-Rantel…please continue with your notes, my lady.”

Rather than continuing right away, Lady Shalltear stood from her seat and moved over to sit on the chair to Ludmila’s left. She placed her notepad on the table.

“There are diagrams and such,” she explained, “so it will be easier this way.”

Looking down at the pad of paper, Ludmila could still not puzzle out anything about the language the notes were written in.

“The Frost Dragons are being put up along the northeastern wall of the Central District, overlooking the new Demihuman Quarter. They naturally cool the area with their presence, so the places below the wall will be cooler as well.”

“How much cooler is it going to become?”

“The top of the wall where they live is completely frozen over and a thin mist often rolls off of the walls. They’ve just moved in so I don’t know how cold it might eventually get.”

“Won’t that be a problem?” Ludmila asked. “Lord Mare manages the weather around the agricultural areas of the duchy, so E-Rantel is almost always sunny with the harvest on its way. This has the effect of making the areas of the central district along the north wall feel like standing in an oven, so the cooling from the Frost Dragons should be welcome – at least during the day. The other side, however, is perpetually in the shadow of the wall, so they won’t have the sun warming them up to counteract the cold.”

“Yes, that was one of the reasons behind placing them there,” Lady Shalltear answered. “In addition to providing cooling for the central district, the cold, damp area along the wall on the Demihuman side will be used to accommodate the races that prefer cool temperatures, while the opposite wall of the quarter will have the reverse arrangement.”

“It sounds like the new Demihuman Quarter will look completely different from what it was before. I thought they would just be building homes for the various races coming to live in E-Rantel that Human homes aren’t suited for.”

“It no longer resembles any part of E-Rantel,” Lady Shalltear told her. “The first phase of construction is mostly complete – Mare is quite proud of the design; the Dwarves and Quagoa are assisting in the finer adjustments now. Yuri set up her orphanage there too…it’s a lot bigger than anyone expected it would be.”

“Miss Alpha founded her orphanage in the Demihuman Quarter? Aren’t most of the orphans she’s taking in Human children from around the duchy?”

“Most of them are, yes,” Lady Shalltear said. “Lord Ainz has granted her his full support for the project, so she chose a place in the city with a lot of room to build. Yuri also believes that having the orphanage there will result in the children becoming used to seeing and interacting with nonhuman species, and vice versa. She and a few others have put quite a lot of thought into it – the complex is very expansive.”

“I should really take a look at the new quarter when I have the chance,” Ludmila said. “It must be full of ideas that I’ve never considered before.”

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so,” Lady Shalltear flipped to the next page. “We’ll be dropping by at some point soon so I can show you around the Dragon area anyways. This is what it looks like, roughly.”

Looking down to the notepad, Ludmila saw a diagram of the wall. While the curtain walls of E-Rantel were massive by Human standards, they were too narrow to accommodate the Frost Dragons which currently measured up to eighteen metres in length. In an earlier portion of Lady Shalltear’s notes, their slain leader was estimated to be twenty metres from the tip of his tail to the end of his snout. Their wingspan was as wide as they were long, though it was only a consideration for spaces where they were expected to take off and fly through. Dragons reportedly grew throughout their lives, so the hoardings that had been built for them on the wall would become too small for their occupants eventually.

“Are these hoardings not cramped?” Ludmila asked as she copied the diagrams, “For a Human these would seem quite large, but the Dragons barely fit. They’re almost like pens for livestock.”

“It’s the best that the Dwarven architects could devise given the smaller size of the inner wall,” Lady Shalltear answered. “Once we’ve determined where the highest areas of demand for the network will be, the Dragons will have their lairs redistributed to match – then we can knock down some of the divisions between the pens in the city for more space. The arrangement is temporary for now and I’ve let them know that it is, but they certainly like to complain to one another about it when I’m not around.”

“What does a whining Dragon even sound like?”

“You’ll inevitably hear it one of these days, as much as they do. As long as it doesn’t affect their work, they can complain all they want – they’ve directly witnessed what happened to their patriarch and one of the stronger ones in the younger generation that challenged Lord Ainz, so the price of disobedience has been burned into their minds.”

“Would you actually kill one?”

“Mmh...not unless they do something absolutely unforgivable. Since their recollection of their own experiences is so excellent, they are easy to train and correct if they pick up undesirable behaviours. They also aren’t like Adventurers that will be certain to take resurrections after an incident, either – a Frost Dragon might decide to reject a resurrection out of spite and then we’ll be short one until new offspring can be raised. It would take over a century to replace a lost Adult Frost Dragon.”

“If that’s the case,” Ludmila said, “shouldn’t treating them well be the best course of action? That way there’s a lower risk of rejection should resurrection be required.”

“Yes, well, figuring out what ‘treating them well’ is is the question, isn’t it?” Lady Shalltear told her, “You might know what Humans desire and perhaps draw some similarities between Humans and Demihumans, but these are Dragons. Their minds operate much differently than yours – even the way they perceive the world is entirely alien to you. You will have to understand them first before thinking about how to manage them; in the meanwhile, fear is a more reliable motivator than respect or loyalty.”

Ludmila glanced to the side where the piles of translated notes continued to accumulate. She thought the subject quite interesting, but it would probably still take weeks of study to develop what she might consider a basic understanding. At least out in her demesne, her daily tasks were grouped by location so she would have blocks of time to read in between.

The quiet sounds of work from the nearby counter stopped, and Aemilia appeared carrying the first portion of dinner. Ludmila put down her pen to clear away space for their meal.

“It seems like we’re making good time,” Ludmila said. “Shall we take a quick break for dinner?”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Aemilia appeared with a second bowl, followed by tea. Dinner was the customary village stew which Ludmila had taught her maid how to make. A roll of bread accompanied each bowl, and a rich aroma wafted up to tempt the appetite. She waited as Lady Shalltear studied the dish in front of her.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” Ludmila said. “I remembered you eating a biscuit the first night, and you can drink tea but, as you might imagine, we don’t have any experience in serving meals for the Undead.”

“Our cooks were in the midst of experimenting with recipes that night,” Lady Shalltear told her, “so I ended up being a sort of test subject – you were as well, as I recall. I think most of them were a failure: there were no unexpected findings, and they confirmed that you simply can’t substitute one thing for another in a recipe, regardless of similarities.”

“It did seem like Miss Alpha was expecting something when she asked me how I felt about the meal,” Ludmila said. “I guess I should have tried to figure out a way to provide you with something suitable. Are the tales true that Vampires drink blood?”

“Blood has a wide variety of flavours and sensations just like any other sort of food but, broadly speaking, it is what we normally consume. Other Undead have different diets: Ghouls eat flesh, Zombies eat…actually, I haven’t seen Yuri eat anything beyond Human-style food.”

“…Miss Alpha is a Zombie?” Ludmila stared at Lady Shalltear.

“Yuri is a Dullahan,” Lady Shalltear replied. “She’s using mundane means to conceal any hints of it, so your Talent isn’t of any use with her. She looks exactly the way she looks: there isn’t much to hide, really.”

The E-Rantel Orphanage is being run by the Undead.

Clara said she would be leaving the four children from Fassett County at the Orphanage; Ludmila wondered how they would feel about this.

“Anyways, you shouldn’t worry so much,” Lady Shalltear said as she stirred the bowl with her wooden spoon. “Though our tastes might differ in various things, we can still eat. Itadakimasu.”

Lady Shalltear put a spoonful of the village stew into her mouth, rolling it around for a while before swallowing to speak again.

“This is more substantial than it looks – what the nobles seem to eat in the city is meagre by comparison. Is this why you’re taller than the other noblewomen?”

“Clara is only a bit shorter than I am,” Ludmila said, “and she dines on the same cuisine as the city nobles. It should be more along the lines of what I mentioned earlier concerning the cultivation of bloodlines. You said something at the end just now that I didn’t quite get…what does it mean?”

The spoon returned to its bowl, idly stirring as Lady Shalltear furrowed her brow. After a handful of seconds, she turned to Ludmila with a questioning look.

“What did I say?”

“Itada-something…”

“Ah, it’s a ritual of sorts,” Lady Shalltear turned back to her bowl, “If I were to paraphrase it, it’s a consideration for all the elements that went into the meal: from what was grown and raised, to the efforts of all those involved in its preparation.”

“By ritual, you mean it’s one of your faith? I hope I’m not being rude by prying.”

“Not at all. The saying is a part of the culture of where I’m from. It’s simply a respectful mannerism – there’s nothing directly magical about it.”

Lady Shalltear resumed eating and Ludmila began on her own meal, relieved that her liege found nothing offensive about it. They continued in silence until she wiped up the remaining bits of stew with her last piece of bread.

“Do Frost Dragons eat a lot?” She asked as Aemilia carried away their dishes.

“By their own explanation,” Lady Shalltear replied, “it depends on how active they are. An Adult would require roughly one large game animal every four or five days if they flew around making deliveries like I plan on having them.”

“That would require a tremendous hunting range for eighteen Dragons…is the territory you’ve designated as their feeding grounds sufficient? The Azerlisia Mountains and its surrounding foothills extend all the way north to the sea, but if the bulk of the deliveries are in the area of E-Rantel, it limits their hunting grounds to the southern parts of the Great Forest of Tob.”

“They’ll still have their Rings of Sustenance, so they won’t starve. I just wanted them to continue eating so they would eventually grow to increase their carrying capacity.”

“Still…having that many Dragons feeding in the area might have some undesirable side effects. I’m not actually certain what is in that part of the Great Forest of Tob, but if there are citizens living there, it may result in some ill will.”

“I see,” Lady Shalltear looked up thoughtfully at her. “You always seem to have this broad consideration for things.”

“Understanding relationships in nature is a part of being a Ranger,” Ludmila said, “and, with a little bit of thought, that understanding may provide perspective on other aspects of the world around me…though I can’t say it always results in a sensible or useful outcome.”

“Hmm…so what would be your solution to this problem?”

“You mentioned that they would eventually be based in different locations depending on route demand, so the problem may actually take care of itself. At the least, it would require fewer adjustments once we have a clearer picture of how this network will be laid out.”

Reaching out to where their work had been piled off to the side, she found the place where they had left off. Lady Shalltear took the notepad and flipped through until they reached the page past the diagrams for E-Rantel. In addition, she produced a map from the hole in the air, along with several measuring instruments.

“I’ve been wondering…what exactly happens when you reach into that hole in the air?”

“I’m pulling things out from my personal inventory – probably the easiest way to understand it is equating it to reaching into a much larger Infinite Haversack.”

“I’ve never seen an Infinite Haversack before. Today is the first time I’ve even heard of it.”

“Oh.” Lady Shalltear reached into her inventory again, “Where is it...no, not that one...ah, here it is.”

A modestly-sized satchel appeared, and Lady Shalltear placed it on the table. Considering that the notes mentioned one such container could hold five hundred kilograms, it was much smaller than what Ludmila had expected.

“Didn’t you say that placing an Infinite Haversack inside another such container would have unfortunate results?”

“An inventory is not the same,” Lady Shalltear replied. “What I was referring to were other similar enchanted containers like this.”

After looking to Lady Shalltear, who nodded, Ludmila reached out to lift the bag. It was far heavier than it looked, but the weight was only a small fraction of its full capacity. Placing it back on the table, she reached into the dark void of the container.

“Is there anything inside of this one?” She asked as she felt around inside of it blindly.

“That was the one that was holding most of the paper,” Lady Shalltear said. “There should be a few other things as well…try thinking of the clipboard that you saw one of my Vampire Brides holding in the alley when we met.”

Ludmila recalled the item from her memory, and she felt an object in her hand. She pulled it out: it was a clipboard similar to the one that she had envisioned. The item was wider than the neck of the container, but she was able to withdraw it smoothly somehow and deposit it again the same way.

“What if one doesn’t know what’s inside?”

“You could always pour everything out,” Lady Shalltear said as she returned the container to her inventory. “I’d advise caution, as the contents would be unknown. Someone dumping five hundred kilograms of objects onto their own feet will probably be in for some pain. You can even store liquids in them so you may end up with quite a mess.”

Several ideas that she had been nursing ever since she had read of the Infinite Haversack floated to the forefront of her mind again.

“I think I’ve known you long enough to understand what that look means…” Lady Shalltear said.

“I was just revisiting my thoughts from before about these containers,” Ludmila started slowly as she solidified her thoughts. “If a common Dwarf can get their hands on something like this, then why is it that we don’t see more of them being used? I’ve become well aware that Re-Estize is behind when it comes to the utilization of magic and magical items across many fields, but merchant companies who travel the world are not constrained to our local ways of thinking and would certainly take advantage of such wondrous items. You could haul thousands of these containers in a caravan, transporting the wealth of entire cities.”

“Have you considered the idea that nations may see these as dangerous?” Lady Shalltear offered, “As you say, the implications of such items casts a shadow over your ideas of mundane transport. A nation which collects these would have distinct logistical advantages, be they intended for commercial or military use. It may be that they are simply snapped up by such interests, or the crafters of these items are well guarded and restricted from openly selling their wares.”

“If that is the case,” Ludmila sighed, “would Momon even have a chance of locating a source of them? As you’ve said, the planning of this network hinges greatly on the availability of these items. Without them, our freight capacities are drastically reduced.”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Lady Shalltear smiled.

“To be honest, my lady,” Ludmila said. “I’m surprised that you called Momon here rather than someone like the Royal Treasurer for something of this nature. Though the Royal Treasurer seems to be active around E-Rantel, I haven’t actually met this person before.”

“The Royal Treasurer has his own set of duties to attend to,” Lady Shalltear said. “If the situation calls for it, I will personally pay him a visit.”

“I understand,” Ludmila said. “Someone in his position is bound to be a busy person, and Darkness should have any number of useful connections with how well-traveled they are.”

Thinking about the Infinite Haversacks again, Ludmila absently stared down at the sheets laid before her.

“I suppose you’d want one for yourself.”

“I’d want as many as I could purchase, but I have the feeling that these would be far beyond my budget considering their utility.” Ludmila sighed, “It seems like anything goes when you have magic.”

She glowered at the empty space that the Infinite Haversack formerly occupied. Maybe Liane would know more.

“Is there some personal use you had in mind for one?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“There’s an…old problem,” Ludmila said. “As members of my family grew stronger in…levels, was it? We could use more powerful bows. I suppose that would lead to powerful, enchanted bows but we never got our hands on any…anyways, even supposing that we could find a powerful, enchanted bow, we wouldn’t be able to realize the full potential of our weapons because taking advantage of the power of such bows meant that we would need to use arrows capable of delivering the incredible force to our targets with power far greater than what a mundane warbow can achieve.”

“What about enchanted arrows?”

“The construction of the arrow still matters,” Ludmila shook her head. “If anything, you want durable arrows that won’t shatter like regular ones if you plan on using enchantments on them: that way you can recover them after use. Even then, they are only a part of the arsenal that an archer can bring to bear, and this wide variety of ammunition is a part of the problem. There are arrows designed to deliver alchemical compounds and simple mechanisms, those with special material properties to counteract the damage resistance of various species and exploit their weaknesses. A multitude of mundane options exist as well, and all of this adds up.

“The founder of House Zahradnik was said to have been able to knock a Troll clean off their feet using the same type of bow and arrows that I use today. They say if he had managed to find a powerful magical bow with arrows to match, he would have been able to take even Dragons out of the sky.”

“You’re not supposed to be shooting our Dragons out of the sky,” Lady Shalltear frowned.

“...it was just an example. The point is that obtaining a powerful bow is only one part of the problem. Having a selection of arrows that can take full advantage of a powerful bow is not a problem beyond their cost if you are defending a position where you can store them, but their weight becomes an issue if the supply of these arrows is restricted to what you can carry. Without something like an Infinite Haversack, I need to balance issues of encumbrance and flexibility when I’m out ranging or on patrol. With one, I would be able to bring thousands...well, not that I could afford thousands. At the least, I wouldn’t have to worry about storage issues. That in itself would ensure I’d have the bare minimum on hand to deal with any given situation.”

“Well, maybe if you’re lucky we’ll have some to spare, hm? If Momon secures a supply of them, I will most certainly be taking extras – I wouldn’t mind if you wanted one or two for your personal use.”

Ludmila remained silent as she deliberated over Lady Shalltear’s offer.

“If you refuse me after all this trouble,” Lady Shalltear said as a frown started to form on Ludmila’s face, “I will most certainly get annoyed. I know you’re a practical person, and this is about as practical as it gets. If you really must, you may consider this a reward for your continued assistance in managing all this.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila lowered her head. “Thank you for your consideration.”

“Let’s continue, shall we?” Lady Shalltear said, unfurling the large map she had taken out earlier, “All that remains is examining our routes and making some initial projections for them.”

The map was centred on the Sorcerous Kingdom, but included an extended area around its borders. There were many places without details or labels, but those with them were exceptionally intricate. It was immeasurably superior to the one that Momon showed to her when they first travelled to E-Rantel – she wondered why that was…perhaps it was recently made.

“Who produced this map?” Ludmila asked, “The ones that Re-Estize have are nowhere near as good.”

“That would be Aura,” Lady Shalltear answered. “This is the most recent update of her local surveys.”

“As expected of such a talented Ranger,” Ludmila continued to marvel over its craftsmanship. “If I were even half as good I would be satisfied.”

“Well, I wouldn’t get ahead of myself there: ‘half as good’ is probably a lot further than you think.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“What’s this marker here?” Ludmila asked.

She pointed to an icon on the map, which was more prominent than even E-Rantel. It sat roughly two hours northeast of the capital by Dragon, situated near the Great Forest of Tob. She knew that the maps she possessed up until now were not very good by the Sorcerous Kingdom’s standards, but something notable there would have surely appeared on them.

“It is the realm that contains my demesne,” Lady Shalltear replied.

“It contains your demesne?” Ludmila was thoroughly confused.

“Yes,” Lady Shalltear nodded. “On the surface it covers an area not much larger than a small village, but it is much larger than it looks. Since we’re there, let’s start with a route from E-Rantel.”

Ludmila added the unlabeled location onto a large table she had drawn up. She had the loose thought that each route should have its costs calculated based on the equivalent land route running between the same two stops, or at least the rates charged for similar conditions by the myriad of merchant lines. Unfortunately, even that was widely varied, as land transportation came in many forms and were owned by villages, merchants and nobles alike.

What were ubiquitously known as ‘wagons’ actually consisted of two major components: a chassis which consisted of the working parts of the vehicle, which could be adjusted to accommodate the bed upon which cargo was loaded. An agricultural village might have a box-like grain bed and a wider hay bed, while villages around quarries, mines or logging areas would have configurations of their own.

A merchant’s freight wagon – which employed teams of draft animals – could haul roughly three times as much as an Adult Frost Dragon equipped with four Infinite Haversacks. There were even heavier freight wagons that hauled massive amounts of ore and stone from their sources, but they were not used in the duchy for fear of ruining the roads. Timber was more often than not dragged by oxen or horses, sized into manageable portions in much the same fashion as Ludmila’s woodcutters sized their timber to be handled by Death Knights.

This made it a headache to price local freight, which was more often than not handled by individual villages and administrators. In the end, they decided to leave local freight to local management and focus on hauling cargo over longer distances. At these distances, a specialized, high-speed courier service also started to appear as an attractive option. All in all, it was difficult to determine what the best course would be without actually fielding the Frost Dragons to collect enough information on the actual demand.

“Hm…maybe we should just match everyone else’s rates?” Lady Shalltear furrowed her brow as she looked over all the various reference materials scattered across the table, “My original purpose was to connect all of the remote and isolated areas of the Sorcerous Kingdom, several key locations, and the friendly states nearby. I never considered generating revenues from the service.”

“Well, it goes by weight over distance and the class of freight, which determines factors such as security and speed. With how every shipment quite literally has a Dragon guarding it, however, the service is far beyond the high security couriers used by national interests, and they carry far more than said couriers. Only ships can really compete with Frost Dragons when it comes to raw freight over time but, as you mentioned some time ago, the capacity for a port to handle cargo will heavily influence the preferred means of delivery. By Gate or by Dragon or by Wagon, full is full, so clients will choose a balance between cost and speed of delivery.”

“Since we’re essentially high-speed freight,” Lady Shalltear said, “what about turning that to our advantage?”

“If you’re referring to perishable goods,” Ludmila replied, “smaller scale iterations of the preservation magic that you see used in E-Rantel’s government warehouses are already in use by merchant companies, so we won’t be able to compete there.”

It occurred to Ludmila she would not have been able to provide that answer if not for her trip to the west which used Liane’s services. The value of wrangling in her cosmopolitan friend to their side was abundantly clear – maybe they could ask in a roundabout manner until then.

“Rushing large quantities of cargo might work,” she added, “but only in the cases where teleportation magic is not available or deemed unnecessary. I can only think that this would happen outside of our borders, as the Sorcerous Kingdom appears to have an abundance of casters capable of teleportation. In addition, while this may be lucrative, I can hardly imagine it to be consistent.”

Ludmila looked back down to the map again. While trying to match land-based transportation was probably a workable option, it felt like a waste of the advantages conferred by flight. Her Bone Vultures were ideal for transporting light loads over any sort of terrain, and only the most inclement weather could stop them. Frost Dragons did not care about weather at all, carried more, and were far faster. Her gaze crossed over parts of the map where this advantage could be exploited to its fullest, tracing over mountains, forests and wastelands.

“There is no direct route between the Sorcerous Kingdom and the Dwarven cities of the Azerlisia Mountains,” she finally settled on what seemed to hold the most promise. “The main land route available to us runs out east to the Empire and along their western highways. Since imperial tolls drive up the cost of transport between us, it seems a clear opportunity for air freight. Also, deliveries between the Empire and Re-Estize would be promising for similar reasons.”

“Lord Ainz has already pledged Soul Eaters to transport goods for the Dwarves,” Lady Shalltear told her. “I’m also fairly certain Re-Estize wants nothing to do with us for the moment.”

“Soul Eaters…” Ludmila furrowed her brow, “Wouldn’t the Dragons be better, considering what I’ve said?”

“They would.” Lady Shalltear nodded, “However, Lord Ainz surely knows this as well. Some larger scheme must be in play that we currently cannot comprehend.”

Ludmila drummed her fingers on the edge of the table. It seemed that they would be feeling their way through this stage of their planning.

“Is there a way for us to demonstrate their utility, at least? There may still be some demand from clients in the Dwarf Kingdom for the benefits that only our service can provide.”

“Yes, Lord Ainz has seen to that as well.” Lady Shalltear nodded, “After the event in E-Rantel is over, we’ll be relocating to help the Dwarves move back into their old cities as a show of national goodwill. This will also serve as a demonstration of some of the things that the Sorcerous Kingdom has to offer. Most of the work should take about a month or so: the Dwarves have plenty of first-hand exposure to the value of the service.”

“His Majesty’s considerations are certainly well thought-out,” Ludmila said. “Not only has His Majesty created the opportunity for us to display the capabilities of the Frost Dragon network to the Dwarves, but we’ll also have a month to gather information, identify problems and refine our systems.”

“As expected of Lord Ainz!” Lady Shalltear smiled brightly, “We must ensure that his precious efforts on our behalf are not put to waste – he must have great expectations for our work.”

“What are His Majesty’s expectations?”

“An aerial transportation network,” Lady Shalltear said simply. “It is our duty to render His Will into reality, to the best of our abilities.”

Ludmila nodded slowly. It was a broad expectation, but the micromanagement of the various aspects of a Kingdom was not the role of a King. For the Minister of Transportation, the missive was as concise as it needed to be – it was now up to Lady Shalltear and those entrusted with these duties to figure out how to make it so.

She looked back down to her work, adding other locations to the table. As she cross referenced the various rates and schedules, tabulating preliminary numbers for their own network, her grasp on things slowly disintegrated. Every route had its own circumstances which factored into their transportation fees, and numbers alone did not really define them. Without the requisite knowledge and expertise, she could not figure out where advantages lay in any but the most obvious situations.

As a Frontier Noble, logistical matters came naturally to her, and it seemed that her sense for it even applied to the aerial transportation network. Matters of commerce, however, she always felt woefully simplistic in. It felt especially pronounced now that she was trying to use what little she knew on the subject on this project.

Rather than dwell on her shortfalls, however, she decided to focus on the locations where they probably had the most information on.

“What is this body of water marked in Tob Forest?” She asked.

“It’s an area that was annexed before E-Rantel,” Lady Shalltear answered. “Several Demihuman species make the lake their home, and Cocytus rules over them.”

“Human commerce doesn’t flow through the Great Forest…would these Demihumans have some sort of reference for their own workings?”

“As far as I know, they did not trade regularly with the outside world before we found them. They do have rare individuals that have travelled to various parts of the world. Recently, a few have come to E-Rantel, but the majority remain isolated.”

“What would they be exporting or importing?”

“I thought you might have a better idea, considering how similar your circumstances are to theirs. The surface area of the lake is roughly the same as your floodplains here, though the northern part of the lake is much deeper. Marshes occupy the shallows in the south, and the entire lake is bordered by the forest.”

Ludmila could not definitively say what they did and did not have, but she guessed that at least some sort of fish, marsh plants and whatever the inhabitants gleaned from the nearby forest wouldn’t be unreasonable.

“What sort of industries do they have?” Ludmila asked.

“Mostly hunting and foraging from their surroundings,” Lady Shalltear answered. “There are also fish farms which have expanded since they came under us.”

“Fish farms?”

“Yes…something like enclosed portions of the shallows where they tend to fish like livestock.”

She made a mental note of the curious practice – it seemed like something she might be able to enact in her demesne, which could eliminate several future issues at once.

“There are no advanced industries? Metalworking? Tanners and Tailors? Apothecaries and Alchemists?”

“The Demihumans there consist of varied tribal groups,” Lady Shalltear replied. “They have a scarce number of Druids and Shamans that tend to their population, and the locally-produced equipment is quite shoddy. Coarse garments, tools and equipment made of wood, stone and animal parts…in short, I wouldn’t expect anything along the lines of what you would expect to find in a Human city.”

“So most of their exports would be fish and these raw materials – if they expanded on what they currently have – while they import manufactured goods…this seems difficult to balance in both directions: the tonnage would be severely skewed to exports.”

“That should be fine for now. The main goal here is still to connect their isolated communities to the rest of the Sorcerous Kingdom, giving them the sense that they belong to something greater. It is Lord Ainz’s Will that all races and peoples be united under His banner – that they will be able to live in peace, prosperity and harmony. Connecting the disparate peoples is a step towards realizing Lord Ainz’s grand vision for His realm.”

Rather than conquest, unification. That the Undead, almost universally reviled, were the ones who sought to bring about this future was an irony Ludmila could only shake her head over.

According to the map, the other Demihuman populations living in the wilderness of Tob Forest and the untamed portions of the crown lands existed at a near-subsistence level and had no interest beyond living their current lifestyles. On the Human end of things, every town was already connected to E-Rantel via highway.

Ludmila scanned over the map of the duchy again, and she noted one more point of interest.

“Since when did this ‘Carne Village’ become large enough to qualify as a town?” She asked, “I don’t recall any large settlements along the northern edge of the duchy developing in the past few years.”

Ludmila furrowed her brow as she looked down at the oddly large marker along the northern frontier with Tob Forest – it did not match any other settlements in the area, and was even larger than the towns on the highway. Usually, this sort of explosive growth would stem from an economic impetus – such as discovering rare and valuable resources at that location – but word would have definitely spread throughout the duchy if such findings had occurred.

“A large majority of Carne is now Demihuman,” Lady Shalltear answered, “most of which consists of an army of over five thousand Goblins. I hear more Demihumans come out of the forest to join them regularly. As for when it happened…around the same time as the Battle of Katze plains this year.”

“How did that happen? Was there an invasion?”

“If I heard correctly, the village was attacked by a detachment from the Royal Army. A local village girl led a Goblin army which routed Re-Estize’s forces, and they’ve been there ever since.”

The more she heard, the less things made sense. Why would Re-Estize attack one of its own villages? How did a local village girl end up with an army of Goblins? Ludmila decided to move on from the subject before they became sidetracked even further.

“What about the towns along the highways?” She asked, “What sort of considerations should we be making for them?”

“Since Soul Eaters are readily available here,” Lady Shalltear answered, “Frost Dragons should be unnecessary. The highways are serviceable for the time being, and they will see plenty of traffic as things pick up. If they grow substantially in the future, we will revisit the idea to see if there is any merit. Keep in mind that the points marked are along the primary route which Frost Dragons are used on: even Carne has suitable land routes for their regular needs, so they will rarely see shipments. The rest of the nation will be included in the network, but minor routes will at best be serviced by Bone Vultures to deliver small parcels – much like you do here.”

“If all urgent communications and transport in the Sorcerous Kingdom is handled through magical means, would it be safe to assume that all major air routes within the Sorcerous Kingdom will be for freight while minor routes will be for civilian courier services?”

“It should be, yes,” Lady Shalltear nodded. “Did you come up with some ideas?”

“Not really.” Ludmila replied, “But knowing this makes it easier to determine common rates between the two classes of cargo – at least within our borders. All we have to do is have them match their rates in terms of rough value so we don’t put ourselves at odds with the companies that transport the majority of the freight in our nation by land.”

“Do we really need to be stepping so lightly around these companies?” Lady Shalltear frowned, “We could replace them all eventually with Soul Eaters and such.”

“These small, local transport companies only stick to servicing the duchy, so they should eventually transition to Soul Eaters as the more economical option regardless. Rather than them being competition, they are actually future clients of the administration who will manage the tasks we need done anyways. It saves us the trouble of taking over what they already oversee, and dealing with the minutiae of their specific locales.”

Her liege continued to frown even after the explanation.

“Was there something wrong with what I said?” Ludmila asked.

“No. If the existing services continue to function to a suitable standard, then there should be no issues. If disruptions or disagreements happen between these companies and the crown, however, Albedo will most likely move to absorb or replace them. Given her tendency towards inflexibility, her domineering personality may simply have such an outcome be an inevitability.”

Lady Shalltear’s statement struck an odd chord amidst their long, yet generally smooth proceedings. Though she had not met the Prime Minister personally, through her work Ludmila considered Lady Albedo to be a fairly flexible administrator who was willing to slowly acclimate the population of a conquered land to new ways. She did not think Lady Shalltear would lie to her over something like this, but she sensed that there might be a bit of a bias, at least.

“My lady, I have a question, if you don’t mind…”

“Whether I mind or not depends on the question, wouldn’t it?”

Ludmila thought over her words for a moment before deciding that knowing the answer would help her make better decisions in the future.

“This extra sense of rivalry that you two have…is it a result of Lady Albedo’s personality? The way you make it sound, she seems like quite a difficult person to personally get along with, while you seem reasonable and tempered in my experience.”

Lady Shalltear’s lip twitched. She crossed her arms over the table as she looked sidelong at Ludmila.

“I seem ‘reasonable and tempered’ to you because your traditional duties are somewhat relatable to my own, though the scale is vastly different. This is one of the main reasons why I consider you to be compatible to myself and why things are generally smooth between us: our perceptions are judged by the same rough measures, and you understand what it means to serve in this capacity. Our duties revolve around being the first line of defence of the realm: our thoughts and actions are made in deference to this duty, even in tasks outside of this purview.”

Lady Shalltear’s gaze turned away from her, across the table and to some distant place beyond the walls of Ludmila’s manor.

“There is an irreconcilable chasm that exists between a faithful vassal that stands in her eternal vigil at the edge of the realm, and one who sits comfortably at the right hand of her sovereign. The gates of His Majesty’s realm have been breached many times in the past, and it is I who has met every single challenge. I understand that, even if everything functions as expected, sometimes it is simply not enough. I have also seen too often occasions where hastily concocted plans drawn from raw intellect are mercilessly scattered to the wind.

“Albedo is blessed with a vast intellect alongside her ruthless and calculating nature, but her place is in the highest halls of His Majesty’s realm. She sits in the centre of an apparatus which spans the length and breadth of the Sorcerous Kingdom, where she organizes and plots and plans far above the affairs of her subordinates. She is appointed above all of us, and in her self-assuredness she serves in her capacity, but mark my words: when her schemes begin to fly apart one day you will see what sort of catastrophe occurs as a result. Beneath that smiling face of hers is a merciless Demon which looks down disdainfully upon those whom she deems beneath her, and only His Majesty stands above.”

Ludmila sipped the tea that Aemilia had freshly prepared while digesting what Lady Shalltear shared with her. She wondered if the courts of other nations, too, were like this. Re-Estize, at the least, manifested similarities with the machinations of the Great Houses while Baharuth with its consolidation of power into the Imperial Administration and its institutions might have inadvertently made things worse for themselves in the long term. As Fassett County had so poignantly demonstrated, the unfeeling gaze of a distant throne could result in many woes.

“I think I understand why Countess Jezne so feared the judgement of the Royal Court now,” Ludmila said.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Lady Shalltear’s gaze returned to her. “When everything is operating within expectations and no unwelcome surprises occur, Albedo is an unquestionably supreme administrator. She is also just – within the framework of her own values, anyways – and everything that passes across her desk is subject to the same exacting scrutiny that her capabilities bring to bear. She is still insufferably haughty, though.”

“Then this rivalry that you maintain is not a result of some past incident?”

“Oh, no,” Lady Shalltear leaned back and waved her hand dismissively. “This was just what I thought you actually wanted to ask. Was I mistaken?”

“Your intuition was correct, thank you,” Ludmila replied. “I thought I might gain some insight on Lady Albedo’s character, so your answer was exactly what I was trying to ask about. I’m even more curious now, though: what is your rivalry about?”

“All of His Majesty’s servants are rivals in the sense that we compete with one another to render the greatest achievements in his service,” Lady Shalltear said, “so you should keep that in mind even when considering the others. The additional rivalry between Albedo and myself that you perceive has to do with our ongoing competition to see who is most qualified to be Lord Ainz’s primary wife.”

Ludmila took an extra moment to register what had just been said. She was happy for Lady Shalltear who loved His Majesty so purely, and admittedly a bit jealous as a woman that was behind on that front. The answer made perfect sense, all things considered, but, after being exposed to the grand scope of the Sorcerous Kingdom, she felt that it fell conspicuously short of her expectations for some reason. Maybe it was because Lady Shalltear’s feelings were already something she had long realized.

“Ehm…this is probably a silly question, but how do you plan on getting ahead in this rivalry for His Majesty’s affections?”

“Well, it is ultimately Lord Ainz’s decision, so forcing the matter would be inappropriate. I heard that the gorilla actually pushed him down once, but it only resulted in her confinement. I can only do what I can, and hope for the best…but even if Albedo does temporarily gain his favour, I will never give up.”

“That seems normal enough.”

“Yes, normal – unlike that brute.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The evening grew long, and it looked like they were approaching the end of what needed to be transcribed. A tall stack of pages had manifested as a result of their work, and it was something that would probably take two or three weeks for Ludmila to study properly.

The routes between the Dwarven cities were due to be employed in a week’s time, and Lady Shalltear seemed to have put the most thought into them. There was little Ludmila could contribute there, especially considering she had no knowledge of the Dwarven Kingdom and their lands.

The last point to visit was the prospective route to the imperial capital of Arwintar.

“There’s so much traffic to Arwintar that even Frost Dragon flights are a drop in the ocean by comparison,” Ludmila noted.

“Yes, despite that, I decided it would be a good idea to connect the Imperial capital,” Lady Shalltear replied. “We should be able to get an idea of how things are out there as well. Considering what we’ve discussed today, I feel that the only role that the route to Arwintar would serve at this point is for express freight and high security shipments. Even a formation of their air cavalry cannot contend with an Adult Frost Dragon if we get some equipment on them.”

“Isn’t that a problematic stance to take with a client state? If something is smuggled into their cargo…”

“We will be using the military aviary there, so if anyone manages to get it past all that it’s the Empire’s fault. Once it’s airborne, it’s our problem and they would dare not provoke us after the fact”

“I assume we would still cooperate if there is sufficient justification provided for an inspection,” Ludmila said. “Having something undesirable come across the border might result in problems that could have been averted.”

“We will investigate it on our end if we receive such a request,” Lady Shalltear said. “If it’s something potentially hazardous, we will investigate it en route ourselves as well. The Ministry of Transportation is a national department of the Sorcerous Kingdom: lines must be drawn to define the relationship between us and our client states. I do not intend for our officials to be belligerent or abrasive when it comes to these matters, but there should never be a case where anyone from the Empire perceives that they have authority over our agents.”

“I understand,” Ludmila made an additional note. “Hopefully no one tries to put on airs or push their luck when it comes to their expectations involving the service. Then again, I can’t imagine that anyone would try to pick a fight with our staff.”

Lady Shalltear flipped through to the next page of the notepad, which was entirely blank. It appeared that they had completed what they had set out to accomplish for the day. Ludmila began to gather the loose documents on the table.

“This gives me quite a lot to study,” she said. “I will send word for my household to investigate the cargo rates in E-Rantel while I slip in what I can between my duties here. When I’m in the city, I will see what I can learn from Liane about how the transportation business works.”

“Are you not interested in including Warden’s Vale as a destination for the Frost Dragons?” Lady Shalltear asked.

Ludmila’s hands slowed as she rolled up the extra maps that Lady Shalltear had provided for her.

“I’m too small for that, aren’t I?”

“You’re planning quite a lot of expansion, weren’t you?” Lady Shalltear tilted her head, “How many per village was it again?”

“Roughly 200 to 250 people per village. It will be no more than 1250 between the five villages planned…the golems I’ve requested won’t be free for a little while, though, so it will probably take until the end of the year before we can clear all the space and structure the terraces and foundations. Construction will be completed in the winter while the fields are being prepared at the same time.”

“What about your port town? I recall that most of your ambitions lie here.”

“I’m uncertain how quickly that will progress, to be honest. My hope is an additional 1000 tenants by this time next year.”

“It’s on the small side for a town, but that should be more than enough to include Warden’s Vale as a destination. Though having the river is quite a boon, you’re still isolated for the time being having only a single ship – if anything happens to it, you’ll be sunk.”

“Are you certain, my lady?” Ludmila frowned, “Wouldn’t that seem like I’m taking advantage of my position as part of the staff for this project?”

“They might harbour some feelings on the matter,” Lady Shalltear shrugged, “but considering that you’re basically one hundred percent of my tax revenue and those taxes are going straight into the transportation network, I hardly think such complaints would be justified. Also, the idea that you are considered important enough to include as part of the major transport routes will help you attract people faster, no?”

“It might,” Ludmila admitted. “You are correct, I think – the misplaced humility you mentioned is a lot harder to keep in check than it seems.”

“As long as you’re learning what is appropriate. The faster your demesne grows, the more of your taxes I can put to work on this project…speaking of which, you never did specify just how much these taxes were. ”

Ludmila realized that she hadn’t, and reorganized the thoughts she had originally put together for the proposal. Taking a sip of tea, she launched into a summary of the state of her finances.

“Tenant shares, Undead labour, Undead security and various costs involving administration, maintenance and fees will take up forty percent of my total revenues. If you don’t mind, I would like to ask for a tax rate of ten percent for the time being: the remaining half of my revenues can be turned directly towards further development of industries in my fief. My revenues are purely from commodities that are directly affected by the existence of Undead Labour, so next season I imagine they will be significantly diminished due to the abundance of it throughout the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“I have no idea what these numbers mean,” Lady Shalltear stated flatly. “I haven’t ever received taxes before. Is ten percent a small amount?”

“If it was one of the more developed territories, yes,” Ludmila said. “A twenty to forty percent tax on demesne revenues is more along the lines of what the other nobles see; this is in addition to trade taxes, tolls and any additional measures raised by their liege. As a border territory, we actually received a small stipend rather than a tax: to maintain security along our part of the frontier. This security is, for the most part, maintained by His Majesty’s armies which are leased by every noble now – though their organization is still mostly up to each noble to handle. I determined that I should be paying at least some taxes with this being the case.”

“I see…so you want to stay ahead of the falling prices for your goods by investing into industries that will not be adversely affected by the markets being flooded by Undead labour. I believe you mentioned this some time ago?”

“That’s exactly correct,” Ludmila nodded. “If I don’t have the capital to invest in new industries, I will be at the mercy of the plummeting price of basic commodities over the next few years. Revenues will collapse in line with the markets for these goods, so taxes will similarly become poor if nothing is done.”

“Mmh…this is something you’re better at than I am, so I’ll leave it to you.”

“Thank you, my lady. Hopefully I’m able to manage things well and bring prosperity to my fief…though I should at least build something to accommodate visiting Frost Dragons.”

“They’d probably be perfectly happy lairing up in these mountains somewhere,” Lady Shalltear said. “The main thing they seem to complain about is the lack of space in the city. You might want to make sure they are somewhere your ability can reach them when they’re resting, just in case. I will send one of my Vampire Brides over once they are done working up north with the Dwarven migration.”

Rather than relying on the Elder Liches who reported to the central administration, Lady Shalltear had opted to post her Vampire Brides in the offices of the transportation network instead. Ludmila had no idea how many she actually had, but her liege assured her that there were enough for what was planned so far.

“I’m not sure what sort of accommodations are appropriate for one of your handmaidens,” Ludmila said. “My labourers will still be busy with the farming village so there’s little in the way of construction going on in the port, but I have two extra beds here in my manor if she doesn’t mind.”

“It’s not as if they need to sleep,” Lady Shalltear turned her head to look at the four beds tightly arranged to the side. “A small desk and room to organize parcels is fine until you can set up a proper office for her.”

“I can place a desk in front of the manor, then. She can use my hall to store parcels…does that sound alright?”

“It should do.”

“What about food?”

“There won’t be a need for any. She’ll have something brought from home if she feels like having something.”

“The arrangements will be seen to before her arrival,” Ludmila said. “There won’t be any friction between your servants and those of the administration, will there? It’s not unheard of for Human political factions to experience such things…”

“I don’t think it’s likely to happen,” Lady Shalltear replied, “but if anything does, it will be from Albedo’s side – maybe something along the lines of petty administrative harassment. The Vampire Bride will be instructed to keep to her own business with the transportation service. She’ll also know who you are so she will heed what you say in matters related to your duties. I’ll be counting on you to keep things in order if anything does happen.”

“I will do my best to keep the peace, my lady,” Ludmila nodded.

“Ah – don’t kill her though: the new one won’t have the same training, so we’d be losing all of her work experience from the Dwarven migration.”

“It would be difficult for me to justify such a thing if she’s just working as a logistics officer…I don’t think I could harm her anyways.”

“That’s a good point. Still, other things can happen, and she’ll be in your care.”

“Of course, my lady,” Ludmila said. “Was there anything else you could think of for this evening?”

“Not particularly,” Lady Shalltear tapped her lip lightly with a finger. “It’s late enough that I’ve dodged all of the banal events Albedo has probably organized. I will speak to a few people on some of the things we’ve discussed today and see if I can come up with anything to improve on what’s already planned.”

Ludmila escorted Lady Shalltear through the hall of the manor and back outdoors. Night blanketed the barony in a canopy of stars, and no signs of activity could be seen or heard over the village. The Death Knight with its Squire Zombie standing guard at the door stood at attention as Lady Shalltear stepped out and onto the lane.

“Hanzo,” Lady Shalltear said.

A familiar, lithe, figure wrapped in some sort of black uniform stepped out of the shadows. Ludmila did not have even an inkling of its presence before it revealed itself.

“Gather the others,” her liege instructed, “we’re headed home.”

The Hanzo dashed away, its form wavering in her sight as it used some unknown ability that was foiled by her Talent. It was less than a second before it disappeared around the hill. Ludmila turned back to address Lady Shalltear as they waited.

“When will we next meet?” She asked.

“I will return the day after tomorrow, two hours before noon. I have to check up on a few things in the meanwhile, and I believe you said you had some catching up to do here. Cocytus should be back at the lake by then so I’ll see if I can arrange the meeting that he wanted....”

“Should I be making any preparations for this meeting?” Ludmila asked.

“Hmm...not that I can think of,” Lady Shalltear answered. “I still have no idea what he wants: only that he is interested in meeting you specifically. Given his nature, I can’t imagine it’s anything bad – he may just be curious what Human warrior vassals are like, as he is a warrior vassal himself.”

“I hope I do not disappoint him. I will see what I can do about preparing a presentable appearance, at least.”

The Hanzo returned, lining up along the village lane with four more of its fellows. Lady Shalltear opened a Gate and looked around one last time.

“I’ll be off, now,” Lady Shalltear said. “I will contact you if anything comes up, Lady Zahradnik.”

Ludmila spread her skirts and dipped her head in a curtsey.

“Have a pleasant night, my lady.”

Lady Shalltear disappeared into the portal, followed by her escorts. The Gate over the village lane closed silently, and Ludmila was left standing in the cool wind with Aemilia at her side. They returned into the manor to prepare for the night, and it was only until after they both lay in their respective beds that Ludmila spoke.

“Thank you for your hard work today, Aemilia.”

“I-it wasn’t a problem, my lady,” Aemilia replied. “I am your lady’s maid, after all.”

“We were at it for hours; it must have been tiring for you. Having a member of the Royal Court suddenly appear and all.”

The sound of rustling sheets came from the side before her maid turned in her bed to respond.

“Just a little bit, perhaps. Kept worrying about a thousand little things, and then there was the village stew – not that it’s bad, I think it’s better than most of the food served in the city, actually.”

“I understand what you mean,” Ludmila smiled. “I was worrying about all those same things as well.”

“Really? It didn’t actually seem that way, my lady. I mean…you’ve gotten so much closer with Lady Shalltear.”

“...I have, haven’t I? I guess most of the difference is from my end – she’s never displayed the same level of formality when we’re not in a public setting, and I’ve always felt like she’s been trying to draw me closer to her for some reason.”

“Why is that?”

“I think you’ve heard a part of it this evening: in at least some ways, she feels that we are somewhat alike. When she interacts with those she feels familiar with, she barely seems a powerful member of the Royal Court at all – especially when she is with Lady Aura or Lord Mare. Whenever I see them together it feels like they are like a boisterous family more than anything else. They are nothing like the haughty, cold, highlords that I imagined those in their position would be. While she may appear to act the part to those who look in from the outside, Lady Shalltear is actually possessed of a pure and passionate character, embracing the intimacy of those she becomes comfortable with.”

That same character also meant that those on the wrong end of her convictions were met with a decisive outcome, but Ludmila thought this an admirable quality as well.

The sound of sheets rustling came from the side again, followed by a long sigh. Ludmila turned her head to see Aemilia staring up at the rough stone ceiling.

“What’s wrong?” Ludmila asked.

“I didn’t know,” Aemilia muttered.

“You didn’t know what?”

“They’re Undead!” Aemilia moaned, “I didn’t even realize it until today. Lady Shalltear and her handmaidens, they’re all Vampires, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Ludmila replied. “Though I figured with all the time you spent together with them that day you’d have noticed.”

“Ughhhhh…” Aemilia continued in pained tones, “You know, on the day when we first went out into the city, I kept cowering away from all the Death Knights and things that were obviously Undead, but I felt perfectly fine around them. Then, when we started riding around, I talked about how frightening all the Undead were around the city: I thought that they must have felt the same way. How can I bring myself to face them now? I must have sounded terrible.”

“Did they say anything about it?”

“They didn’t reply to that at all, but they did eventually open up as we found things of common interest to talk about. While you were away out west, I saw one of them on the street and just happily called out to her. When I mentioned that I was going around visiting the boutiques of the city she seemed interested in what sort of fashions were on offer, so we just went around all day planning out your wardrobe. At least a quarter of the ideas must have been from her.”

Ludmila recalled the sheer fabrics of the Vampire Brides’ scant garments.

“I hope I’m going to be able to wear these outfits without needing to hide under a box.”

“There shouldn’t be anything to worry about. They’re all very tasteful, and the touches she made were quite light. Mmh…they have the glowy red eyes and everything too – I didn’t want to inadvertently insult them by bringing it up, and then I just ended up assuming it was Darkvision or something. How should I apologize, my lady?”

“Lady Shalltear never mentioned any grievances from her handmaidens…”

“They don’t seem the type to complain,” Aemilia said, “and it’s not uncommon for servants to hold in a lot of things…maybe I can offer them some clothing…maybe blood?”

“That might not be a good idea,” Ludmila replied. “Don’t you get turned into a Vampire if one bites you?”

“What about a bottle then? I could just collect some and…”

“It will clot and dry up. While I am not a Vampire, that doesn’t sound very appetizing at all.”

A dissatisfied sound rose from Aemilia, and she tossed about again.

“I will ask Lady Shalltear what they might like as gifts,” Ludmila said. “Until then, please don’t do anything crazy. I’m not sure how the migrants would feel if they saw a manor painted with blood. We should get some rest: we’ll be having another long day tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lady,” Aemilia replied. “The Undead…they’re not so bad, are they?”

“Those of the Sorcerous Kingdom are not; some of them I even prefer over a lot of what we Humans have to offer. Just don’t run around trying to get along with the ones that pop up on their own, though: they’ll still just try to kill you on the spot.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The sounds of someone working at the back counter nearby stirred Ludmila from her rest. She stretched her laziness away and, in doing so, her head poked out part way from under her covers. In the main living space of the manor, she saw Aemilia working to prepare breakfast. The rich aroma of breakfast filled the air, and the grey light of dawn cast dim shadows from the hall around the corner.

“When since have you been up?” She asked her maid.

“Hmm...two hours or so, I think?” Aemilia answered, “When I went out to draw water, Wiluvien was already out in front of their place next door. They’re still learning their way around here, so I made some breakfast for them.”

“You early risers are all crazy,” Ludmila muttered as she watched her maid lay out bowls of warm stew. “Make sure you are getting enough rest. I am usually late to bed and late to rise, but you always try to keep up with me at night. Once the Linum sisters get used to things around here, you should let them handle their share of the work.”

“I will, my lady,” Aemilia said. “Thank you for your consideration. It might be just a little bit hard to stay in bed with them moving around in here though.”

Ludmila winced. She knew her maid did not mean poorly by it, but the comment still brought with it the fresh memory of hosting a member of the Royal Court in a hole in the ground. Her ‘manor’ was essentially a combination hall/kitchen/sleeping space that was not that much larger than the other dwellings in the hill. The granite walls, ceilings and floors were hewn straight into the stone.

“If Lady Shalltear had said anything about this place,” Ludmila said, “I would have curled up and died right on the spot.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Aemilia turned contrite. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Oh you certainly did. Even I feel that way when outsiders come in.”

“You’re right, my lady…I’m still sorry, though.”

Ludmila threw back her covers and swung her legs off of the bed, feeling the cool stone of the floor under her feet.

“There is no need to be,” she said. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I won’t deny it for what it is. All of the labour I can pull into the demesne is being focused on developing that strip of farmland, so please bear with me until next year when we can finally start working on the port town.”

“I have little to complain about,” Aemilia replied as she completed arranging the last of the meals, “and none of it is truly serious. Just three months ago I was desperately trying to enter even some insignificant household as a scullery maid with little but a hope and a prayer, and now I’m the lady’s maid of a frontier lord. I’m pleased beyond belief to live out what I thought could only be a dream: to play my small part in a grand tale that only ever continues to unfold before my very eyes.”

Ludmila shuffled to a stop on the way to the chest of clothes at the foot of her bed.

“That’s, uh…wow. I hope that I am not slaying any Dragons in these dreams of yours – the only ones I know of are on our side.”

“You never seem to disappoint, my lady,” Aemilia smiled. “I’m always excited about what will happen next.”

With that, she picked up the first meal and headed to deliver it next door.

Ludmila shook her head wordlessly before changing into fresh clothing. She thought that the passage of time would have the effect of dampening the fantastically lofty expectations of her maid, but they only seemed to grow instead. After moving over to unlock her cabinet and withdraw several folders, she went over to the counter, tossed a roll of bread into her stew bowl and walked everything out. She peeked out of the hall window before sitting at her desk to review the day’s tasks.

After completing the morning’s preparations, she would head out to the farming village and get all of the petitions that had piled up over the last few weeks out of the way. Following this, she would head out to the logging camp to check on their progress with land clearance. On the way back, she would take a look around to inspect the progress on the village’s construction before returning to the port for the evening. It was a deceptively short list that would probably keep her busy until the evening.

The door opened, and she looked up.

“How is the Linum family doing?” Ludmila asked.

“Much the same, it seems,” Aemilia replied, tapping her boots on the doormat. “I don’t understand, my lady – Ilwé seems perfectly healthy in body, yet she’s so listless. Lluluvien and Wiluvien received their training under Miss Veyron around the same time I did, and they were in nowhere near as bad a shape even after their ordeals. When they came into your service, I could see them get better by the day.”

“As far as I understand,” Ludmila said, “their mother was with House Fassett even before they were granted the county by House Vaiself. That would mean that she has been a slave for at least 150 years. I would guess being a slave for what basically amounts to two Human lifetimes has left quite a mark on her life. Maybe she just needs to slowly recover...or maybe she will never fully return to who she used to be, if she even remembers. Not even her own daughters know who she truly is, or where she is from.”

Aemilia clutched her apron tightly in her fingers as she scowled down at the floor. Clearly, she did not like Ludmila’s assessment.

“There must be something we can do for them, my lady,” she said. “She must have suffered so much…it’s not right that even after she’s free, she remains chained to her past.”

“I do not find it a satisfactory answer either,” Ludmila looked back down to her work, “but I am just a Noble, and I know next to nothing about Elves. Perhaps the answer will present itself in time.”

The sound of her maid’s steps receded into the back of the manor, and Aemilia paced out again with another meal. After delivering breakfast, she came up to the desk with a hairbrush in hand.

“Shall I accompany you today, my lady?” Aemilia said as she stepped in behind her and started straightening Ludmila’s appearance.

“Most of it should be receiving petitions in the village,” Ludmila said, “and going around to make sure everything is proceeding smoothly. It is probably best that you remain here – I will send word if I need anything.”

“You’ll be gone for the entire day?”

“I should be home in time for supper,” Ludmila replied. “About a dozen households have been furnished so, rather than dealing with the petitions themselves, most of my time will be spent trying to ensure that the people have a clearer idea of what’s going on for the short term. I will also have to keep an eye out for any potential problems along that vein, especially: these migrants from the interior seem to keep their heads down when it comes to dealing with authority instead of just speaking up properly.”

“As far as I understand, my lady,” Aemilia said, “most people are used to dealing with their own village chiefs, and it’s those leaders that bring forward problems to the next level of administration. A regular tenant doesn’t expect to suddenly appear in front of a noble. The gap is just too wide: all the newer people that came in yesterday were shocked at the realization, and half of them could barely put their sentences together.”

“Well, their ‘village chief’ is going to be an Elder Lich, so if they cannot even speak to another Human I cannot imagine how they will fare with the Undead.”

“I imagine they will do just fine,” Aemilia said, “once they become used to it. It’s more a matter of hierarchy rather than any personal problem with you, my lady. It would be as if I had a question about your wardrobe and found myself asking the Sorcerer King instead. It just feels awkward and entirely out of place, leaving you wondering if you should really be there or not wasting an important person’s time.”

“I still want to knock them out of this docile nature of theirs,” Ludmila muttered. “Frontier citizens should not be so timid. If there are problems, they should communicate them; it is not as if they are enemies.”

“This attitude you desire for your people might be beneficial for frontier life, my lady,” Aemilia admitted, “but what happens when the demesne has more people? A household is kept in order because the junior staff report to the senior staff, and those senior staff will only approach the head of the household if an issue requires their attention. I can’t imagine everyone directly coming to you with their problems when there are thousands of families in the fief.”

“We will have enough administrative assistants to handle that by the time it gets to that point – I just meant that they shouldn’t fear communicating any problems they might have. Speaking of which, have you noticed anything in the village here that needs to be addressed, Aemilia?”

“Not much to be honest. Most of the people just seem to be waiting to be called to move into their new homes. The children around the village keep finding strange things to do with the Skeletons, though.”

“Strange things?”

“Yes...just this morning before you woke up they were making them dance in a circle – they had a small crowd watching by the time I came across them.”

Recalling the request to be allowed to paint the Undead labourers, the odd image of colourful Skeletons dancing in a circle arose in her mind. She waved the ridiculous thought away.

“As long as they aren’t doing anything dangerous, I suppose,” Ludmila told her. “The more comfortable they are with the Undead labourers, the better…who knows, they may figure out some useful things along the way.”

“I will let the people in the harbour know your intentions, my lady,” Aemilia said, then paused in thought. “You know, it’s only a matter of time before the boys start using them as soldiers to have battles with.”

“…you are absolutely right about that. They should hold off until I can investigate how safe it is myself. Something like that seems like it could go any number of ways.”

Ludmila didn’t actually think it was a bad thing: it meant that the next generation might possibly produce commanders who could assist with the security of the demesne, or even find a place in the Sorcerous Kingdom’s armies. She already had loose plans to raise new Rangers for both purposes, but if she could train an officer corps that could increase the performance of the nation’s Undead armies, the vague idea that the town could support an institution which carried forward the militant traditions of Warden’s Vale made the possibility that much closer to grasp.

In addition, it would further increase her fief’s value to the Sorcerous Kingdom, creating yet another unique industry; maybe it was even possible to secure a portion of the national budget to develop it if she could prove her own usefulness to the Royal Court.

“Is something the matter, my lady?” Aemilia asked after several moments of silence.

“Not particularly: I was just thinking about something,” Ludmila answered. “Do you think that most of the children you’ve seen will follow in the footsteps of their parents?”

“I’m probably not the best person to ask about that, considering my own path,” Aemilia frowned. “I suppose that it would depend on what their family does, and whether there’s room for opportunity. Since you’re planning on developing five farming villages in total, I would imagine that not everyone would be able to become a farmer when the Undead labour reduces the need for manpower so drastically. Those people would have to move into the town you’re planning here…I think that was the idea, anyways?”

“That was the basic idea. It should still take a while to populate all the villages, but I am trying to figure out whether I need to develop the town more rapidly than expected. I will have a population with basic education entering the town, but aside from their journeymen, I will still need ways to train the ones who are not. I still have not figured out what sort of industries would be best suited for this port.”

“I’m just a weaver’s daughter, my lady,” Aemilia apologised. “The fibres extracted from the marsh plants are quite sturdy, but, while they are exceedingly abundant, they’re only suited for plain textiles at best so I’m uncertain whether they are worth exporting. That’s the only thing I can really think of in terms of what can be done here. Ah, please stand when it is convenient for you: I need to check over your dress.”

Ludmila rose and absently stepped out into the open area of the hall as she mulled over things. She still had no real exports aside from excess agricultural produce every harvest: commodities that were bound to collapse in value over the next few years, if not all at once. There were many ideas that were promising, but still none that she could yet consider a solid anchor for the fief’s economy. Her saving grace was that they were mostly self-sufficient now, meaning that she had some leeway in experimentation using her available tax revenues.

Aemilia’s hands moved lightly over Ludmila’s outfit as her maid continued her work. The dress was one of the first that her lady’s maid had ordered from the city: she had actually located the shop that had designed last year’s outfit and had them recreate it with slight changes. It had been adjusted to fit her slender proportions better, and the materials were more suited to the rough conditions that they would be exposed to in Warden’s Vale.

The overall image it presented, as well as how the various parts of it worked, had also been ‘improved’ upon: altered to match the strange image that Aemilia always seemed to attribute to her – it felt like she could literally fight in the thing. The effect was striking; even in the city when she had wandered around to test it out briefly, she was clearly recognizable in the crowded streets of the city as some sort of gallant noble figure. It felt that starry-eyed looks followed her wherever she went and, being trained to not attract attention as a Ranger, it was awkward in more ways than one.

“Alright, it looks like we’re good here…”

Aemilia rose and circled around Ludmila one more time, peering carefully over her form. She stopped with her hands on her hips and nodded to herself with a satisfied look.

“Will there be anything else, my lady?”

“No, I should really get going if I want to come back while dinner is still fresh,” Ludmila said. “If anything happens, let me know right away.”

Gathering all of her work on the desk into a bag, she slung it over her shoulder and made her way towards the door.

“I will, my lady,” Aemilia curtseyed. “Have a safe journey.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The sounds of village life greeted Ludmila as she stepped out of the manor and into the shadows of the high cliffs. The steady ring of hammer on anvil punctuated the air, while gusts of wind periodically drowned out all else. To her right, the home where the Linum family dwelled was silent: door closed, but curtains drawn open. Deciding against interrupting their breakfast, she walked down the lane until she reached the warehouse and stepped into its open door.

“Greetings, Lady Zahradnik!”

Jeeves’ cheerful voice greeted her as she crossed the threshold, and she felt herself smile in response. The miniature Skeleton merchant bowed respectfully and awaited her reply.

“How have things been for the past day?” She asked.

“Mostly the same, mostly…” He looked up at her and tapped a bony finger on his clipboard, “I did receive several requests for dyes, though. There are none available in our inventories, as far as I am aware.”

“You are not wrong,” Ludmila told him, “The requests are probably the result of yesterday’s petitions. If anyone else asks, let them know that the orders will be sent to E-Rantel this morning, so they should arrive within a week or so. Speaking of which, have you seen Nonna? I need her to get these documents scribed in the city manor.”

“Yes, she went to review the timber inventories down on the flats,” Jeeves replied. “The ship should arrive sometime in the morning tomorrow, so she had one of the woodsmen come down with the latest delivery from the logging camp to ensure that everything is in order beforehand. That was a while ago, so she should be finishing up any time soon.”

“I should take a quick look around the village before she’s done,” Ludmila said. “Do you have anything else that requires my attention?”

“That should be everything,” Jeeves bowed again. “Have a pleasant day, my lady.”

Returning outside, Ludmila tried her best to remain inconspicuous as she wandered up and down the village lanes. She found that, unless someone came quite close, no one seemed to notice her presence. She wasn’t sure if it was because it was still gloomy outside in the shade of the mountains to the east or if her dress really wasn’t as flashy as she thought it was. On the other hand, Clara’s observation about how sneaky she had become might have had a measure of truth to them.

People occasionally came up and down the path. Those that seemed to be on errands had Skeletons following them. Several homes had groups of people gathered about, chatting amongst themselves. Unless they had been slated as permanent residents of the harbour, most of the migrants would have nothing to do aside from attending to family chores or getting used to life in her fief until they moved out to the villages. The waiting time until they moved into their new homes in the farming village was a week at most so, to Ludmila, it didn’t seem too long or short of a period to become accustomed to some of the new ideas presented in the Sorcerous Kingdom.

Following several minutes of wandering about, she found herself at the crest of the hill, standing amongst the stones of the village shrine. The space was kept well-maintained by the migrants who came to offer their supplications, and the surface of the stony hilltop was kept as clean as could be expected. Her gaze paused at each representation of the Six Great Gods, and Ludmila wondered how she was doing in their eyes.

According to Bishop Austine, the nobles were in the best position to influence matters of the realm and secure a place for Humanity in the Sorcerous Kingdom; both she and Clara thought that their activities in the past two months had helped to achieve those ends. For a noble of Re-Estize, the lines were clear and understandable, thus easy to observe and work within. As a noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom, however, she was constantly aware of the notion that the lines themselves could shift and change with little warning.

A quiet battle had started with this realization: one to ensure that any changes in the Sorcerous Kingdom did not have any adverse implications for humanity and her faith. For the time being, the faith of the Six Great Gods and their emphasis on the collective destiny of humanity resulted in many values which overlapped with those of the new administration: regardless of their station, everyone had roles in which they strove to excel in, and all roles held inherent worth in a vast system that drove growth and progress. The continued alignment of these values was crucial to survival in the Sorcerous Kingdom.

After performing her devotions, she shouldered her bag again and turned back around to find Nonna waiting below.

“Have there been any issues with outbound shipments?” Ludmila asked as she handed over her orders to the Elder Lich, “If there are any improvements that should be considered, we should be experimenting with their implementation before the harvest cements our schedule.”

“We’ve long maximized the usage of cargo space in the ship,” Nonna replied. “Obtaining new vessels for transportation along the river, or somehow improving on existing cargo capacity are the only apparent options from here. The coming harvest will present…difficulties if nothing is done to improve our tonnage.”

Ludmila sighed as they made their way to the village entrance. The problem of cargo capacity was a huge one for her fief: once the harvest was in, it would take their sole vessel over three months to deliver all of their excess produce to Corelyn Harbour. This meant that any other exports through the river effectively ceased unless they could construct or secure another vessel somehow.

She wasn’t the only one experiencing issues with transporting the harvest – if anything, the fiefs with expansive agricultural development had it far worse. The explosion in productivity meant that the existing logistics were woefully insufficient. Even with the availability of Soul Eaters to draw freight nonstop day and night, the vehicles for said freight were still limited in capacity and could only handle slow speeds. Liane had been buried in orders for new wagons, and she didn’t have enough raw materials or labour to keep up with the demand.

Even the addition of Frost Dragons were a pittance in comparison to the sheer volume of produce that would be harvested. According to Liane, it would take a year or so until they had enough vehicles to properly transport each harvest, provided that additional lands were not cultivated. For Ludmila’s part, she needed a dozen or so new vessels once all of the new villages were working.

“Maybe with the border to the Empire open now,” she muttered, “we can find a shipwright from the north…I have no idea when I would have the time for that sort of trip, though.”

Winding her way back down the lane, Ludmila decided to try hopping down the nearest terrace. It turned out to be remarkably easy, so she did so the rest of the way until she was at the base of the village and headed down the hillside towards the bridge. Making her way across, she spotted several sections of newer wood where the more dubious portions of the old structure had been replaced. It was a temporary measure, though. The entire bridge would need to be torn down and a stone structure built to handle the increased traffic it would eventually see.

The fief had seen a remarkable amount of change in the past two months, yet it always felt that the change was not fast enough. ‘Not enough capital, not enough labour, not enough time’, seemed to have become the tune she was constantly made to dance to ever since she started on the development of her demesne. On paper, she knew that each successive village completed would lead to a larger labour pool available to work on the next stage of development, but she always had a sneaking suspicion in the back of her mind that there was something she had missed, or something she could do better. That she was regularly made aware of shortfalls and oversights did not help much with her confidence.

She covered the ten kilometres from the bridge crossing to the village at a leisurely jog, arriving within fifty minutes. Considering she had done so in a dress – though admittedly it was clearly designed for her activities in mind – it felt nothing more than astonishing, and she didn’t even feel taxed by the end. In her childhood, Ludmila was always amazed that her father and mother could perform such feats, but it seemed that she had finally caught up with them.

The new village loomed ahead, its two parts built straddling the road. The road remained level with the surrounding field, carving a twenty metre wide gap between the common and warehouse areas. The entire area was formerly level with the road, and the village foundation an impossibility but for the assistance of Lord Mare. After witnessing what he was capable of with the Adventurer Training Area and Clara employing him to reshape the terrain for her new harbour, Ludmila had come up with a similarly fantastical plan for many parts of her demesne.

Lord Mare was quite interested in what she was doing to reshape the Vale, so he had readily agreed to help in his curiosity over the outcome. He raised the base of the new village from seemingly nothing; even fashioning the sewer system that flowed beneath. Once he was satisfied with the result, which ended up taking a whole afternoon of alterations, he promised to return when he was needed again and to see what the end result looked like. He appeared to have a great passion for shaping and building things, and his zeal in related activities was readily apparent.

So far, the buildings of the village rose on what resembled a miniature plateau standing four metres over the fields surrounding it. The stone walls of the two forts that straddled the road would rise an additional four metres, creating an imposing barrier that would be extremely difficult to assail in a conventional manner. The walls, with their battlements and towers, would come after the buildings in the interior had been mostly completed, so, for the time being, it was a curious-looking collection of buildings rising on an equally curious-looking outcropping of stone.

She ascended the long stone ramp to the common area, passing by the Death Knight standing guard at the entrance, and was greeted with the sight of people busy with the village’s ongoing construction. Men, women and children were busy at work in the market square, which was currently being used as a construction yard. Masons adjusted blocks of stone for fitting while carpenters fashioned frames, paneling, rails, furniture and other items. A kiln had been set up, and pallets nearby were filled with cinnabar-coloured roofing tiles. Labourers helping to put together the stone homes that lined the village streets appeared occasionally to cart away a load of one thing or another to their respective construction sites.

Ludmila thought she could sneak past the market area to look around unharassed, except nearly everyone noticed the more-than-conspicuous Elder Lich following behind her which, in turn, drew their attention to their liege. The foreman overseeing the yard stopped what he was doing and quickly walked up to them.

“Good Morning, Lady Zahradnik,” he said with a slight bow. “You’ve been away for a while…just come in?”

“With yesterday’s arrivals,” she replied. “There is a lot of catching up to do, so here I am.”

“So you are, my lady,” he somehow nodded using half of his body. “First floor of the Lichtower’s part way done, so you won’t have to bake in the sun holding court like last time.”

“I will be readying things there, then. Was there anything urgent that you needed addressed while you have my attention?”

“Hmm…nope,” he replied. “It’s about as steady as steady gets. Weather’s perfect and there isn’t much happening in the way of distractions. There was that nasty-looking Demi that popped up the other day, but a Death Knight took care of it real quick. Didn’t even know what happened until the entire thing was over, so work in the village didn’t even stop.”

A young girl walked past them with an Emerald Forest Slime on her head. They were a common sight in the fief, and Ludmila had issued instructions for one to be delivered per household and deposited into the sewers for waste management.

“...is that really safe?” The foreman said as his gaze followed the girl and her slime.

“I did that when I was a little girl too,” Ludmila replied. “They are monsters, but not the sort of monster that people have in mind when they think about them. They are quite placid; as long as they do not think they are being threatened – I would say that they are even more docile than most of the livestock people keep. If you communicate your intent to them, they will let you know whether it is agreeable or not.”

“Communicate…with a Slime,” the foreman’s voice was flat.

“The laws of our world that allow us to speak with others will work regardless of species – if they are capable of comprehending the meaning of what you say, that is. Despite their simple appearance, the Slimes here are also quite intelligent in their own way.”

In the bright sunlight, the Slime looked like the shimmering jewel that was its namesake. The blob jiggled along with the girl’s steps, seemingly content with sitting on her head. They disappeared behind the corner of a house, and Ludmila returned to the business at hand.

“I hope I will not be interrupting anything major once I start pulling people in for their petitions,” Ludmila said to the foreman.

“We’re your subjects, my lady,” he shrugged. “I ain’t never seen no noble worried about ‘interrupting’ anything before.”

“It is going to be busy for a very long time,” Ludmila said, “and small interruptions have a way of adding up. I will put together a schedule for you to work around with in advance.”

“Alright, just lemme know when you’re ready.”

Leaving the foreman to his duties, she walked into the nearby entrance of the Lichtower. Though it was to be the largest building in the village’s common area, it shared the same, simple style as the other buildings around the market square. The portion of the first floor constructed so far amounted to the basic structure of the office and the wings attached to it. There were still no floorboards or furniture, though someone had placed a single stool in the space for some reason – maybe they had put it there for her? The base of the tower and the stairwell which spiraled up the inside of it were also there.

“Does the office area look large enough to work with?” She asked Nonna.

“It is much more than sufficient,” the Elder Lich replied. “I have mentioned that buildings in this village seem overly…excessive. The administrative office is no exception.”

“Once they furnish it, it should look a lot smaller.”

“All one requires is a desk,” Nonna said.

“It does not hurt to have a comfortable, open space to work in. Besides, making everything tiny would create a meagre impression for the administration – it is hardly excessive.”

When it came to her own workspace, Nonna did not care for anything beyond the bare minimum of functionality. Be it a corner of a warehouse or just standing out on the pier, comfort and appearance were non-factors. Considering that most of the citizens which she helped to administer certainly did care for appearances, it seemed an awkward blind spot to have for someone in her position.

“Considering how you still feel this way about a lot of things,” Ludmila said, “I am worried how the new administrator here will get along with the villagers.”

“Our priority is a smoothly functioning bureaucracy,” Nonna sniffed. “Getting along can come later.”

“At least you recognize that it helps: the Elder Liches coming in will probably be freshly trained with no experience. They will be counting on your guidance to optimize their performance here.”

“I hardly see what that has to do with anything we’ve just discussed.”

“I think you have improved on this quite a bit yourself, Nonna,” Ludmila looked over at the Elder Lich from her stool. “You’ve changed quite a bit from when I first met you; perhaps that will be made apparent when the others arrive.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 13

Chapter 13

After completing the schedule for her petitioners, which had been awkwardly drawn out using the seat of the small stool as a writing surface, Ludmila came out to hand it over to the foreman in the yard. He subsequently started calling in the names on the list as their concerns were attended to in order.

The last time she held court in the farming village, it was before the events of Fassett County. The villagers were shocked and nervous over the fact that their Baroness had come personally to attend to their petitions at all, and the fact that it was in what was a decidedly less than formal setting made Ludmila feel that they were cringing away from her the entire time. All they could prepare was a sawed-off log to sit on where the Lichtower was to be built in the future, and Ludmila had brushed it off before sitting down and going about her business.

With the sun beaming overhead through the uncharacteristically warm spring day, Ludmila thought that her interactions made her seem personable to the villagers despite their uncomfortable reactions. Aemilia, however, discovered all of the splinters in her skirts when she returned home and flew into a panic about her image after what had felt suspiciously like a guilty confession over what she had done. Hopefully the stool here now would be acceptable…well, probably not, but at least it wouldn’t leave splinters to confess over.

Today, each household sent a representative, most having the regular concerns she was used to addressing in her years of experience in managing a village. Immersed as she was in not only attending to their petitions, but trying to more concretely define what Smith Kovalev had described to her previously, the morning and early afternoon passed swiftly. Each audience actually lasted at least twenty minutes, however, while some were twice as long. As she was – settled into her familiar routines – it wasn’t until the short figure of Moren Boer appeared through the empty door frame that Ludmila was reminded there was at least one irregular piece of business that required her attention.

The strange, pale, man was no longer pale at all: the long hours helping out his fellow villagers as well as his own work outdoors bestowed a dark tan that gave him a look much more in line with a person who laboured outdoors. The way he carried himself was still mostly the same, however, so Ludmila supposed that strangers might still offer him a wide berth if they could help it.

“Good morning, Lady Zahradnik,” he bowed two too many times before straightening himself again.

“Good morning, Mister Boer,” she replied with a slight smile. “I hear that you have been instrumental in getting the other farmers accustomed to their work here.”

“Ah, I’m not sure if I deserve so much credit,” he shifted uncomfortably at her words. “They were already quite curious after they settled themselves in, so what followed seemed a matter of course. It’s not as if I had to chase them around.”

“I see…still, I think things might have been far worse if I was not lucky enough to have you come to my demesne first. Were there any issues or improvements over the past few weeks that you would like to bring up?”

Moren licked his lips and rubbed his beak-like nose, glancing about before he leaned slightly forward, as if he was preparing to convey some great secret. Rather than whispering, however, he spoke in a clear and entirely normal tone of voice.

“Yes, actually,” he said. “I’ve been watching the goings-on around the village carefully and I believe that we’ll need more magic casters soon.”

“This is something that I was planning on looking into eventually, but is there any particular reason you are bringing it up now?”

“Hmm…how does one put it…” Moren frowned, “The thoughts are in my head, but I now find that articulating them is not something I’m so good at. My lady, you’ll excuse me if I sound a bit strange?”

“I would say that we are well past the point of being strange, Moren.” Ludmila replied, “Our life in the Sorcerous Kingdom is far removed from what we were accustomed to in Re-Estize.”

“Why yes,” he blinked several times, “I suppose that’s true. Life in your demesne is so peaceful that one tends to forget – none of the more usual hazards of life in Re-Estize exist here, that I’ve seen. No brigands, no crime, no fear of famine or plague…one day just very much flows into the next uneventfully. Well almost, but even the Demihumans that showed up a few days ago seemed nothing more than an interesting topic for discussion.”

“Were you in the fields when it happened?” She straightened in her seat, “What did you see?”

“I wasn’t, no,” Moren shook his head. “It was well into the evening so the entire village was, well, in the village. There were a few relaxing around the edge of the rise that saw what happened, though: apparently the Demihumans stepped out into the field where a pair of Bone Vultures raised the alarm and swooped down to intercept the intrusion. The Bone Vultures were destroyed shortly after, but a Death Knight arrived and scattered the Demihumans back into the forest.”

“Did anyone recognize what sort of Demihuman it was?”

“Every single one of the villagers here are from the inner territories,” Moren replied, “so our knowledge of Demihumans doesn’t go much beyond Goblins and Ogres. You’re not familiar with what came, my lady?”

“I saw the Squire Zombie made from the corpse,” Ludmila told him, “and it was not a Demihuman species from this part of the wilderness. The borders of the various tribes will change as the seasons pass, but it is usually the same ones fighting over the same territory with their boundaries shifting as a result. A completely unknown tribe arriving is rare, and I need to learn as much as I can if we have a new neighbor.”

“I-is that so?” Moren said with a thoughtful look, “Being a follower of The Six, I figured you wouldn’t care beyond chasing them off or exterminating them.”

“I feel I am getting that a lot these days…”

“I meant no offence, my lady,” he lowered his head several times in succession. “It’s just that followers of The Six have a notoriously zealous reputation.”

“Have any of the migrants expressed such sentiments?”

“Now that you mention it, no.” Moren replied, “There was very little in the way of a reaction when the Demihumans showed up the other day. I half expected them to grab their farming tools and dash off into the woods to chase after the rest.”

“It seems that we are about as enigmatic and unknowable to you as those Demihumans beyond Goblins and Ogres,” Ludmila smirked. “Anyways, you were talking about needing magic casters soon?”

“I was? Oh, yes…magic casters,” Moren cleared his throat. “Hm…alright…I suppose it would go like this: the Barony appears to have everything we need, but we do not have everything we need for when we have everything we need…”

Ludmila glanced to Nonna, who was standing along the wall nearby. The Elder Lich seemed to shrug and offered nothing.

“And you believe that magic casters are the solution to this…need?”

“Why, yes,” Moren replied. “It just seems to be the way of things, does it not? Once populations become large enough, they develop a taste for the world that magic casters bring. Magical services, conjured goods; magic items that provide utility and convenience…considering the remote nature of Warden’s Vale, it’d be prudent to have magic casters in residence rather than constantly rely on imports that are expensive, inconsistent and subject to the fees and tariffs that come with their delivery.”

Ludmila frowned slightly. The flow of thoughts uncharacteristic for a Farmer – even one that practiced some magic – stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Does this have something to do with the communications you have been receiving in the past few weeks?”

“Ah – I recognize that sharp look from before…it was that obvious, huh?” He sighed, his eyes darting around again before they met with hers, “Truthfully, most of this proposal was formulated by several of my former…associates.”

“You mean the ones you spoke about from your younger days?”

“The very same,” Moren nodded. “I haven’t been in contact with them for nearly a decade. One of the ones in my village discovered that I did not return from Katze and, on a whim, he sent me a Message. After he discovered what I was up to…well, that was it.”

Moren chuckled nervously, seeming to recall some memory. Pulling out a cloth, he wiped the sweat off of his face before continuing.

“A-anyways, I guess there’s no beating around the bush with you, my lady,” he said. “Have you heard of Zurrernorn?”

“No.”

Moren was taken aback at her prompt answer. He scratched his cheek as his gaze turned inward.

“Ah…um, hmm…usually people at least recognize the name, if not precisely what they are. I suppose being out on the frontier, it’s not really a concern – there’s little reason for them to appear here. Plainly put, Zurrernorn is a secret society that primarily delves into Necromancy. Due to certain past events, they are generally unwelcome in Human lands and operate as an underground organization for the most part.”

“What did they do?”

“Oh, a few things here and there…” Moren fidgeted with the damp cloth in his hands, “The membership is quite varied and widespread so there is little regulation. Each group is basically independent of the others, and I don’t even know anyone who has the slightest clue who the leaders are. More famously, the most extreme groups of Zurrernorn have plotted against entire cities in the past in their pursuit of necromantic knowledge.”

“So, in this pursuit of necromantic knowledge, they desire to migrate to the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“Yes, that would be the short version, my lady.”

Memories of her first discussion with Moren about this organization of Necromancers arose in her mind. She recalled the fact that they had indeed tried something in E-Rantel some time last year: his mention of the event was later confirmed by the story of Darkness, as told by various people in the city.

“Do they understand that the Sorcerous Kingdom upholds the rule of law, and that they still can’t run amok doing whatever they wish, even if there are Undead all over the place?”

“Oh, I immediately made sure that they understood this,” Moren said. “Still, they wish to come. I think I’m in contact with seven or eight of them at last counting…do you know what happens if you receive several Message spells at once?”

“Not specifically, no.”

“Neither do I, and I don’t wish to find out,” he laughed weakly. “A-anyways, all they want is a chance to prove that they can fit in here. Many are tired of hiding: in fear of being shunned, or arrested or killed for what they’ve invested their lives into. The fact that Necromancy is embraced in the Sorcerous Kingdom – that the nation itself is ruled by the most powerful Undead being in the known history of the world – makes it nothing short of a beacon of hope to them.”

“Should they not just move into E-Rantel then?” Ludmila said. “There are few barriers to entry that I know of.”

“Well they are a secret society, so they’re naturally cautious given their less-than-friendly reception elsewhere. It’s unlikely that any of their senior members are a part of this group – it’s more likely that the first that arrive will be used as a canary of sorts. As such, they’ve chosen to come to a place where someone they know dwells to see how things go. If they manage to integrate without major incidents, word will spread and it is almost certain that more will come.”

The thoughts presented sounded reasonable. It also meant that this group of Necromancers would be situated in a place far from the inner territories, where they could be observed at little risk to most of the duchy while their worth as productive members of society was weighed.

“I suppose that seems prudent from their perspective,” Ludmila said. “If their goal is integration, what do they plan on offering to my demesne?”

“Hmm…yes, that’s where their collective proposal would come in,” Moren answered. “Aside from the few combat specialists that become Adventurers or take more militant paths, most casters learn at least a few useful spells and various skills as a means to provide them with an income while they pursue their long-term goals. Many have noted that, since you are effectively building your demesne from the ground up, there is a rare opportunity to establish a community of mages with a strong representation relative to the general population. Elsewhere, both their special needs and contributions may be ignored and drowned out by mundane perceptions: just like how magic is treated by Re-Estize despite all that it does for the people. It’s something that they would have never considered possible of a noble of Re-Estize previously, my lady, but, after seeing how you are advancing with the development of your demesne so far, I believe you possess the vision to create this – not to mention ample land and resources.

“There are many possibilities that come with a large population of magic casters. In addition to helping service the wear and tear experienced by Undead servitors, they also offer those means that earn their livelihoods. They can conjure goods such as paper and spices, scribe scrolls for all sorts of spells useful in daily life, and assist with the day to day operations of the fief with their magic. Some of them are even capable of enchanting and will sell what magic items they are capable of creating at the markets here. As the community grows and its members improve, so, too, will the potential for magical industries.”

Ludmila examined the points she jotted down throughout the proposal. Barring the stigma that accompanied the organization these mages were from, she thought that it was an extraordinarily attractive offer. As things were, the availability of magic casters was essentially nil due to the demand for them in the city and inner territories. If Moren’s associates adhered to the order of the realm, she could not see any reason why she should refuse them.

“Did they make any specific demands?” She asked.

“D-demands?” Moren looked up at her worriedly, “No…they wouldn’t even dare lest it result in their rejection. If you’re referring to what they need for their work, that would be up to what each individual member does. To be safe, I would say a modest workspace and accommodations, if it isn’t too much trouble. In the future, you can confer with them directly for anything greater.”

“What about their families?”

“You would allow them this?”

“Of course,” Ludmila wondered why it was even a question. “They would just be professional labourers in the demesne. I do not understand why I would bar them from bringing their families with them if everyone else is permitted.”

“Ehm…that’s right, isn’t it? Then should I send word of your approval?”

“You may tell them that I am deliberating on the matter,” Ludmila replied. “I need to consult with my liege and ensure that there are no issues with their presence before anything else. It should still be roughly a month before the buildings of the first village are completed anyways, and any workspace won’t be ready until the Lichtower is done. There are new regulations concerning the development of magic and magical devices, so any related work needs to be in a secured space – we’ll be making alterations to the Lichtowers to facilitate that.”

“I understand, my lady,” Moren said. “I’m sure they’ll be relieved that they weren’t rejected outright, and ecstatic that you’d be so accommodating.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” she asked. “Are they able to teach magic?”

“I don’t see why not,” Moren answered. “As long as the student is capable of wielding magic. They even taught a poor farmer boy like me, after all.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 14

Chapter 14

With their discussion concluded, Moren Boer bobbed his head again several times as he backed away and out of the door. Ludmila turned to Nonna, who had stood by silently throughout the audience.

“What do you think of this proposal, Nonna?” Ludmila asked. “Did he bring up any similar topics with you while I was away?”

“No, he did not,” Nonna answered. “He has outlined the potential benefits of his proposal clearly in your discourse, however. If these mages can be incorporated as productive members of the Sorcerous Kingdom who abide by the regulations set forth for their work, I have not noted any apparent conflicts with current laws or policies.”

“What about non-apparent conflicts? This organization’s admitted history leaves me with a number of worries.”

“They are from beyond the realm, and subject to the incomprehensible behaviours that you Humans display. Understanding this, it stands to reason that anything could happen.”

The uncertain answer was not very encouraging. Moren Boer presented his associates as a persecuted and weary community seeking sanctuary in exchange for a number of substantial benefits, but the sheer attractiveness of their offer made her more than a bit wary. The Sorcerous Kingdom was supposed to be a nation where its people could find security, harmony and prosperity, but how far could they extend this offer?

Her initial openness to the proposal was tempered by the fact that she was someone who was desperate for migrants and skilled labour so she could develop advanced industries, and Moren’s associates appeared to have targeted this precisely. What if their proposal just set the stage for some other, nefarious plan? There was also the idea that the Sorcerous Kingdom might come to be seen as a haven for international criminals. It was something she would have to watch very closely.

“Yes…anything could happen,” Ludmila muttered. “Seeing that they’re so invested in Necromancy, maybe they might spend all their time trying to touch you?”

The endless scrawling of Nonna’s pen stopped, and the Elder Lich looked up from her work to stare at her.

“It was just a joke,” Ludmila said lightly. “Mages don’t do strange things like that, do they?”

Nonna remained silent and Ludmila shifted uncomfortably. Surely they didn’t.

Ludmila cleared her throat before shifting to a related topic.

“Speaking of the things that mages do,” she said, “there are many Elder Liches being utilized as administrators throughout the realm. The current demand for magic casters has not been alleviated by the availability of them…why is this?”

“Our repertoire of spells is structured for combat purposes,” Nonna replied. “The current shortfalls stem from the demand for utility magic in the citizens’ daily lives, as well as the fashioning of various magic items for civilian purposes.”

“Lady Shalltear appears to have magic items in abundance,” Ludmila noted, “so it should mean there is some sort of industry that produces them elsewhere in the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“The means by which we produce magical equipment are unsuited for this place,” Nonna answered, “nor does it produce any items of relevant common interest. For this reason, local methods are being employed.”

“I see…have there been any projections made by the administration in regards to this industry? Is it worth pursuing here, or is it only a temporary issue due to the recent changes in the region?”

“The projections from the central administration have determined it will be an ongoing issue for the indeterminate future. The ratio of magic users in this duchy is disproportionately small, and associated industries will be suffering a prolonged shortage as a result. Imports of magic items from the Empire consist of nearly all of our new supply.”

Ludmila breathed a sigh of relief. It was another industry she could promote in her demesne, and the first real industry that could provide her with revenues not directly contingent on the goods produced by Undead labour…provided that things worked as advertised. She had no idea what Moren’s associates migrating to her demesne meant in practical terms for magic item production, so it was something that would need to be explored in depth later.

Standing up to collect her things scattered around the floor, she shouldered her bag again. The shadows had already started to lengthen, and Ludmila needed to complete her tasks as quickly as possible so she could return to the manor and review the information on the aerial transportation network.

“I should get going,” she told Nonna. “The logging camp is next on my list. You may continue your work here – I cannot imagine anything you would be needed there for.”

Leaving Nonna to her work in the Lichtower, Ludmila stepped out into the bright daylight. The foreman rose as soon as he spotted her coming out to speak to him.

“I believe I have addressed all of the household petitions here,” she said. “Were there any additional matters on your mind?”

“Construction’s been steady,” he replied, “Farmers haven’t said anything and I haven’t heard much else from anyone. Should be on track for Feast Day celebrations – wall and all.”

“That is reassuring to hear,” Ludmila nodded. “Speaking of Feast Day, is there anything you would like to see that we do not have here? I might be able to have it imported, if it is available.”

“You’d do that? I mean, uh…well, if it’s for the feast…the food is great here, but water and tea are all we have for drink. Some sort of liquor would be grand, my lady.”

She should have seen that coming. It was customary for her father to import several casks for the village from the winter markets.

“Is there anything else?”

“Don’t really know, to be honest,” the foreman replied. “I’m from a place where people come by the roads, but here you bring in everything by ship. Normally we didn’t have to ask – asking didn’t matter, anyways – and nobles didn’t think about it at all. The merchants and peddlers going around from place to place had it all figured out.”

Given the run-down state of the roads, relying on merchants over land was out of the question. Even if she fixed the bridge somehow, her demesne was well out of the way of any well-traveled routes, and not populous enough for merchants to justify the detour. She would need to check over the cargo manifests from over the years to see if she could figure out what was needed.

“Well, we still have several more weeks until I finalize my orders for the Feast Day provisions,” she told the foreman. “I should be in the demesne on a regular basis until the harvest needs to be delivered. Let the other tenants know that they have the opportunity to ask.”

“Will do, my lady,” he tipped his hat and nodded. “You’re headed out now, then?”

“The logging camp is next. Once I am done there, I will be back through here to see how construction is progressing.”

With that, she turned away and left the village, walking back down the ramp leading to the main road. A pair of Death Knights, transporting a massive fir trunk between them, passed her in the opposite direction as she continued her way up the road to the northwest. They were followed by three carts, filled with bundles of branches, pulled by Undead beasts.

The logging camp was a makeshift collection of large, olive-coloured, tents roughly five kilometres from the village. The large shelters had been woven out of fabric, extracted from the rushes from the marsh, which had then been weatherproofed. Due to the short distance from the village to the uncleared land, the camp was only recently set up, and would slowly be moved to follow their progress.

Short piles of tree trunks, trimmed of branches, awaited transport near to the road, divided by the types of wood they would yield. The woodcutters felled more trees than the Death Knights could transport in the same time, but the backlog would be cleared away by the next morning while the labourers rested. Six large Iron Golems were slated to arrive in three weeks, which would drastically speed up the process. After the farmland for the next village was cleared, Lord Mare would arrive to shape the terraces and raise the foundation for the next farming outpost.

A dry, rasping squawk turned her attention away from the nearing camp and she saw a Bone Vulture descending from the sky with a basket. Ludmila reached up to receive it, and the Bone Vulture rose to circle far overhead. Her pace picked up in anticipation of the meal, and she arrived at the camp shortly after. The woodcutters were all out and, amidst the scent of fresh pine tar from the tents, she sat down on one of the long logs arranged around the central campfire.

Lunch was a recipe from Terah that Aemilia had picked up at some point: the sandwich was similar to what her housekeeper often packed for when she was out and about, but, as the ingredients went from the cultivated foods delivered to E-Rantel to the Barony’s foods that were harvested from the wild, it resulted in a markedly different meal. The vegetables were foraged from the forests and the marsh, the fillets of broiled trout from the river. The variety of sauces and spices from the city was also absent, so the sandwich relied entirely upon its main ingredients for flavour.

She set into her meal, wondering when she could start training Rangers to improve on the variety of foods available to the fief. Not only that, they needed to see to creating stockpiles of medicinal herbs. As the migrants were from the inland territories, it was no surprise that there were no Rangers among them, so Ludmila was the sole individual performing all the work that the residents of Warden’s Vale had normally shared between them. Ambitions surrounding training Rangers for the Sorcerous Kingdom’s armies aside, she needed them desperately for her own demesne.

Finishing her meal, Ludmila rose and called down the Bone Vulture to carry the basket back to Aemilia. There was a distant, telltale stomping of metal boots as a second pair of Death Knights came to retrieve another trunk from the piles nearby. A murmur of men’s voices came from beyond the tents to the west, and they all froze as they entered the camp.

“Lady Zahradnik,” the lead man said. “We didn’t realize you were here. How long…”

“I just sat down for lunch,” Ludmila filled in as his voice trailed off. “Roscoe, was it?”

“Ah…yes,” he bobbed his head, “Lyndon, it is. Surprised you remembered, m’lady.”

“Just your last name, to be honest,” she smiled slightly. “It comes from being a noble, I suppose. I had families hammered into me all the time by my parents.”

“Family…yes. Family’s what’s important.”

There was a rustling from behind one of the tents, and the same girl Ludmila had seen carrying the Slime through the farming village padded out into the open. This time, she was holding a covered wicker basket that was nearly identical to the one that Ludmila had just sent away.

“Time for lunch?” Ludmila asked as the girl handed the basket over to Lyndon.

“You got it,” Lyndon replied, and he lifted the cover to hand out meals wrapped in cloth. “Er, this is my son, Nash. My daughter here is Jelena, m’lady.”

“Jelena?” Ludmila took note of the out-of-place name between the three.

“Sounds strange, doesn’t it?” Lyndon patted his daughter’s head, “Actually maybe not. Your name feels similar; my wife Jelka has the same eyes and hair, too.”

Ludmila’s gaze went between the family members as she studied them. Nash clearly took after his father and, if Jelena took after her mother, it was possible that she shared the same ancestry as the people of Warden’s Vale that Andrei Zahradnik had gathered around him.

“That is quite interesting, actually” she mused. “Jelena seems quite adventurous as well: I saw her with a Slime she found from somewhere outside the village.”

“She is,” Lyndon agreed, “and she gives us scares all the time too. Was more curious than afraid coming off of the boat, and she wandered all over the place after moving in. Certainly doesn’t take after us – maybe it’s a tell of the blood, like the teachings of The Six say.”

The teachings Lyndon referred to concerned the strength of bloodlines passed down through familial lineages. It was one of the tenets of the faith: the same tenets that encouraged its members to take strong, talented partners in an effort to ensure that humanity slowly became stronger from generation to generation. Though it was not specifically mentioned in the scriptures of the Six Great Gods as Lyndon had claimed, ‘tells of the blood’ was a cultural idea – referred to in differing forms, depending on where one was – that was widespread amongst the faithful.

It referred to a stark contrast in an individual relative to the other members of their family. Whether it manifested as more pronounced traits from to one’s bloodline or something rare and unexpected, those attributed with this label had strength and skill beyond ordinary Humans, often with personality borne on a spirit to match. They were the crystallization of generation after generation following the doctrines of the faith: a precious jewel that would become the pride of a family – proof that their perseverance had been rewarded.

Looking back to Lyndon, Ludmila realized that the woodcutter was appealing to her for help. There was no priest in her demesne to consult with, and he had no idea what to do with the budding blossom that had blessed his humble household. Duty to one’s subjects came in many forms: ensuring that these rare individuals did not go to waste was perhaps the most prominent one to followers of the Six Great Gods.

Ludmila looked Lyndon in the eye.

“Will both your children be following you in your trade?” She asked.

“T-that’s…Nash’s taken to it: he’s got it in him to continue my trade. Jelena doesn’t like that we’re clearing the forest though.”

“How old are they?”

“Nash’s fourteen, Jelena’s twelve.”

“Have they received any schooling? Can they read and write?”

“Uh…me and my wife can’t write or read, m’lady,” Lyndon’s gaze turned downwards. “Kids can’t either. No temple school where we came from.”

“I see,” Ludmila said. “Every village here will have a school, so every child in my demesne will learn how to read, write and work with numbers. Perhaps all the adults that have come here will eventually as well. After the children have completed their basic education, they will either follow in their parents’ trade, or move to the port to learn a new vocation under the people there.”

“Schools…for everyone, m’lady?” Lyndon looked up at her, “My boy helps me here with work, and he’s learning what he needs to…when will there be time for school?”

“Well, ideally they’d start younger in their schooling, but, for the time being, you’ll have to set aside mornings for them when lessons start. In a few weeks there will be additional labour coming from the capital, so you need not worry about falling behind.”

“Is that so? Well...I’d be happy if they could learn. This whole place you have here, my lady – everything is so different from where we came from, so I really didn’t know what to expect.”

“How do you mean?” Ludmila was curious how her demesne differed from the others in the eyes of a tenant.

“Uh…I’m no noble so maybe I don’t know much,” Lyndon balled up the cloth in his hands after finishing his meal, “but if one word describes the feeling, it would be control.”

Ludmila had an inkling that the people might feel that way from her conversation with Ostrik the previous day, but she never imagined that it might become a problem.

“Is this a good thing,” she asked, “or a bad thing?”

“I-it’s just how it is, I guess?” Lyndon seemed to shrivel up from her scrutiny, “m’lady – I’m sorry m’lady. Maybe I said too much, you being so friendly and all. N-not that I’m blaming you. Never had a noble talk to me so much before…never even seen one till I got here, actually…”

The tanned woodcutter wiped his forehead with the cloth, scattering crumbs across his face. He didn’t move to brush them out of the furrows in his brow.

“I was just curious,” Ludmila said softly. “With so many new migrants, I thought that maybe there are some things to consider beyond how I am accustomed to doing things. What did you mean by control?”

“It’s just…the overall feeling, I guess,” Lyndon said. “Normally, lords don’t leave their manors and towns to hold court in farming villages: village chiefs and such deal with all that. Their retinues usually never leave them, either, and farming villages don’t have militia. Merchants come and go to sell us what we need…otherwise, we’re just given a free hand to do whatever. The lord claims that the lands are his, but the only time it seems to matter is when he’s raising a levy or when the tax collector comes with his escort. Here, it’s pretty much the reverse – you don’t even need to say anything, and without a single doubt everyone knows everything is yours.”

Ludmila supposed that this would indeed be how a commoner saw things: especially in small, poor fiefs. While the borders of a demesne were defined by lines on a map from a legal standpoint, the ability to exert control over one’s demesne relied almost entirely on a noble’s capabilities. The ability to project martial power to keep the lands secure; the wealth to improve facilities and infrastructure; the administrative acumen that allowed one to firmly grasp what was going on in their own lands and what to do about it…all these were the purview of the noble that ruled their land. A poor demesne could not maintain costs for extensive security or development, and talent in administration was not guaranteed between members of the aristocracy.

A wealthy demesne with a legacy of excellent administrators, such as that of House Corelyn, could afford a well-funded militia and talented retinue to address all but the most serious of problems. The cycle of prosperity that they promoted resulted in a well-connected and secure fief in which the needs of its people were adequately addressed. A fief without these advantages would struggle to keep even the immediate area around their administrative centres secure: problems like bandits, Demihumans and monsters would mount until Adventurers could be afforded – if at all.

Re-Estize had a minor stipend in place which acted as a subsidy to mitigate the costs incurred by Adventurer teams, but it was insufficient for even low levels of security. If anything, it was a last, desperate measure to keep the lands from descending into ruin from those threats.

“The protection of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s armies encompasses the entirety of the duchy,” Ludmila said. “The level of security enjoyed as a result of the Undead forces here should be representative of all the lands now. Goods should flow more freely once we become attractive enough for merchants, but, for now, we are entirely reliant on the capacity of our river transport. While I do effectively have complete control over the flow of goods, it is entirely a practical consideration to ensure basic needs are met. The current tax rates are also due to similar considerations when it comes to development and investing in future growth.”

“I uh...didn’t get most of that, but did you say taxes would change? We’re clearing a lot of land right now, so it sure looks like we’re pulling in a lot of timber, but we reach the end of this strip and that’s it, right?”

“Yes – that’s why I have limited the number of woodcutters in the demesne to the families that you are working with now. After we’re done here, you will be selectively harvesting throughout the valley and setting up stands of trees to farm. This is the plan for the time being, anyways – tax rates will be adjusted with the shifting prices of commodities, and once I get a better idea of what else we can produce here.”

“Makes sense, I guess?” Lyndon scratched his head, “As long as we don’t starve.”

“Trust me, it is very hard to starve here. As for everything else, I hope that I have not been too stifling…by the way, I’ve heard something to the tune of the people being…lost. Directionless. Is that true?”

“Maybe,” Lyndon furrowed his brow. “Things are so different here that you can’t help but be lost when you arrive. After the new folks come to the farming village, though, I think it goes away pretty quick. They see what’s going on around them; what their work means. Even after the village is done, the next village will be coming up. There’ll be plenty to do for a long while yet. After that...I guess what you heard might be right. Everyone is so used to struggling to make it from season to season. Without that hounding you on…I don’t know.”

We do not have everything we need for when we have everything we need…

The statement in Moren Boer’s strange proposal took on an entirely different meaning. When the struggle for immediate survival was no longer a motivator in the people’s lives, what could she provide to fill that unexpectedly unwelcome void?

“You have my appreciation nonetheless,” Ludmila smiled. “Perhaps after I have spoken to others and see how things go, I will figure something out.”

“I guess that’s why you’re the lady, m’lady.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Lyndon’s children had finished their meals well before the discussion ended, looking bored and restless. After the woodcutter and his son left the collection of tents, Jelana peered up down the road to the village.

“The next pair of Death Knights should not be back for over an hour yet,” Ludmila told her. “I am going to be inspecting the work here – would you like to come with me?”

From what Ludmila had seen so far, Jelana appeared to be quite resourceful. Where most might consider it risky for a girl to travel alone on a road surrounded by fields of tall grain bordering the wilderness, Jelena had simply followed the Death Knights as they went back and forth delivering their cargo. As they had orders to defend the fief and its people; any opportunistic creatures that made an attempt to attack the girl would have to deal with two nation-destroying Undead, which happened to specialize in defence, first.

The girl looked up at her, dirty blonde hair whipping in the wind. After a moment, she nodded and they walked together up the road towards the slowly receding forest. The land around them had been cleared of trees and valuable materials, and it currently looked quite ugly. Elements of the undergrowth accustomed to shady, damp conditions lay drying under the open skies, turning the landscape into a bleached and desiccated-looking scar.

“Your father says that clearing the forest displeases you,” Ludmila said.

Jelana nodded beside her wordlessly.

“Did you know that I dislike it, as well?”

Jelana slowed her pace to look up at Ludmila again with a puzzled expression.

“My ancestor came to this vale, over one hundred years ago,” Ludmila continued to scan their surroundings as they made their way. “He fell in love with this place, and settled here with the hope that his descendants would grow and thrive surrounded by nature and all of its blessings. Everyone that grows up in the vale loves it for what it is: including me.”

“Then why are they cutting down all the trees?” Jelana finally spoke, “You’re the noble…that means you’re in charge, right?”

“That is correct,” Ludmila replied. “This is my demesne, and I ordered the strip of land here cleared all the way to the other end of the vale – even though I dislike the feeling that it gives me. It is probably the same feeling that you have.”

“This feels terrible. Why would you do something that makes you feel so bad?”

“Because my demesne needs to be strong enough to support itself. It may look like a lot of the trees are being cleared away, but, in reality, it is not even a tenth of Warden’s Vale. By developing this land, I will be able to feed the people that come here and pay for the upkeep of the Undead. In this manner, we will be strong enough to protect the rest of the land that remains untouched. That is the law of nature; a rule of our world: if you wish to protect what you hold dear, you must be strong enough to overcome all the adversaries that would try to steal it away from you. The strong survive – the weak, perish. Do you understand?”

Ludmila remained silent as Jelena seemed to consider her words. They reached the treeline, where the remains of the old road disappeared into the dense forest that had overgrown it in generations past. Heading west a safe distance away from the trees, She slowed her pace as Jelena picked her way through the rough terrain.

“I think so,” she finally replied.

“Do you know what you want to be when you come of age, Jelena?”

Jelena shook her head.

“Well, if you love nature and get along with the forest creatures, what about becoming a Ranger like me?”

Jelena stopped and looked up at Ludmila again.

“You don’t look like a Ranger,” she said. “You look like a fancy lady.”

“There is no rule that says Rangers cannot look like fancy ladies,” Ludmila let out a laugh. “I suppose your idea of a Ranger is an Adventurer with a bow or something like that?”

“They’re not?”

“Well, they can be that,” Ludmila admitted. “I am registered as an Adventurer, but my duties as a noble take priority. I can use a bow, but I can use other weapons too. Demihuman Rangers can use slings or even just throw rocks. They can use their claws, teeth and other parts of their bodies as well as I can wield a spear, if not better. Being able to fight, however, is only a part of being a Ranger. If anything, fighting the least of what we do out of everything – most of my work as a Ranger can be done even while wearing this fancy lady dress of mine.”

“Then…what do you do?” Jelena asked.

“Rangers are masters of the lands that they watch over and protect,” Ludmila answered. “In the marshes, forests, hills and mountains, the Rangers of Warden’s Vale are raised and trained to be as comfortable in the outdoors as they are in their own homes – because the outdoors is our home. You may find Rangers anywhere: from deserts to oceans to caves…I have even heard of Rangers becoming denizens of vast cities, which are whole environments of their own. We are experts at survival, tracking and navigating the lands: familiar to them in ways unachievable by any other – we can even get along with the creatures within them that others would consider too savage to befriend.

“Rangers understand the nature of things and, with this understanding, we view the world through a lens that many others may not even consider. We think and act in ways that may seem incomprehensible to everyone else in our efforts to promote natural balance. Do you think this sounds like you? Does it sound like something you would like to do?”

Jelena nodded quietly, and Ludmila smiled warmly.

“Well, it just so happens that Rangers are in demand here,” she said. “Once you have finished with your schooling, I will train you myself. How does that sound?”

“Will my mom and dad let me?”

“Your father keeps looking this way, so how about we ask him right now?”

They completed their trek to where Lyndon and Nash had resumed their work. Two Skeleton labourers were working a crosscut saw through a pine tree that towered at least 50 metres above them. Lyndon walked out to meet Ludmila and Jelena where they were standing out at a distance, while Nash remained to supervise the work. The other teams were further along the edge of the trees. A single Death Knight stood watch over them from nearby while a pair of Bone Vultures soared overhead.

“I spoke with Jelena,” Ludmila answered the unasked question on Lyndon’s face. “She told me she would like to train as a Ranger.”

“...a Ranger?” His expression froze, “Y-you mean like an Adventurer?”

“There are several avenues that a Ranger may pursue,” Ludmila replied. “For the time being, she will be serving in Warden’s Vale until she has received sufficient training. After that…it will depend on the needs of the fief.”

“But how will she train? I didn’t know there were any Rangers here.”

Ludmila held the frown forming on her face at bay as she pointed to herself.

“Eh? You’re a Ranger? I-I thought you were a Noble, m’lady.”

“I am beginning to think that I have all sorts of preconceptions attached to me,” Ludmila muttered. “I am a Noble and a Ranger. House Zahradnik was founded by an Adamantite Ranger, and all of his descendants were Rangers as well.”

“Beg your pardon, m’lady,” Lyndon lowered his head. “If she’s to be a Ranger, does that mean she’ll be fighting?”

“You will be learning what a Ranger does through her eventually: some of it you may even find familiar. As for fighting…yes, I will make sure she is trained for combat. She already shows clear aptitudes as a Ranger. If she is truly exhibiting ‘tells of the blood’ as you suspect, she will be strong. But that is only something that we can discover with time.”

“Of course,” Lyndon said. “Will you be taking her away with you?”

“Not right away,” Ludmila replied. “She has to finish her schooling first. After that, she will move to the harbour for training. You will have plenty of opportunities to visit each other – the harbour is not so distant, and her training will see her all over the demesne: including your village.”

“I see. That’s a relief. It’s all a relief. Thank you, m’lady…for taking care of my girl. For everything, really.”

A tear trickled down Lyndon’s cheek and Ludmila frowned. She did not think it was something that was enough to cry over, though she supposed that she didn’t really know how long Jelena’s family had agonized over the matter. The woodcutter wiped the moisture away and scrubbed his nose, standing awkwardly in front of her for a few seconds before clearing his throat and speaking again.

“You’re a good lord–er, lady, Baroness. Truly.”

“I only did my duty, Lyndon. Any liege would–”

Ludmila abruptly fell silent at her own words. Though it was something she had fervently believed all of her life, recent events had definitively proven that not every noble took the same approach to their duties, or even upheld them at all. Before she could think of a better way to frame her response, Lyndon spoke again.

“I was thinking back on what I said over lunch when you asked me those questions,” he said. “I said it simple, and after working for a bit it really sunk in just how rare this is. A place that’s safe for our families, where we ain’t scared for food or our lives, where the people don’t look down on you for worshipping The Six. Before living here, there was only one place I knew that was like this and that was Corelyn Barony. That was where we were hoping to go – where all the other folks at the guild and the temple wanted to go – before the priest suggested we come here instead.”

“That should gradually become the norm, I think,” Ludmila replied. “As I said, the armies of the Sorcerous Kingdom see to the security of the realm now. Undead labour and magical assistance are improving productivity across the realm substantially. Even the faith of The Six is growing, so more and more of the citizens will come to see things our way.”

“That may be so,” Lyndon said. “I mean, if m’lady says so, it’s probably true…but that’s not everything. I used a word back there – control – and I think I didn’t quite put it the right way to you. I talked about how strange it was; how it was the opposite of what we were used to, how the places we came from before mostly left us to ourselves. What you said after…I think I should try again.”

Lyndon looked down as he shifted his weight and was silent for several moments, then he faced her to speak further.

“When new folks arrive, it is strange here – it’s like nothing we’ve seen before; nothing we’re used to. It makes a man feel lost; unsure about everything…at least for a while. That’s how most of the villagers are right now: they got that sort of empty, lost look to ‘em, but that’ll pass. Now I can’t speak for the people working out in the port, but the rest of us don’t stay that way for long. I said that, without a doubt, everyone knows everything is yours: but I didn’t mean to make it sound like you were some sort of iron-fisted tyrant. Maybe instead of control, I should have used order.

“Now I’m just a woodcutter, so I don’t have many fancy words to tell things, but even a guy like me has eyes to notice what goes on around them. It’s like we can see your hand moving over the land, your words and will becoming reality before our very eyes. Where we came from, that hand that only appeared to take away our men for the levy, or our livelihoods for taxes – leaving us with aching hearts and hungry bellies. It never gave us anything in return, leaving us to the wolves and bandits and monsters.

“I said it was the opposite here, and I mean it. Here, we see that hand every day. Instead of only appearing to take away, it gives to us first. Everywhere we look, we see it gesturing; pointing. Here are the homes you’ll sleep in. Here’s the village you’ll raise your families in. Here are the walls that will shelter you. We look to the fields and see how there’s so much food coming that we could never even hope to eat even a small part of it. The Death Knights tromping around and those bony buzzards flying overhead, making sure nothing comes in and gets us. We see the sail of your boat going up and down the river, and the shipments coming in without fail – even that dry old granny Lich making sure everything’s workin’ proper…it’s like you’re saying that you haven’t forgotten us, even if you’re not there with us.”

“I see…” Ludmila said softly, “Thank you, Lyndon. The idea that the people will eventually see things that way is a great relief.”

“Oh, there’s one last thing,” the woodcutter said. “I guess after all that maybe I should’ve used it from the start to describe how I felt.”

“What’s that?”

“It is a word you use: I hear it all the time, whether from you directly, or something that’s read to us. Tenant.”

“Because that’s what you are?” Ludmila furrowed her brow in confusion.

“We are,” he agreed. “And more’s the point. Where we come from, the lord and his men; even the merchants...they all call us peasants. The city folk, too. When we came to E-Rantel and holed up in whatever cheap place we could afford, they had half a look and said the same. Even though we’re all freedmen just like them. Even a simple man like me understands that words have power – names have power; they change the way people see things and think.

“Now I know it’s true that tenants that cultivate the land like us are peasants, but peasant means something else to the people that throw that word around. Peasant’s like something you stick in a bucket, along with the night soil and rotting garbage that you want to throw out quick. It’s a word that tells you that you’re below, like serfs and chattel. You hear it from anyone and it already tells you that, in their hearts, they’ve dug a ditch to throw you in, or built a wall to keep you out.

“Tenant means you’re a freedman under a lord; that there’s a deal between the two of you: labour and rent for land and protection. Duty and obligation. Lords with all the land and power can break that deal whenever they want, and all we common folk can do is keep our heads down and try to keep our families alive, or try to move somewhere else if we can – if the lord don’t try and bully us into staying. Maybe that’s why they started using peasant: because they saw us as powerless nothings; that they can do whatever they want, and leave us to our fates.

“Whether a noble uses tenant or peasant is the difference between heaven and hell: it tells you whether they’ll try and keep up their end of our deal if they can, even when times get hard. Here, in your lands, we see you doing that every single day.”

“Pa!” Nash’s voice drifted out from the edge of the trees, “This one’s ready to go down!”

Lyndon turned his attention towards his son, making an exaggerated gesture of some sort.

“A-anyways,” he said as he turned back to speak to her, “that was about half a year’s worth of words…so uh, back to work. Don’t let my wife know I talked your ear off like that – she’ll probably strangle me.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Lyndon Roscoe removed his hat before bowing roughly. He stayed that way, until Ludmila had to wave him away so he could rejoin his son. Ludmila and Jelena remained long enough to watch the tall pine crash to the ground with small frowns on their faces before turning to continue along the way along the edge of the forest.

Progress in clearing was proceeding according to schedule, but Ludmila felt things were going far too slowly. Clearing the strip of farmland was a crucial stage in her plans, yet it was only the first. She still needed to build the town, expand the harbour and figure out how to improve her capacity for transport. While doing so, she lost crucial time in securing the ever-shrinking pool of skilled labour that was still loose in the duchy. While the other territories were more than happy to let go of tenants who could be replaced by cheaper Undead labour, the exact opposite was true for those industries that Undead labour could not impact so easily.

She required the revenues generated from the farming villages to begin investing in the town’s industries but, with every passing week, she felt that the time it would take to complete the terraces and the farming outposts – roughly eighteen months – would leave her at the mercy of changing economic conditions. Thus, she had decided to lease the six golems from the central administration to speed things along.

In addition, Lord Mare’s unexpected interest in her plans was a great boon and her projections improved considerably as a result. In the end, the time required to finish this stage of development had been reduced to six months. Even so, Ludmila still felt time and opportunity continuing to slip through her fingers as the days went by – compared to Clara’s progress in Corelyn County, the development in Warden’s Vale was like a molehill beside a mountain.

Not that they were competing. Clara always happily snapped up the timber sent downriver to supply her own development, and Ludmila could trust her to pay fairly and on time. Clara would be purchasing all of her grain exports to keep up with the demands of her greatly expanded demesne, which specialized in vineyards, orchards and crops of various low-growing fruits and vegetables, as well as the culinary and medicinal herbs that grew in the same space.

She had apiaries in great abundance as well; her entire demesne was a land overflowing in luxuries: spices and herbs; oils and perfumes; wines, mead, fruity beverages and deserts – all of which the existence of Undead labour had minimal impact upon. If anything, the burgeoning population that resulted from the abundance of food in the future would drive up the prices of her goods, making her even wealthier than before.

One could not help but envy her position, yet Clara did not rest idly in her advantage. Her entire territory continued to improve in leaps and bounds as she pursued what nearly anyone would consider a nigh-impossible vision for her realm.

Ludmila, on the other hand, was barely started. She and Jelena walked slowly through the dried piles of cleared undergrowth while they watched the next woodcutter team. A Death Knight stood watch over the treeline, yet she continued to scan her surroundings. As with most of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Undead forces, the towering sentry was not actually entirely suited for being, well, a sentry.

They were excellent in defending against threats in plain view, which made them ideal for guarding cities and towns. Out here, however, she had to combine them with the Bone Vultures overhead to keep even modestly sneaky threats at bay. The woodcutters were made aware of this as well – if they felt that something was amiss, they were instructed to run to the nearest Death Knight and make it aware of the situation.

She continued to note the changes since her last visit, until a casual glance towards the western slope of the valley stopped her in her tracks.

There was a grey something making its way through the undergrowth along the edge of the clearing. It was certainly nowhere near as large as the feline Demihuman that was encountered several days ago: going by the trees and bushes it was traversing through, it was not even a metre high.

“Do you see that?” She asked Jelena.

The girl peered in the direction Ludmila indicated for a while, then shook her head. Since an untrained village girl could not detect it, despite her natural aptitudes, she thought that the creature might at least have some inherent skill at concealment. That didn’t make it an immediate threat, however: many animals were naturally stealthy.

“I’m going to take a closer look,” she told Jelena. “Head back to the Death Knight and wait there.”

Jelena immediately turned around and retraced their steps. Looking to the sky, Ludmila called over two Bone Vultures patrolling overhead and stalked towards the slope. She was keenly aware that she had no armament, so she would need to rely on the Undead under her command if her quarry turned out to be hostile.

The grey colour appeared to be from some sort of hide or coat, giving the creature a roughly sheep-like appearance. Except this sheep appeared to have a set of branched antlers extending from its head and over its back. A tail with a spaded point twitched back and forth as it continued through the trees in a strange, loping fashion. It stopped, and Ludmila froze in place as it reared up on its hooved hind legs, grasping at a nearby trunk with one of its three-toed forelegs. It sniffed at the air cautiously, but did not seem to be aware of her presence.

It continued standing there and, after a few seconds, Ludmila realized that, unlike a sheep or a deer or whatever strange mix of animals it appeared to be, this creature did not have two eyes: it had three. The third eye was set on its forehead, and it was staring straight up at the sky overhead.

Ludmila looked up and silently instructed the Bone Vultures to fly away to safety. Before they could wheel back around, two bolts of silver light streaked down from the sky and drove them violently into the debris of the cleared field. Masses of unpleasantly familiar vines snaked out of the ground to bind the two flailing Undead before they could right themselves again.

The creature turned its attention in her direction, and Ludmila heard the rapid approach of metal-shod boots. The Death Knight sentry darted by her with a roar, plowing through the debris with its shield leading the way and flamberge held high. It didn’t quite make it halfway between them, though, as another set of vines whipped out and anchored it to the ground. Ludmila half-expected Jelena to appear but, thankfully, the girl hadn’t doggedly tried to follow her instructions to stay with the Death Knight.

The creature returned to all fours, loping out from the trees. It sized up the Death Knight with an unconcerned air even as the powerful Undead being glared back at it from merely twenty metres away. Its apparent composure caused Ludmila to be uncertain of the outcome, and she turned and called out towards the farming village.

『Nonna, I need you out here now.』

She felt the drain as she cast her voice to the village roughly four kilometres distant. The ability still gave no indication as to whether it succeeded or not, but, hopefully, it reached its intended target. The sight that greeted her when she turned her attention back to the standoff continued to build on her uneasy feelings: the creature was now floating in the air, roughly ten metres from the ground and rising. It stared down at the Death Knight with the same, unruffled attitude. The Death Knight, its legs still bound by the entangling vines, bent over to lift a boulder the size of Ludmila’s torso out of the ground before it.

“「Eye of the Storm」.”

With a voice that sounded oddly exactly how Ludmila thought a sheep would if one could talk, the creature cast a spell. The Death Knight hurled the boulder but, when the projectile came within three lengths of its intended target, it was cast aside like a piece of straw. Leaves and debris were being swept up from below, slowly forming into a swirling sphere surrounding the creature at roughly the distance that the boulder had been so easily deflected. A gnarled branch and a smaller stone flew up from the Death Knight as it attempted to hit the creature again and again to no avail.

The creature continued to look down from it’s barrier of wind; its sheep-like voice sounded over the roar of the frustrated Death Knight.

“「Inferno」.”

The Death Knight exploded into flames. Its restraints instantly burned away, and it ran forward all alight, leaping from below its tormentor in a vain attempt to reach it. The Death Knight finally threw its flamberge and its arm came off at the shoulder, still holding the hilt of the weapon. The flaming limb grasping the massive blade was flicked away with no more difficulty than any other projectile that had come before.

Ludmila finally rose from her concealed position, quickly coming forward in an attempt to salvage the situation.

“Stop!” She called up to the creature, “Why are you picking on my sentries?”

The creature looked down at her – or rather, it tilted its head to focus its central eye on her. The rectangular pupils of its other eyes kept watch on its surroundings.

“You come to the defence of the Undead, Ranger. Why?”

“How do you know I am a Ranger?”

“It is Druids and Rangers that can traverse over rough terrain so effortlessly. You do not have the sense of being a spellcaster.”

It was nice to be immediately recognized as a Ranger, for once. The Death Knight’s other arm burned off.

“You have entered my territory,” Ludmila said. “Is it your intent to challenge us for it?”

“The Undead carry risks to the living,” it stated. “This is simple to understand, yes?”

“These Undead are under my command.”

“Ridiculous. A Ranger professes to manage Undead?”

“It stopped when I said so, did it not? If aggression is not your intent, then why are you here? Your kind is unfamiliar to this place.”

A brief silence passed as the eye seemed to measure her. There was a rustle on the ground as one of the Bone Vultures was released from the entangling vines, and it took wing to resume its watch overhead. Its companion soon followed, and the flames consuming the Death Knight receded. Ludmila stepped forward slowly to examine the remains of her sentry: all of its limbs had been burned away – its head as well. An Undead being capable of destroying entire countries had been reduced to little more than a torso in a half-melted breastplate on the ground. It still rocked and twisted an effort to right itself.

“Good work holding out there,” she said, and the Death Knight ceased its movements, “Nonna should be able to fix you up.”

She reached down to pat the Death Knight’s breastplate, but stopped upon feeling the waves of heat emanating from the dark metal. The winds around the being overhead vanished, and it floated to the ground in front of her. Now that she was able to gauge it properly, she could not tell how strong it actually was…and that made it incredibly strong. By appearance alone, it was deceptively weak-looking for something that had disabled a Death Knight so easily.

It stood at about half a metre when on all fours; the long antlers that extended halfway over the thick, grey, wool covering its body added perhaps another third to that. Unlike the rectangular-pupils of its two other eyes, the third eye had a round one which focused on her intently. Its rear legs ended in hooves like one might expect from a sheep or a goat, but its forelegs had two stubby fingers and a thumb which she had seen grasping the tree trunk from a distance.

“I am Ludmila Zahradnik,” she introduced herself politely, “Baroness of Warden’s Vale.”

The eye peered up at her with a lidded gaze.

“Such a pointless introduction.”

“Pointless?”

“Yes,” the small creature at her feet replied, “pointless. Shallow. Weak. You spoke your name, yes? Your mouth moves; your voice cries – yet your heart does not sing. I hear the sound of your name, yet it means nothing. A hollow declaration. Do you fear? Or is it shame? Or are you such a pitiful existence that you do not even know who you are?”

Ludmila looked down in confusion at the string of questions. Was it referring to the mysterious way in which the world allowed communication between different peoples, conveying language and concepts to those who could understand them? The being at her feet let out a breath that she thought was probably a sigh.

“You struggle to comprehend,” it said. “Then allow me to introduce myself.”

It gave a short bleat, and a long string of ideas accompanied it. Rather than being composed of any coherent sentences, meaning came in a single, condensed bundle. While Ludmila understood that all it had done was issue the brief sound, what unspooled before her perception was a collection of associations that painted an identity in her mind. After absorbing the name, Ludmila understood who he was…and she had no idea how one could convey their identity in that manner.

“My people don’t speak like that,” Ludmila explained. “I am uncertain if any race or creature I have encountered around here does.”

“All can speak like this,” it replied. “It is unfortunate that your kind seems to have lost the how, or maybe never knew. Yet, I sense that you are able: I hear the faint echoes of it in your words; you knew me when I named myself. Perhaps you simply do not know that you can.”

With that, he turned around and headed back towards the trees.

“Wait,” Ludmila asked. “Where are you going?”

“Away. I cannot know you, so we can never truly understand one another. Your soul is closed to me, and so I shall move on.”

Ludmila thought over their brief exchange, and she wracked her mind for a suitable answer. All words and names had associations, but, in the languages that she knew, they only meant what they meant and meaning could change or be lost to time. Certainly, some words carried a certain intangible weight when expressed in various ways, but she did not feel that they fully manifested what he wished to know.

The short bleat that was his name, once understood, coalesced into what she could only describe as an image perceived as a whole in her mind. It was not anything one could grasp with a single, physical sense. Every minute detail was a part of him; trying to latch onto a single element to make sense out of it made the whole lose its meaning. It was him and he just was. He had simply expressed the essence of himself, yet there was nothing simple about doing so.

Humans had names, and those names had meanings. Some liked to believe that names also had power. Yet these names were usually bestowed to one by their parents, who themselves might not even know their meaning. Whether one lived up to that name in the end was a whim of fate at best.

Lady Shalltear asked a similar question just two months ago – a question that she had been unable to answer.

Who are you?

“I am Ludmila Zahradnik,” she called out after him. “Baroness of Warden’s Vale.”

They were not just words this time. While Lady Shalltear used words just like her, what she conveyed did not contain any events or achievements; no transient ties or idle aspirations. Stripped of all the things that did not matter, Ludmila invested what she thought must be the essence of her being, and it felt like a piece of herself was carried away as she expressed her identity to the receding figure.

He immediately stopped, ears and tail twitching. After standing in place for a few minutes, he turned back around again and returned to stand before her. To Ludmila’s surprise, he closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“Warden of the Vale,” he said. “There is something we would ask of you.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 17

Chapter 17

What in the world just happened?

Ludmila stared down blankly at the lowered head before her, unable to comprehend why both the literal and figurative change in direction had occurred. In doing something entirely unfamiliar to her, something unintended had happened as a result – something she had no idea about.

“Uh…this is quite the change in attitude,” she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what it wanted.

“You told me who you were,” he replied, “so now I know.”

“How do you know I am what I said?” Ludmila said, “Going by your reaction, I appear to have done something completely unintended.”

“Unintended?” The creature tilted its head to look up at her, “This is not an expression of intent, it is an expression of being. The soul cannot lie, and you cannot be any less than what you are. Claiming to be more is equally impossible. Even in the long passage of time, it is not easily changed – and if it is, then it is.”

The explanation did not make much sense – or did it? By doing something she didn’t fully understand the consequences of, he had come to some sort of perfect understanding…and now he was acting accordingly with the assurance that what he knew could not be untrue. If Ludmila wasn’t aware that she indeed did something along those lines, she might have wondered if she was actually dealing with some sort of lunatic.

Or maybe she was the one that was going crazy.

Rather than dwelling on it and inviting insanity for certain, she decided to address his request.

“You said that–”

The creature’s head turned sharply away from her, towards the village. Ludmila cut her words short, looking to see what had drawn his attention. Nonna was descending in their direction from the farming village.

“She is one of mine,” Ludmila said. “I called for her when you started attacking my sentries.”

Despite her explanation, the creature continued eyeing the approaching Elder Lich. She didn’t believe that hostilities would break out again, given the creature’s stark reversal in disposition but, if they did, she suspected that Nonna would lose just as one-sidedly as the Death Knight did. Scanning her surroundings for potential problems, she saw that two teams of the nearby woodcutters were still fleeing towards the road. Jelena’s head poked up from the field where the Death Knight had been standing sentry.

『The fight is over: you can go back to work.』

The men in the distance stopped and looked towards her. After a few seconds, they started walking back towards their worksites. She didn’t call Jelena to her, in the event that hostilities somehow recommenced. Looking around for a few more minutes and finding nothing else amiss, she turned her attention back to Nonna who had finally arrived.

“Did you leave right when I called for you?” Ludmila asked as the Elder Lich settled to the ground.

“Yes, roughly twelve minutes ago,” Nonna replied.

“That’s…unexpectedly slow,” Ludmila frowned. “I can run faster than that.”

“The Fly spell has limitations in speed,” Nonna said. “It is not the same as the natural ability to fly. For travelling longer distances, teleportation magic is instantaneous and more mana efficient.”

“You don’t have that, so you used Fly.”

“That is correct. Teleportation is not in my repertoire.”

Ludmila spent what time she could spare remedying shortfalls in her knowledge, and magic was one thing she focused on in particular. Beyond the spells used by Bohdan in the past, she knew very little and it was something she decided would be a crucial aspect of working knowledge as a noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom.

With Nonna on hand in the demesne, Ludmila was able to speak at length about the subject. She also had her demonstrate each spell she possessed so she could think on their potential applications. The majority of Elder Liches used as administrative servitors in the Sorcerous Kingdom all appeared to have the same set of spells, though it appeared that certain ones could do more. Nonna was capable of casting a few tier five spells, but they were few and limited to direct combat.

“Well it is good that you made it out here regardless,” Ludmila told her. “One of our Death Knights is on the ground over there…you can use Ray of Negative Energy to patch it up, right?”

Nonna looked over to the Death Knight torso lying on the ground nearby. Though the heat from the flames had dissipated, the odours of charred flesh and burnt debris still lingered.

“...how did this happen?”

“There was a…misunderstanding just now between this fellow here and the sentries,” Ludmila told Nonna. “He stopped before it was a total loss, so recovery is just a matter of time, yes? I will call one of the sentries at the village to take this post while you take care of things.”

“This will take a substantial amount of mana,” Nonna said. “I will heal it until movement is restored, then take it back to the village. Moren Boer should be available to assist.”

“Moren Boer can cast Ray of Negative Energy?”

“Yes,” Nonna replied. “He has been assisting with patching up servitors that take minor damage from workplace incidents. It is not much, by my measure, but it is something.”

“Do you have a record of all of this?”

“Only to the extent of gauging its performance.”

“Then start keeping track of the maintenance work,” Ludmila said. “If we are going to be employing magic casters in this way, I will have to figure out what sort of remuneration is suitable for their labour, er…mana? For the time being, make sure he only does so under your supervision until we figure it out.”

As she said so, Ludmila realized that Nonna wasn’t receiving any compensation for her magic, either.

“Speaking of which,” she asked, “do you receive a wage of some sort from the administration? It might be useful for comparison.”

“I do not.”

“…was that something I was supposed to be taking care of?” She furrowed her brow, “I thought the lease covered that, but you did not come with one.”

“All that is required of you is that you pay the lease under normal circumstances,” Nonna told her. “His Majesty’s summons exist to serve: we do not require wages. If there is something that we deem necessary, it is provided freely.”

“I see…that’s between you and the administration, I suppose. I need to find out what this fellow is doing here, so I will leave the Death Knight to you.”

They turned left Nonna behind them, and Ludmila called for a Death Knight from the village as they headed back towards the road. Jelena stood up from where she had been hiding: looking to her, then the strange creature walking beside her. The girl stuck out her hand towards him, and he sniffed at it for a few seconds.

“This female does not smell like your offspring,” he said.

“Good,” she felt the corner of her mouth twitch, “because I think I would remember that. This one is called Jelena: she is the daughter of one of the men working nearby. Speaking of names…is there one you go by normally?”

“I told you who I am,” it’s upper eye blinked up at her as they continued on their way.

“There is no…short form? Our people generally use names in the manner I first introduced myself, and I am not sure I can get your whole identity quite right anyways; is it offensive to be called in such a way?”

“There is no precedent for offence or otherwise,” he replied. “Our people live isolated from the world: it is a rare thing to encounter outsiders where we live. We only speak to others of our people, so there is no need for such things.”

Considering he had simply turned around and started to leave when she was unable to introduce herself properly, Ludmila imagined that they would not require anything like the names that others used. Having to call out his full identity in the manner that she just had her own, however…

“Then what about a title?” She asked, “Is there some position you occupy amongst your people? You are powerful enough to burn a Death Knight to the ground with seemingly little effort…”

“Destroying most Undead is a simple matter,” he answered, “their weaknesses are easily recognizable. If you insist on using one of these shallow appellations, then Volkhv. I am a Volkhv of the Krkonoše.”

The Volkhv’s words gave her pause. The terms were old: she only knew them as something her parents taught her when she was very young – before she joined her brothers under Bohdan’s tutelage. Volkhv had become synonymous with priest, yet it did not carry the exact same connotations as members of the priesthoods in the local Human lands – it defined a slightly different role than the ubiquitous term used by most implied.

“Krkonoše…is this the name of your people? Your nation?”

“It is the name of our people, who are named after the mountains to the west which we called home.”

Krkonoše was what Ludmila’s people called the range of mountains to the west, which extended all the way to the ocean. The windward side of the range, of which Warden’s Vale lay within, was cool, wet and windblown: thick with the vegetation which was its namesake. The range did have an official name, yet again their village’s name that described it had come out instead. These people had named themselves after the place that they lived, and their concept of their home matched her people’s own: creating an image of a region known to both.

If not for her upbringing, the more commonly known names for these terms would have probably been heard, and the full meaning lost upon the listener. She was beginning to understand why he thought that her use of language was shallow.

“Why did you leave?” Ludmila asked, “For what reason have you come here?”

“Because we decided that we could not stay,” the Volkhv’s coat rippled. “Three seasons ago, an evil star fell into the wilderness far to the west.”

“And just seeing this ‘evil star’ was enough to cause you to flee?”

“Not at first,” He said. “At first, we watched from our craggy peaks. We cast spells to scry the vast lands to the south – to divine what had befallen the low places. The source was veiled from us, but we watched as waves of ruin rippled out from where the star fell, over the peoples that dwelled there. Those that fought to defend their ancestral lands were captured or slain, heedless of tribe or creed. Many who fled were also captured or slain, but there were also those who escaped. We did not stay to determine the fate of the ones who cast themselves at the mercy of this great evil.”

They reached the old road, and Ludmila led them in the direction of the farming village. The Death Knight she had called stomped by to assume its post: it was several times faster than Nonna using flight magic.

“How many of your people died?”

“None. We were too far away: safe in our high mountain peaks, and we left long before the darkness could reach us. Our people went away before the first of the distant Zern enclaves fell into shadow.”

“Who are Zern?”

“An…insectoid people. Of a sort,” the Volkhv said. “As different from you and I as we are to each other, if not more so. They have dwelled in their holes in the foothills below our mountains for nearly as long as we ourselves have dwelled on our peaks. We were vaguely aware of one another, but nothing more.”

It was another race she had never heard of. The story of the Krkonoše was recognizable enough, however: they were refugees fleeing what they considered a great threat. Given the power of the individual trotting alongside her, Ludmila was compelled to learn more, but information usually came at a price.

“So you arrived here, fleeing this great evil that has befallen the land; now you wish to enter mine.”

“That was our original purpose: to cross this great river and continue over the mountains again, until we could continue no longer. It was...until I came to know who you are.”

“Why would knowing who I am change your decision to continue fleeing?” Ludmila asked.

The Volkhv’s central eye blinked up at her, then it tilted its head to look at her with one of its goat-like eyes.

“Knowing who you are is all that there is,” he answered. “Upon hearing it, I knew your place in this world…and there is no better place in this world for my people than under your protection, Warden.”

“I will be perfectly frank and tell you that I have absolutely no idea how you arrived at this conclusion. You should know how much more powerful you are compared to me, yes?”

“In these measures you convey, yes. But that does not matter. What matters is what matters – what the world has decided you are to be.”

“Are you talking about something like fate?” Ludmila asked, “Did you use some magic to divine my future?”

“It is not magic,” the Volkhv answered, “it is soul. The whole has determined your parts; your paths; your place. You gave to me your name; I returned it to you. Even so, you did not understand?”

“I understood what I conveyed to you, and I understood what you called me – but I cannot understand why we understand it so differently.”

“I understand what is,” he said. “You will come to understand as well. You cannot be any less than what you are, even if you do not understand what you are. Understanding is not required for this to come to pass.”

Currently, what she understood was if she was subjected to any more understanding, she might permanently start talking like the Volkhv. Or her head might ignite like her Death Knight. In asking too much, she had learned too much to digest.

“Then let us discuss the matter at hand,” Ludmila cleared her throat. “Your request is to move into my territory, but do you unde–realize what that entails?”

“We will come under your management as a part of the land,” the Volkhv replied immediately. “You will do what is necessary, and we will do as you say.”

Very broadly speaking, that was what would happen. It was not language a noble or some learned Human citizen would use, however. The way he appeared to exercise thought and employ vocabulary was more in line with a Druid or a Ranger, whose scales of judgement assessed things holistically rather than singularly.

“As I said,” he spoke in her silence, “I know who you are. What is, is. My people will be in your care, and we would not protest even if you saw fit to kill us all.”

“Even if I had a very good reason,” Ludmila told him, “it is not a decision that I would make lightly.”

“I know.”

The rational part of her mind still screamed at the reasoning that would not make any sense whatsoever if viewed from the perspective of a Human Noble. The other parts of her, however, accepted it for what it was. The fact that any Human Noble would immediately accept such a one-sided agreement in their favour while she fought the reasoning due to the part of her that had already accepted it was an irony that irritated her to no end.

Ludmila sighed. She would just have to navigate this confusing situation in what way she could.

“Then…how many of your people have come with you,” she asked the Volkhv, “and what do you need to live?”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 18

Chapter 18

“We are four hundred,” the Volkhv said, “and fifty.”

“So…four hundred fifty?”

The sun had nearly crossed below the western ridge of the valley, granting a reprieve from the sweltering heat of the day. Gusts of cool, evening wind played over the fields, and Ludmila’s skirts occasionally whipped forward as she and the Volkhv continued on their way towards the farming village.

“Four hundred and fifty would be more precise,” the Volkhv explained. “The four hundred are like me – Druids who live in the alpine meadows and amongst the craggy peaks. The fifty are Rangers who stalk below.”

“Four hundred Druids?” Ludmila’s words rolled out in near disbelief, “What about the rest?”

Magic casters were relatively rare, and the current shortage of them in the Sorcerous Kingdom made that abundantly clear. While the territory was still a part of Re-Estize, there were probably only six hundred or so professional magic casters in the Duchy of E-Rantel. Once divided into their various vocations and considering the potency of spells that most could use, it was easy to see how recent events had led to their current situation.

According to the information gathered by the House of Lords, it was estimated that eighty percent of the magic casters working in the duchy had fled before or during the annexation process. They held positions which were always in demand throughout Human lands, so it was a simple matter for them to uproot themselves and find new homes for themselves.

The majority who remained were either divine casters who opted to remain and serve their congregations, a handful of crafters, and the few adventurers who had signed on with the repurposed Adventurer Guild. The Magician Guild, even if one counted the magical crafters who were members under the organization’s umbrella, was a ghost of its former self and gutted of anything useful: they had quickly emptied their inventories to be transported to Re-Estize before the transfer of authority. Needless to say, the various trade guilds under the Merchant Guild similarly saw the same decline in membership.

Specifically, the dire drop in the mages who provided utility and crafting services to the citizenry was nothing short of a silent crisis: until something was done to restore these losses, the Sorcerous Kingdom would be mostly dependent on expensive imports from the Empire and beyond. The nation was in the oddly embarrassing position of having very little in terms of magical industries, despite possessing superlative magical might.

“The rest are the fifty…I said this, yes?”

“I meant those that are not Druids or Rangers,” Ludmila told the Volkhv. “Amongst my people, becoming a Druid is relatively rare.”

“Ah,” he replied, “so it is like that. Our people are all born Druids or Rangers – it is not a path to be pursued like some other races we have observed. I made an erroneous assumption: you expressed yourself as a Ranger, this youngling also exhibits the qualities of a Ranger, those males we passed also have Ranger-like traits, so it was my assumption that your kind are all born Rangers, and you a Lord of your race.”

When he put it in those terms, Ludmila supposed that Humans were actually in the minority when it came to how each individual developed. When it came to Demihumans, it was more often than not that each race lent to what would be considered a specific vocation by Human measure. Gnolls were natural Rangers, Ogres were Barbarians, Trolls were Fighters. Even if a member of that race filled the role of a Druid, Shaman or some other magic caster, their natural strengths would still come into play.

Though she knew of several, a race of natural magic casters was unheard of in the immediate vicinity of Warden’s Vale. She could not recall any who were either one thing or another.

“My race is referred to as Human…but I thought you knew who I was when I expressed myself?”

“I did, and I still do. Knowing the quality of one’s soul does not define an individual in those terms, it simply expresses what one is.”

Despite herself, she knew what he was saying. Their culture appeared to be one which revolved around nature, straightforward and true to spirit and form. The way in which the Volkhv perceived the world and conveyed his words made much more sense when viewed through that lens. Rather than perceiving her through individualistic terms, she was being identified by her place within a much wider framework.

Ludmila suspected that, even if they were Druids, they would not be overly useful to the duchy at large – they were probably akin to those Druids who lived apart from civilization as hermits, or in isolated circles that watched over their little part of nature. Perhaps time and understanding would help her figure out how they could further contribute to the overall state of her demesne.

“Alright, so these four hundred…what do you eat? Do you build? Craft?”

“We graze on the vegetation that grows at those heights that we live in: lichen, moss, alpine plants. In the frozen seasons, we move down into the warmer elevations. We do not build. The Rangers will occasionally fashion objects, but we Druids do not. Between our bodies and our magic, we have everything we need.”

The Krkonoše seemed to loosely have the grazing habits of the sheep or goats that they resembled. They were maybe half the size of a mountain sheep, but the Volkhv had demonstrated enough magical might to easily destroy a Death Knight. His placid nature when confronting it just seemed to be how he always was – which was fortunate for their neighbors. Being overrun by hundreds of these cute and fluffy Druids would be irresistible in a multiple ways.

“Do your people’s Rangers do anything else differently?” Ludmila asked, “By your description, they demonstrate several different habits.”

“Hmm…yes,” the Volkhv replied. “They are usually always below, stalking the wooded slopes under our homes and keeping others away. They do not eat the same things that we Druids do.”

“I guess that makes sense, considering they do not live at the same altitude. They feed on leaves and grass, then?”

The Volkhv eyed her strangely, tilting its head so that two of its eyes could take her in at once.

“They feed on us,” it replied.

About one hundred metres from the entrance to the farming village, Ludmila abruptly stopped in her tracks and Jelena bumped into her from behind.

“I’m not sure if I heard that right…”

“They – the Rangers, feed on us – the Druids,” he said slowly. “This should be the meaning of what I said, yes?”

“Yes, but…huh? The Krkonoše is a species that practices cannibalism? Er, no wait. I thought you fed on vegetation.”

“The Druids do, yes. The Rangers are carnivorous. We are one people, but we are not the same species. Did you think us an insect race which can produce multiple types of individuals? Do Human Rangers eat Human Druids?”

“I cannot say that I have ever done that – not knowingly, anyways.”

They resumed walking, ascending the ramp leading to the warehouse half of the village. Jelena waved to them as she went her own way, up the ramp to the common area, and Ludmila waved back.

Two permanent warehouses had been raised so far, but most of the labour allocated to the storage area had been focused into getting the grain silos ready for the harvest. A dozen had been constructed, raised off of the ground so that their contents could be poured out of a spout below. A dozen more were still at various stages of completion.

Walking together to the eastern edge of the village, she tried to puzzle out what exactly the Krkonoše were as they looked over the valley stretching out below.

“Generally speaking,” she said after a few minutes, “one intelligent race that eats another does not get along with them past a certain point, if at all. Yet here you are claiming that you are one people.”

“I suppose you are correct,” he admitted, “but it can happen if the circumstances allow for it. I do not doubt there are others with such an arrangement in the wide world. As for the Krkonoše, we have been one people for countless ages. The fall of Dragonkind is but a recent memory to us.”

“The fall of Dragonkind?”

“A somewhat exciting, but brief, event,” the Volkhv’s voice seemed to shrug. “In the span of aeons, it was half a wink in time. Changes come; the world turns – those who cannot survive are lost to the mists of eternity. It is not the first time that the keepers have been overturned and others rise to take their place. The Soul of the World ever flows; ever grows in uncountable fragments which come and go.”

“That’s, uh…right, you’ve lost me completely now.”

“Perhaps you will perceive this at some point,” the Volkhv said. “Before your own returns to the fold.”

As interesting as talk about Dragons might be, Ludmila still had to figure out what was going on with the Krkonoše. Clearing her throat, she steered the discussion back on track.

“What are these circumstances that allow for you to exist together as predator and prey?”

“We are fecund,” the Volkhv answered, “and life in the high places comes with its own dangers, as you might imagine. Only the strong can survive.”

“That was a lot more practical of a reason than I thought it would be.”

“Practical...yes. You understand, Warden. Order must be maintained, Balance must be kept.”

“If that is the case, how much of the range did you occupy? How much land is required to sustain four hundred of you. And the fifty.”

“Our ancestral home is a smaller range of peaks: north of the Zern enclaves and west of the mountains under which the dominion of the Dwarves lies. As only the strongest of our offspring survive, our numbers do not increase very quickly. The Zhrets offer the remains of those whose lives have been claimed by the mountain to the Rangers below. Those who reach the end of their days similarly offer themselves, after the wisdom of their lives has been passed on to the next generation.”

“So you are not being hunted for food by your Rangers?”

“Nature takes its course,” the Volkhv said simply. “Those who do not grow quickly enough cannot survive. The elements take them. They cannot defend against large, flying predators or fail to compete for mates. They cannot migrate when they need to. Many dangers await on the mountain; the Zhrets find the fallen and send them to the other half of our people.”

“How often does your species bear offspring?”

“Our breeding seasons come in summer and winter; the females give birth to three or four the next season. The offspring are left to fend for themselves before the next litter is born.”

They bred nearly as fast as Goblins, and matured far faster. She started to wonder if this ancient relationship had its roots in necessity. Even a slight improvement in their living conditions would have them covering the mountains in short order.

“What happens if your numbers are lower than usual?” Ludmila asked after a rough calculation, “Do these Rangers eat anything else?”

“Of course,” he replied, “when out ranging beyond the immediate area of our peaks, they will hunt and consume other things. This creates a wide area around our homes where any who dare approach risk becoming their prey.”

“Are there other benefits to your arrangement?”

“They do not have to range too far to sustain themselves and, by staying in the area, they keep all others from the lowlands away. They also warn us when changes occur – such as that which has happened recently.”

“So…that’s the extent of it? There must be some other reason you consider yourselves one people. What you’ve described so far might be better described as something like keeping pets that eat you on a regular basis.”

“There are social aspects as well. We mingle frequently: some of my greatest friends are of the Rangers.”

“Even though they’ll eat you one day,” Ludmila said flatly.

“To be consumed by an old friend is a desirable thing.”

She had no answer to that. The relationship between the two races of the Krkonoše was just far too alien to her own understanding.

“What is the lifespan of your people?” Ludmila asked, “Fecund races are usually short lived.”

“It is uncommon for us to live past eighty seasons.”

“As in four seasons every winter?”

“Yes, twenty winters.”

“...how old are you anyways?”

“Hmm…this will be my thirty-fourth season.”

“Are you telling me that an eight-year-old nearly obliterated one of my Death Knights with no apparent difficulty?”

“There is nothing strange about this.”

“Nothing strange – wait, does that mean your entire race becomes as powerful as you? What tier of magic are your people capable of?”

“If one of our young cannot cast the third circle of magic by the end of their first year, they are not expected to survive. We become capable of fourth circle magic by our third year, and fifth circle magic by our sixth year. After that, it varies a little…perhaps one in one hundred will become capable of more.”

Ludmila briefly envisioned a wave of antlers, fluff and death if anyone managed to anger the Krkonoše somehow. Another thought crossed her mind.

“How about your Rangers?”

The Volkhv was silent for a moment, nose twitching in the wind as it seemed to think on its answer.

“This is more difficult to measure. The majority become roughly as strong as our third years, while perhaps one in several hundred match with our fifth years. That is the most straightforward comparison I can come up with, fashioned roughly in terms you might understand.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you could conquer entire swathes of the region with your population?”

Ludmila said it half-jokingly but, even with what little she knew of magic now, she did not think that Re-Estize or Baharuth could stand against so many powerful casters. Even a single Krkonoše probably had the strength to shatter the entire army of Re-Estize.

“Conquest seems a pointless exercise,” the Volkhv replied. “Our ways make us stronger with the passing of thousands of generations, and our magic provides us with all that we need. We are not a race of builders such as yours; having more land ultimately means nothing to our ways: we only need what we need. The passing of the ages makes us stronger, and we need not enter into conflict like the races below. The day will come when more of our offspring survive and our numbers swell, but there are innumerable peaks in the world that we can migrate to. This has happened before, far in the past.”

“You mean there are other populations of Krkonoše in these mountains?”

“No, only our own,” the Volkhv told her. “Once we were a multitude throughout these ranges. The peaks were higher, but the weather was warmer. A Dragon moved in at some point and, with the addition of her offspring, most of us were hunted off of the mountains over the ages before the remainder finally adapted to survive them. Several millennia after that came the Fall of Dragonkind: leaving the Krkonoše uncontested in our peaks.”

Up to this point, Ludmila thought that the Krkonoše’s way of cultivating strength through generations was similar to what was promoted by the tenets of the Six Great Gods. Their conditions for survival, however, were merciless. Being innate magic casters that bred rapidly enabled them to grow a population of astonishing power. Fortunately for their neighbors, their passive disposition was at odds with their sheer strength; Humans would almost certainly exploit such an advantage.

The nature of the Krkonoše request felt akin to having wildlife apply for immigration: they would most likely just become a part of nature in her demesne. They did not appear to compete directly with her subjects in any way, so she did not particularly mind them. Since they took care of themselves and did not require any support from her, any benefits she gained in the future from their presence would be essentially free so she could take time to figure that part out. Unfortunately, the arrangement of their society ran afoul of one of the laws of the Sorcerous Kingdom.

Subjects of the Sorcerous Kingdom were not allowed to eat fellow subjects. As the Krkonoše would submit themselves to her management, they would become her subjects. Continuing in their practices meant that they would be breaking that law thousands of times a year. A noble could not enact local laws that opposed the crown laws, so she would need to petition for a special ordinance to make an exception for the relationship between the two species.

The central administration generally processed things in a speedy manner, so, if she could make a solid case for them, Ludmila thought she could have it taken care of the next time she was in the city. Lady Shalltear would be coming by in the next day or two, so she could consult with her on the matter as well.

Another issue concerned the Rangers mentioned in their discussion. Ludmila was taught that carnivorous and territorial species stood a high chance of being problematically aggressive when it came to interactions with their neighbors. Rather than a matter of reason, it was an aspect of nature that was not so easily changed. Demihumans and monsters with such a nature had a risk of exploding violently even when things appeared peaceful mere seconds before. Hopefully, their ancient bonds with the Druids of the Krkonoše meant that there was an avenue for their natural tendencies to follow that did not cause problems when they encountered other subjects.

“I do not think that you have described the appearance of your Rangers,” Ludmila said. “They seem to be large and powerful, judging by their diet and your estimations.”

“Yes, you are correct,” the Volkhv’s ear twitched. “They average between three to four metres in length as adults, with the appearance of mountain leopards. Some appeared around this place recently, but reported back that one of their number was lost. For this reason, I came to investigate.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Ludmila continued her inspection of the village’s construction in silence, uncertain what to say. The Volkhv, for his part, appeared content to follow and observe the goings-on around him. They crossed over the bridge into the common area of the village, where he drew the looks of everyone they passed. The scent of meals being prepared wafting from the various homes prodded her silently onward: after walking around all afternoon, she looked forward to returning home for dinner.

After checking with Nonna one last time to see if there was any business to handle that had arrived since she had held court earlier in the day, she was back on the road headed to the harbour.

Though the evening sun had already disappeared behind the valley’s western ridge, its light still painted the cliffs across the river in a fiery evening glow. One of the pairs of Death Knights came up the road from the port village, returning to the logging camp to pick up their next shipment. The Volkhv tested the air as the row of Undead beasts that followed passed. After the sounds of the Undead procession faded in the distance, Ludmila took a deep breath and decided to broach the subject of the missing Ranger.

“The Ranger of yours that went missing,” her voice came out carefully, “I am fairly certain it is dead.”

“Yes, that’s what was reported,” the Volkhv replied. “She remained behind to provide the opportunity for the others to escape, and was last seen fighting one of these Death Knights. She was a good friend who I had known since I was a lamb. Scrying for her did not turn up anything, so I considered it highly likely that she was no more.”

Awkward…

“You have my apologies,” she said. “I was not present when it happened, but the Undead defenders here are under my orders. It is my responsibility.”

“This is your place, Warden,” he said. “Stating the obvious is unnecessary. Apologies are also unnecessary. In this land, you maintain order and balance – if this is a result of that, then that is what it is. There is no reason to apologize for taking your place in the world; no reason to explain.”

“You are not angry that I killed your friend?”

“Anger…” The Volkhv seemed to mull over the word, “Our kind is not prone to anger. Her passing is unfortunate, but what is, is. If it makes you feel any better, if she was not slain, then I would not have come when I did. If I had not come when I did, then I would not have discovered the existence of a Warden here. Druids and Rangers serve a greater order, and to all things there is a time.”

Why was she the one being consoled instead? Again, Ludmila understood what he was saying, but the Volkhv’s calm acceptance of events seemed strangely fanatical in its own way. Ranger or Druid or otherwise, one still felt grief and anger and pain that rose in reaction to death and loss. At least if they were Human.

“Being that it is what it is,” he continued, “you will accede our request to become a part of this place?”

“I do not believe it would cause any issues with the land itself,” Ludmila replied, “so, personally, I am inclined to agree.”

“There is a shadow that lies over your words.”

“There are some things that need to be arranged in order for your people to dwell in my territory for the long term,” Ludmila told the Volkhv. “You are right that, as a Ranger, I serve the natural order of the world, but I am also a noble who serves another order.”

They continued forward for a short distance as the Volkhv stared absently into the sky. The quick, loping gait that he assumed to match her stride made the antlered ball of fluff bob up and down in rapid rhythm, but he showed no signs of fatigue. The eye on his forehead focused on her again.

“Noble…this name is not expressed in any concept that is familiar to me.”

Ludmila wondered if this was something that happened often when speaking to nonhuman races. The Undead seemed to understand her perfectly fine. She thought for a moment, wondering how to convey what it meant.

“You are aware of many races,” she said, “do the Dwarves you mentioned not have this? The Humans of Re-Estize to the north of your home certainly do.”

“We watch the world as it passes through magical means, yes,” the Volkhv said, “but it is mostly visual observation that does not convey language.”

“I see…then, among my race – Humans – it is a type of leader,” Ludmila told him. “Demihuman societies also have something similar: individuals that rise to power, who may oversee and direct many. You called me a Lord of my race…it is very similar to that, as I have recently discovered.”

As she explained what it meant to the Volkhv, Ludmila wondered why she had never considered it in such terms before. The abilities she was made aware of and explored in the past months certainly fell in line with those observed of Demihuman Lords. Considering how common the recognition of Demihuman Lords was, even amongst Humans, the fault of this blindness was probably the result of Human culture. Even without the faith of the Six Great Gods, it now felt that the Human cultures that she knew of promoted Human exceptionalism almost uniformly. Humanity was held distinct from ‘Demihumans’ and ‘Monsters’, and this perception may very well be the thing that prevented nobles from consciously realizing abilities that lay dormant.

If one framed Humans along the same perception that Humans had of Demihumans, Ludmila was quite literally a Human Lord: stronger than the average Human, and possessed of abilities that revolved around her leadership role. If not for being coaxed into this realization by Lady Shalltear, a nonhuman being, she may have just lived her entire life not understanding this fundamental similarity.

“You were born as this, in the fashion of the Zern?” The Volkhv asked, “Or is it something that manifests later, like with the tribes of the wilderness?”

“I don’t know anything about these Zern, but I was born a noble,” Ludmila answered. “Most nobles are born, though it is not unheard of for those that distinguish themselves to become them as well.”

“Hm…that is most peculiar: it is usually one or the other amongst the myriad species we have observed. Then, as a noble, what is this additional order that you serve?”

“Nobles serve under their liege – another noble – who, in turn, serves under their own liege. The sovereign reigns over all, and it is through those that serve the sovereign that the order of the realm is established. I am a noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom, my liege is Lady Shalltear. Lady Shalltear’s liege is the sovereign: His Majesty the Sorcerer King, Ainz Ooal Gown.”

“The existence of similar arrangements is known from our recollection of other peoples,” the Volkhv said. “It is not something we ourselves have, however, as we are all born with an understanding of the greater order of the world. I suppose to those races that do not, such individuals would manifest to manage them. What is it about this order that precludes us from becoming a part of your place?”

“The order of the Sorcerous Kingdom is mostly established through sets of laws that address appropriate conduct and limit or stop certain activities if they are perceived as undesirable. There are carnivorous species which exist here, such as Ogres, but none share this same sort of mutual relationship that the Krkonoše do. Due to concerns that some species might predate on others, a law was recently passed regarding this: the subjects of the Sorcerous Kingdom are prohibited from devouring other subjects.”

“But we would no longer be ‘subjects’,” the Volkhv noted, “just corpses.”

“I do not think the law makes any such distinction between one and the other,” Ludmila said. “There are laws regarding corpses, as well. I do not think it should take very long to accommodate your people’s unique relationship – in the meanwhile, you may explore my territory to find a place suited for your people.”

“We have already located such a place,” the Volkhv replied, “but we would have continued onwards if I had not encountered you here.”

“You have?”

“Yes, we have divined the path before us using magic – we know the layout of lands ahead before we actually arrive. This land was occupied by many strange things, which is why we sent Rangers ahead to investigate.”

“Alright,” Ludmila said, “where is this place that you wish to settle?”

“Across this river, there is a place of many high meadows. Beyond, more people resembling your own in the green riverlands. Beyond that…a land where life and death are overturned, and the living feed on the Undead. This place of high meadows is a part of your land?”

Her gaze turned to the towering cliffs beyond the Katze River. It technically was, but, due to the nature of Human civilization, her claim was nominal at best. Holding land was not as simple as marking lines on a map. How much an administrator could control depended on whether they could project power over an area, and whether it was worthy of development and the accompanying security costs were what actually determined whether one could assert de facto ownership over territory.

It was extraordinarily rare for a noble to control every acre of de jure land that was marked as theirs on a map. Before the advent of the Sorcerous Kingdom, only House Corelyn, Wagner, Gagnier and Vintner – whose territory had been abandoned after Katze – could claim such a feat in the duchy. They were all small, fully developed inner territories with the additional benefit of bordering the duchy capital.

Perhaps the most famous example of this aspect of territorial control, regionally, was the Katze Plains. The Kingdom of Re-Estize, the Baharuth Empire and the Slane Theocracy all made de jure claims over the vast territory which – if not for being an cursed wasteland dominated by the Undead – should have been a fertile river basin which provided access to the inland sea in the southeast. Yet none of these nations was capable of retaining their hold on the area, nor were they able to cleanse the cursed lands: not even the Slane Theocracy.

What resulted was an empty and barren plain that each of the three nations had marked as theirs on each of their own maps, though no one actually held it. All that the ridiculous claim amounted to was a point to rattle swords over in diplomacy; often used as a convenient excuse to hold the annual skirmish between Re-Estize and the Empire.

The mountains between Warden’s Vale and what was now Corelyn County came with a set of challenges which resulted in a similar situation. Re-Estize had claimed the range as a part of their kingdom on the maps, but even as it was passed along to the Sorcerous Kingdom with the rest of E-Rantel, access was extremely limited from both sides. It was a wild, alpine, area – inhospitable to Humans without exorbitant investment – so none actually lived there.

As House Zahradnik was the closest frontier territory, it was nominally in her sphere of influence, but no attempts at projecting power over it were made even at the height of Re-Estize’s expansion in the region. It was uncontested by the Theocracy, so if the Krkonoše occupied the area as her subjects, then it would be both de jure and de facto a part of her land. With their assistance, some development and exploration might be possible as well.

“I will extend my management over the range if you wish to move there,” she said after thinking on her reply. “How long would it be until your people arrive?”

“Once we have your leave to become a part of this land, Warden, they should arrive over the course of two or three months.”

“Will they be in danger from this evil that drove you from your land?”

“We have scryed the places we left behind,” the Volkhv replied. “Of any pursuit, there is no sign.”

“Then what of the other peoples that fled?” Ludmila asked, “You mentioned that there were many affected by this ‘evil star’.”

“They would not enter the mountains,” the Volkhv answered. “It is faster to flee through the hills and forests to the east.”

Ludmila frowned worriedly at his words. While the Abelion Wilderness was often thought of a savage and uncivilized place, the truth was it was home to probably millions of Demihumans of various species. Any strong displacement between the tribes would result in widespread consequences both within the wilderness and to the nations that bordered it. While the Theocracy might have the strength to handily weather such an event, others might not.

As the defender of the reach, House Zahradnik was charged with guarding the realm against any of the waves arriving at the border as a result of this disturbance. In the worst case scenario, she would be facing a mass migration that boiled down through the upper reaches and over the passes. If the Demihumans were aware of the strength of the Theocracy and opted to avoid a confrontation with them, this might very well be the case.

“How long do you think it will take them to come to the range running south that you passed by on the way to this place?” She asked.

“That is difficult to say,” the Volkhv answered. “They are a multitude of tribes of various forms – there are even small confederations. If one group brushes into another, they may both flee, or they may fight if one side does not recognize the threat coming from the west.”

He had a point: the potential numbers that would arrive at her borders might not be as great as she thought. While those who had been directly affected by whatever had befallen the western portions of the Abelion Wilderness might share the same fears, those in the way who were unaware of it would have varying reactions to the intrusion upon their lands. Some might listen and flee as well, or at least allow those fleeing to pass. Some might see it as a challenge to their territorial claims and war would result.

Rather than being one huge migration, the waves would likely become erratic ripples which arrived over a much longer span of time. This would still be a problem for her to deal with, but at least she thought it would be manageable. While she had few doubts over whether the forces of the Sorcerous Kingdom could defeat these Demihumans in open conflict, tracking down so many and keeping them from spilling over into the realm was another thing entirely. If they arrived slowly, and in limited numbers, it would be much easier to intercept and contain them.

Ludmila had looked forward to relaxing during the evening while she absorbed the information about the new aerial transportation network but, now, she had a whole new thing to worry over.

“My liege should be visiting within a day or two,” Ludmila said as they descended the slope to the bridge. “I will speak with her about your request and, if she believes there will not be any issues, we can have your people begin their move across the river. Are you able to stay overnight? It would be prudent to have you stay for her arrival, just in case she has any further questions for you.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Their journey paused when Ludmila saw the Volkhv stop at the edge of the wooden bridge to sniff around. Though greatly diminished as spring gave way to summer, the level of the Katze river was still high enough to overflow into the floodplains. After several minutes, the Volkhv returned from his sampling of the surroundings, eyeing the hill where the village stood over the harbour.

“There shouldn’t be any issue with this place for tonight,” the Volkhv told her. “If there are predators here, it’s probably best to warn them from trying to eat me.”

“The village is just Humans, Undead and the birds,” Ludmila replied. “Do you require any shelter?”

“No. My kind are accustomed to sleeping in the open.”

They made their way into the village entrance, where several of her new migrants roughly paid their respects even as they warily watched the strange creature walking alongside her. The Volkhv appeared to be able to look in nearly every direction at once, taking in the details of the settlement and its occupants while asking questions that touched on everything it saw in seemingly random order.

The pair stopped at the warehouse, where Jeeves was walking up and down the aisles with a stepladder. He straightened and turned after Ludmila knocked on the doorframe of the building.

“Good evening, Lady Zahradnik!” He said in his usual, cheery tone, “Hm…is this a new product?”

Ludmila glanced down at the Volkhv in alarm over his question, quickly producing a reply.

“His people have petitioned to migrate here,” she said. “They are composed of two races: the other is a Beastman-type Demihuman that resembles a large feline.”

Jeeves bowed deeply to the Volkhv, and Ludmila could not help but think the miniature Skeleton was just the right size to ride the Krkonoše Druid around. She mentally waved away the image before her mind started adding other features.

“My most sincere apologies,” Jeeves said. “Some of the villagers asked about livestock today, so I could not help but draw the association. Still, given the similarities…are certain products actually possible? Do you shed your coats, for instance?”

“We do,” the Volkhv’s ears twitched. “When the cold weather abates, we shed our coats: they grow back before winter.”

“What happens to your wool?” Ludmila’s interest was piqued.

“We rub it off on hard surfaces,” the Volkhv said. “The wind will blow it away, eventually.”

“It appears your hunch was correct, Jeeves,” Ludmila said. “It must be those merchant senses at work.”

“I have merchant senses? I suppose I must,” Jeeves looked at the Krkonoše Druid thoughtfully, “I just recognized a potential source of goods that are notably absent in our inventories and trade ledgers. Does anything else…ehm, come off?”

“We shed our horns around the same time as our coats,” the Volkhv’s ears twitched again. “They are left where they fall.”

“Another product?” Jeeves mused, “I have no knowledge of crafting recipes, so I suppose you will have to ask around about that, my lady.”

“Also, we cast our droppi–”

“Ooookay, we should move on,” Ludmila cut in. “Let Nonna know about those additional queries, Jeeves – I will get back to them in a few days.”

She led the Volkhv back outside before Jeeves could try picking up on another potential Krkonoše product, and continued on their way through the village terraces. Ostrik Kovalev stood over his makeshift workshop, overseeing the apprentices who were carrying loads of charcoal towards the back. One of the children stopped and stared in her direction, causing the smith to also turn his attention towards her, then down at the Volkhv.

“Oh, Lady Zahradnik,” he said with a slight bow. “Didn’t hear you coming. Hmm...guess we’re finally gonna get mutton around here, eh?”

You too?

Ludmila wondered if every merchant and shopkeeper saw things the same way. Perhaps she was a potential product or some sort of marketing opportunity in their eyes as well. Now that she thought about it, her friends did so as well. If an unknown object was placed before Clara, Liane and Florine, they would debate over its worth and try to figure out how it could be turned to economic advantage.

“This is a Volkhv of the Krkonoše,” she explained. “His people have petitioned to join us. They are composed of this race and the Demihuman from the other day.”

“That’s, uh…not going to be a problem, is it?”

“We have already discussed the matter,” Ludmila replied, and the Volkhv’s ears twitched. “They will still be moving in, pending my consultation with Lady Shalltear.”

“Hunh,” Ostrik grunted. “Well, that’s pretty big-hearted. You too, my lady: I thought followers of The Six were supposed to be all hateful of nonhumans.”

Was everyone trying to put cracks into her new relationship with the Krkonoše? Ostrik cleared his throat as Ludmila’s mood darkened.

“Er, anyways,” he said, “you’re just in time.”

“In time for what?”

“We’ve built a new sort of smelter – we’re just finishing loading it up right now.”

Ostrik motioned for her to follow, leading them to the back of the forge area. A long structure, which she assumed to be some sort of storage bin when she had seen it on previous visits, was filled with charcoal. The row of vents along the side glowed a bright orange and flames licked out from to top. Two of the smith’s apprentices watched from nearby with baskets of charcoal on hand, topping off the level of fuel as it burned and fell away.

“What is it?” Ludmila asked.

“A wind furnace,” the smith had a proud look on his face as he stared down at the contraption. “Since the winds from the north are so damn consistent and funnel right into the end of the valley here, I figured I’d give it a shot. Oh, this guy looks pretty flammable – might want to stand away a bit or you’ll turn into a ball of fire.”

“Our coats are not known for catching fire,” the Volkhv replied. “I cannot recall any of our recountings portraying such a thing.”

“Well aren’t you a little bundle of value,” Ostrik said. “Let me know if you knit an apron – I’ll be your first customer.”

“Knit?” The Volkhv tilted its head up at the blacksmith, and Ostrik looked to her.

“We have plenty of time to think over those things after the Krkonoše settle themselves,” Ludmila said. “So what are the benefits of this ‘wind furnace’? How does it work?”

Ostrik walked back to his portable forge, grabbing a fire iron from where it was hanging from a hook. He returned and started gesturing to various parts of the wind furnace.

“These are tuyères – air ducts, basically,” he pointed to the row of ports along the side. “The wind we got coming from the north all the time passed over the top of the furnace, which draws air through the tuyères and up through the fuel. It keeps the flames consistently stoked to high temperatures – high enough to produce steel inside. About half that comes out of this is iron; the other half some of the highest quality steel I’ve ever seen…at least if I got the damn thing built right.”

“Is this your first time using one of these?” Ludmila asked.

“Nah, it’s something I saw a few years ago,” Ostrik waved his fire iron vaguely in the distance. “Far to the southeast – way beyond the Theocracy, the Dragonic Kingdom, and the meaner Demihuman nations around there – there’s an empire of Tiger Beastmen that are famous for their metallurgy. Hmm…that trip took me a good two years, actually. Took a ship from a port past the Dragonic Kingdom, sailed for three months and ended up in some crazy hot place full of jungles and huge cities that make what we have here look like child’s play.

“Anyways, a few of these cities are designated as trade cities, where many races come together to do business. They’re really strict about enforcing everything there. If you’re caught outside of the designated locations, you might become a snack, heh. They have techniques for Mithril and Adamantite alloys as well, but this was as much as the smith I met was willing to show an outsider. All throughout his lessons, I got the sense that he was just doling out charity to a pitiful primitive: I can’t say he was wrong either – what they do out there is way beyond anything I’ve seen around this part of the world.”

The smith reached out and grabbed a flask sitting on a stump nearby, uncapping it and taking a long draught.

“Seeing that it’ll still be awhile before we get a regular forge set up, I went ahead and built this so we can get good steel flowing sooner rather than later. Hell, I might have a permanent one of these set up in the end anyways.”

“Does that mean you will not be needing the Undead labourers?” Ludmila asked.

“If this wind furnace works out, I’ll only have one of these clay bloomeries running just to make sure these brats know how to build and use one, so bellows work will be limited. Then they’ll be free to start learning how to work metal. Once we start turning out enough steel and iron, the apprentices will start putting out simple things in a week or two. I got some other ideas that I want to try putting to use, but that’ll have to wait until the buildings in the harbour here start coming up.”

“I see,” she said. “Do you have any recommendations for the steel that we produce?”

“Tools, definitely,” Ostrik told her. “The majority of my time is split between replacing the cast iron tools that break, and making iron nails and such for the ongoing construction work. Once we start putting out steel equipment, I’ll have a lot more time to focus on other things you might want to see done. Converting all the broken cast iron stuff that’s been piling up into even more steel will probably be the first thing.”

“You have my permission to go ahead with that, then. Will there be any changes to the amount of fuel or ore that you need delivered?”

“We’ve haven’t even put a dent into the bog ore in the marsh – there’s so much of it built up here that I don’t expect shortages any time soon. However, since the wind furnace is much larger and burns hotter than these bloomeries we’ve been using, we’ll definitely be going through more charcoal. Seeing how much timber is building up on the flats, I figured that wouldn’t be a problem for the next little while.”

“Very well,” Ludmila nodded, “once you determine your new requirements, make sure Jeeves is updated.”

“Will do, my lady,” Ostrik bowed slightly.

She gave the new wind furnace one last, long, look before turning to continue on her way. The vague worries that had been tugging at her became stronger as they approached her manor where the Death Knight and its Squire Zombie continued to stand their silent vigil. Covering the remaining distance in silence, she stopped on the lane in front of the manor as the Volkhv stepped forward towards the Squire Zombie.

He turned his head up to look at the massive figure, then sniffed at it several times, ears twitching. A moment passed before he turned around and walked back to her.

“It is the likeness of my friend,” he confirmed. “This one was made by the other from her remains?”

“Yes,” she replied, “it is one of their abilities. Death Knights create Squire Zombies from the corpses of those that they personally slay.”

“I see,” his ears twitched again. “It is not unlike the ways of some other Undead beings.”

“Okay, before we continue, I really have to ask: what does it mean when you twitch your ears like that?”

“Like this?” The Volkhv twitched his ears in the same way as before.

“Yes, like that,” Ludmila said. “It is making me nervous because after you witness or hear something I think might be offensive to you, your ears twitch and I half expect the entire hill to explode into flames.”

“In this context and fashion, it is an expression signifying agreement or acceptance.”

“There are other meanings to your ears twitching?”

“Why, yes.” He replied, “Is your own body language so singular?”

“I guess not,” Ludmila admitted. “Then that means you are really alright with this Zombie Squire in the form of your friend? I know many of my kind have the belief that their souls are bound to undying servitude when the Undead are raised from their bodies.”

“That sounds quite silly,” the Volkhv bleated strangely. “The delusion of a primitive and unlearned people. Such a thing is not so commonplace. There are many sorts of Undead: most appear in a simplistic, single-minded state; a scant few may be powerful enough to manifest their own intellect and identity. There are also those who are raised to serve their summoners, usually in a temporary way. None of these do such a thing as bind the soul of another.

“The living may very rarely continue in this world as one of the Undead through preparations and conditions which facilitate the passing from one form to the next. There are those who return from beyond the threshold of death; where the will of the soul itself is so strong that they anchor themselves in the great cycle and the world accedes to accommodate their purpose.”

With the apparently well-learned Volkhv saying this, people threatening to haunt others out of spite didn’t seem like a joke or an empty promise. It was just a piece of folklore, though – she had never heard of anyone actually coming back from the dead to enact some grim vengeance or something along those lines.

“Your people certainly know a lot about the world,” Ludmila noted. “It is hard to imagine coming into all that knowledge dwelling in the same mountain range for countless ages.”

“Being in the same place for your entire life tends to have one looking beyond,” the Volkhv said. “We happen to have the magic to do so without ever leaving our homes, and our knowledge is passed on through those countless ages.”

“Then what about Vampires?” Ludmila asked, “The ones who they feed on will turn into Vampires themselves, do they not?”

“Hmm...this is a subject which is currently undergoing debate,” he answered. “It is one of a few rare cases of a victim’s soul genuinely being enslaved and turned into one of the Undead. Yet, in the case where a Vampire releases their hold on such a soul turned to unlife, those newly freed slaves tend to not immediately end themselves…so was the soul actually enslaved? Or was it willing in some small way: tempted by means through which only Vampires know how? Vampires are quite rare, but maybe one day we will come across one and find out.”

“Well, your people have apparently studied the Undead for a long time,” Ludmila said, looking away slightly. “What’s one more day?”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Tap tap. Thunk tap.

A strange sound issued from somewhere, and Ludmila opened her eyes to the sight of Aemilia sitting on her own bed, getting dressed. It wasn’t her, however, so she turned over to face the living area of the manor, trying to figure out what the noise was. There was no light against the table: it appeared that dawn had not broken yet.

Since she still had several hours until she needed to wake up and prepare for Lady Shalltear’s arrival, Ludmila decided to stay in bed. Suppressing her alert nature was a difficult thing, but, after several weeks of living with Aemilia in Warden’s Vale, she had mostly adjusted to her maid’s presence and could return to a restful sleep again.

Thunk thunk tap thunk. Scrape. Scrape. Tap tap tap thunk thunk. Scrape.

Well, she could have, if not for that noise. The events of the past day had made her sensitive to the goings-on around her again. Ludmila was almost certain it was the Krkonoše walking around on the roof of the hall. She relaxed and kept her eyes shut, but the more she tried to ignore the sound the more wakefulness returned to her.

“Luzi…”

She was too lethargic to even spare the extra two syllables.

“Yes, my lady?” Her maid replied as she knelt before the fireplace, getting the cookfire started and lighting the lamps.

“Go to the outside,” Ludmila mumbled, “and tell the Volkhv not to be stomping on my roof so damn early…”

“The priest…?”

“The…the floof on the roof…”

Aemilia’s footfalls left the kitchen area and receded down through the hall, and Ludmila turned back over. The door opened and the sounds of the village outside leaked in before it quietly closed again.

“Oh my, you really are floofy,” her maid’s voice sounded through the wall. “Excuse me, floof–er, priest?”

“Volkhv,” he bleated in correction.

“Yes, I just said that,” Aemilia said. “You are disturbing my lady’s rest by walking all over the roof at this hour.”

Thunk tap thunk tap thunk tap tap thunk thunk…

Ludmila heard the light thump as the Krkonoše Druid landed in front of the hall. She buried herself under the covers, half aware of Aemilia’s return to the kitchen. There should be at least two more precious hours of sleep left…

『Ludmila?』

Just as she dozed off, Lady Shalltear’s voice sounded in her mind.

『Ludmila? Hm…did I mess this up somehow? Ah – if you don’t know how all you need to do to respond is–』

『Just five more minutes…』

『F-five minutes? I’m not sure if the Message scroll lasts that long…』

『Lady Shalltear…you have already come? I thought–』

『No, no, this is a Message spell. Why do you sound so tired? Are you sick? Do you have a debuff? Should I come over and cure you? We have much to do today, so you can’t be out of form.』

She shifted in her bed and stretched. To her embarrassment, the sound of her voice while she did so was conveyed through the Message spell.

『L-Ludmila? What was that strange noise? That sounded a bit, hmm...actually, I’ll be right ther–』

『It was nothing, my lady. You messaged me while I was in bed – your voice popped up in my head while I was asleep.』

Ludmila wondered if this was what Moren Boer felt like, being assailed by so many people through Message spells. Shouldn’t there be some sort of etiquette for it?

『I see. What was that cute little noise, then?』

『…I was stretching, my lady – please forget about it. How may I be of service?』

『Why would I want to forget–ahem, I just thought I’d call ahead to let you know that I’ve arranged the appointment with Cocytus. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours, so we’ll do the rest of our work in the afternoon. I’ll arrive at your place at the time we agreed on.』

『Very well, I will begin preparations for an audience…would it be appropriate to have Luzi accompany us?』

『Hmm…yes, actually. There’s little to speak of in the way of civilized comforts there, so your maid might come in handy.』

『We will be ready, my lady.』

『I’ll see you then.』

Ludmila felt the Message spell end and she propped herself up in a seated position against the wall, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. The spell felt very similar to her own ability, so she wondered why there was such a disparity in range.

“Aemilia.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Lady Shalltear just contacted me,” Ludmila told her maid. “We will be attending an audience with Lord Cocytus after she arrives.”

“What shall I prepare?” Aemilia asked.

“I…have no idea actually,” she admitted. “Lady Shalltear mentioned something about civilized comforts – I think we will be heading to that Demihuman town in the Great Forest of Tob. We should not require much; maybe add a change of clothes just in case.”

“I’ll figure something out, my lady.”

Ludmila forced herself out of bed and threw on the robe laid out on her elder brother’s mattress. She yawned, stretched again and shuffled through the kitchen and the hall, opening the door. Greeting her outside was the sight of the Volkhv, tearing a clump of moss off of the wall with his teeth.

“The day’s greetings to you, Warden,” his voice was somehow perfectly clear even as he chewed on a mouthful of moss at the same time, “...is something the matter?”

“That clump of moss has been growing there since my father was a child,” Ludmila frowned.

“Oh. Were you saving it for a special occasion?”

He stopped chewing, and looked about to spit it out.

“No,” she said hurriedly. “I just never thought someone would just walk by and eat it off of the wall one day.”

“The flavour is quite well developed,” he resumed chewing. “You would like some, perhaps?”

“My race does not usually eat moss,” Ludmila told him. “Lady Shalltear will be here in a bit over an hour, but we have some business to attend to elsewhere. I would like to at least introduce you to her before we head off.”

“What is an hour…? Well, no matter, I will be here.”

Ludmila looked over the village and the valley beyond. Noting nothing amiss, Ludmila went back into the manor.

At the appointed time, the familiar portal of the Gate spell manifested in the manor hall and Lady Shalltear appeared. The escorting Hanzos stirred in her shadow, but they did not leave it.

“Good morning, Lady Shalltear,” Ludmila curtseyed in greeting.

“Good morning, Lady Zahradnik,” her liege replied. “Are we ready to go?”

“Am I presentable?” Ludmila asked as she rose.

Lady Shalltear’s crimson gaze ran over her, and she leaned from one side to the other in the confined space. Ludmila was wearing the same outfit that she had worn on the visit to the farming village and the logging camp – Aemilia had managed to quickly clean it up again after her encounter with the Krkonoše the previous day.

“There shouldn't be any problems,” Lady Shalltear told her, “unless Cocytus asks for something silly.”

“Something silly?” Ludmila furrowed her brow.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Lady Shalltear shrugged. “Better than mine, probably – considering how alike you two are.”

“I see…well, I cannot imagine anything asking for anything crazy in this situation, though I suppose it depends on what he wishes to see me for.”

Aemilia stirred to her side, moving to pack up the preparations she had made.

“Before we get going, my lady,” Ludmila said, “there is someone I would like for you to meet outside.”

“Oh?” Her liege raised an eyebrow, “I don’t recall any mention of this during the Message.”

“Apologies, my lady,” she lowered her head. “I was still half-asleep at the time.”

“That you were,” Lady Shalltear smiled. “You sound very different in bed, by the way.”

“That is, uh…we should get this introduction out of the way so we can get to this audience with Lord Cocytus. I just thought you should meet him – we can discuss his business later today.”

Leading Lady Shalltear outside, Ludmila looked around for the Volkhv. The Krkonoše Druid had meandered over to the Linum residence, where he was grazing morsels off of their wall. Lady Shalltear looked down curiously at the small, sheep-like creature as they caught up with him.

“I believe this is more Aura’s specialty,” she said.

At the sound of Lady Shalltear’s voice, the Volkhv turned his attention towards them.

“Lady Shalltear,” Ludmila said, “this is a Volkhv of the Krkonoše People. Volkhv, Lady Shalltear Bloodfallen: my liege, and Minister of Transportation of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

The Volkhv bobbed its head once before speaking.

“I had assumed your liege was another Human noble, Warden,” he said. “It appears that one more day was not so long to wait, after all. Greetings on behalf of the Krkonoše.”

“Do they not use names as we do?” Lady Shalltear looked up at her, “You were called by some sort of title; you used one for him as well.”

“They convey their identities in a very…complete manner, my lady,” Ludmila said. “A little while after we met, we settled on using titles for my own benefit. I am uncertain what they will come up with for you. The Krkonoše desire to migrate into Warden’s Vale, but, as Warden’s Vale is a territory of the Sorcerous Kingdom, several aspects of their unique culture lie at odds with our laws. It will probably be a lengthy discussion – I believed it would be best to be at least aware of their presence, just in case you recognized any immediate issues.”

“We have all sorts of problems getting the surrounding nations to like us,” Lady Shalltear said, “yet here you are with outsiders coming to you on their own. Rather than having any concerns, I’m curious: just what are you using to bait them in? Don’t tell me Aura let you use her Kal Kan.”

“I have not used any bait, as far as I know,” Ludmila had no idea what Kal Kan was. “They first arrived while we were away. As for what caused them to appear, it is yet another thing I need to discuss with you after the appointment with Lord Cocytus.”

The door to the manor opened, and Aemilia appeared with a light bag over her shoulder. Lady Shalltear looked over to the approaching maid.

“I see,” she said. “Well, if you believe that it isn’t an immediately pressing concern, it’s best to get this business with Lord Cocytus over with.”

“We will see you in the afternoon,” Ludmila told the Volkhv as Lady Shalltear opened a new Gate. “I have informed the Undead here of your presence, so feel free to explore a bit if you wish. Also, some children may try and pet you, but please don’t light them on fire.”

They stepped through the new portal; into a cavernous chamber which appeared to be fashioned out of solid stone. To her right was a window carved into the wall, under which a potted tree stretched towards the light streaming in from outdoors. It’s imbalanced look bothered her a bit.

“Don’t move the plant,” Lady Shalltear warned as Ludmila peered down at it with a frown. “Someone turned the pot once: to have the tree grow back the other way. A few hours later, there was a Mare-sized hole in the wall.”

Ludmila backed away and fell into line behind Lady Shalltear. They made their way across the polished stone floor, to a long carpet that stretched between the entrance of the building and some sort of statue placed on what appeared to be an altar further inside. There were a number of nonhuman beings awaiting them: two rows of three reptilian Demihumans arranged on either side of two insectoid creatures that stood upright. Standing between them was another insectoid, distinctly different in form and massive in stature, who towered over everyone.

Sheathed in an exoskeleton of muted blue plates which glimmered under a fine mist that wafted off of its form, it measured their approach with a set of glistening compound eyes. Four arms extended from its shoulders and torso, ending in powerful claws – one which held a huge, silvery, halberd of incalculable quality that matched its mighty appearance. It suddenly exhaled from between the mouthparts behind its large mandibles: a hissing blast of frozen air that raised gooseflesh from where they stood over four metres away.

“You’ve come.”

The being’s voice was deep and gravelly. The air seemed to freeze and crackle with its breath as it spoke. Aemilia’s muted gasp came from behind her.

“Indeed,” Lady Shalltear replied as they came forward. “By your request, I’ve brought Baroness Ludmila Zahradnik. Baroness, Cocytus: member of the Royal Court and Lord of the Great Lake.”

Ludmila lowered her head as Lady Shalltear introduced them, spreading her skirts in a deep curtsey.

“It is my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Cocytus,” she said. “Duty has kept me indisposed recently, but I have looked forward to our meeting ever since your first mention by Lady Shalltear.”

Throughout her greeting, she keenly felt the gazes of the Demihumans upon her, and she resisted the urge to check why they were doing so. She studied the rich carpet at her feet instead as she awaited Lord Cocytus’ response.

“Shalltear. This one: you trained?”

“Oh no,” Lady Shalltear replied lightly, “she was always this way.”

“Hmm…”

Another blast of frigid air frosted over the ground between them, and she watched it melt away as a long silence passed between them with no discernable movement. Still lowered in her greeting, Ludmila had no sense of what was going on.

"Welcome,” he finally said. “Raise your heads.”

She rose, only to see the massive ice crystals jutting from the back of Lord Cocytus as he strode away with the two insectoid creatures following alongside him. There was a small, pained, sound behind her as Aemilia straightened herself as well. They had been frozen in their curtseys for several minutes, and it must have strained her maid quite a bit. Unsure what had instigated the extended greeting, Ludmila looked to Lady Shalltear worriedly.

“Cocytus is quite the competitive fellow,” Lady Shalltear told her in a low voice as they left the two rows of Demihumans behind them. “He’s been trying to teach his subjects here what he considers proper protocol, with varying degrees of success.”

“Is that why all those Demihumans were staring at me the entire time, my lady?” Ludmila replied in an equally low voice as she made an active effort to not look over her shoulder.

“Perhaps. You’re far superior to any of his subjects in courtly behaviour. They’re probably in for it now after he witnessed your demonstration.”

“I did not realize that I was going to be used as a demonstration.”

“Well, Cocytus is the sort that will suddenly latch onto ideas he finds appealing,” Lady Shalltear smiled slightly. “I’d wager that if he saw those fortified villages you’re putting up, the lake would end up having castles springing up all around it within the week.”

“Is the Great Lake not surrounded by wetlands and forest, my lady?” Ludmila tried to accurately recall what she had written down two days previous, “There were no apparent sources of stone here mentioned in our review…”

“Well…there was at least one large block of stone somewhere around here,” Lady Shalltear told her, “though I think they might have used it to make this building. As for the rest of what he needs, it would hardly matter. Cocytus is very direct – he’d end up personally cutting a path straight through the hills and mountains to get what he wants.”

According to the maps provided in their planning for the aerial transportation network, the Great Lake over which Lord Cocytus ruled was near the foot of the Azerlisia Mountains. There were no known roads for wheeled traffic which led through the region, so moving anything by land presented severe challenges. Ludmila was unable to fathom how quickly one would need to ‘personally cut a road’ so that castles would rise around the lake within a week of doing so.

Ahead of them, Lord Cocytus and the two shorter insectoids were genuflecting before the large statue set on the altar at the back of the building. A variety of things – raw food, flowers, simple crafts and some other objects she was unfamiliar with – were neatly arranged around it. Lady Shalltear walked up to stand beside Lord Cocytus before she lowered herself into an elegant curtsey. Ludmila followed suit behind her liege, and there was a rustling of skirts behind Ludmila. Then there was an entirely unfamiliar sound beyond that. With the air as tense and solemn as it was, the noise seemed a bit out of place.

When Lady Shalltear rose, Ludmila stood and glanced behind her. Past Aemilia, she saw that the six Demihumans had followed them – they had lowered themselves into kneeling postures as well, tails laid flat against the floor. Seeing that both Lady Shalltear and Lord Cocytus had paid their respects before it, Ludmila assumed that the statue could be none other than a likeness of His Majesty: the Sorcerer King, Ainz Ooal Gown.

It was the first time Ludmila had any idea about the appearance of her new sovereign. Looking up at the masterfully graven image, which held an ornate staff out a grand gesture, she wondered how close of a likeness it was.

The sound of a massive form shifting around drew her attention away from the statue. Lord Cocytus had turned to address them.

“Come,” he said. “This place: I will show you.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Lord Cocytus left without awaiting their response, his heavy steps sounding over the stone floor.

Like so many of His Majesty’s servants, he only registered as a being of undefined power to Ludmila’s senses. As terse as his delivery was, however, Ludmila did not sense any overt hostility from him. Also, though she had never seen their species before and could not read their expressions, the weaker reptilian Demihumans did not display any clear signs of fear towards the Lord of the Great Lake.

Lady Shalltear’s characterization of Lord Cocytus in their past discussions had the effect of painting him as something like a warrior lord; his stern and taciturn attitude lent weight to that impression. She also suggested that Ludmila was like him in some way, though Ludmila couldn’t tell if that was actually the case based on their brief interaction so far. Rather than herself, Ludmila couldn’t help but draw parallels between Lord Cocytus and her father.

They followed Lord Cocytus and his escorts out of the carved entrance of the building, and the sight of a settlement constructed in the middle of a shallow wetland greeted them.

The building which contained the statue of His Majesty was raised over the rest of the surroundings, giving Ludmila a partial view of the settlement’s entirety. Though it was labeled as a ‘town’ on the map, seeing it from her current vantage did not give it the same sense as that of a Human town. In the place of blocks of buildings lined by streets, clusters of buildings were built on raised mounds of packed earth. Upon most of the mounds were collections of dwellings constructed from materials which were common to wetlands, framed in roughly fashioned timber and possessed of a single storey. A handful of the other mounds had larger structures erected upon them with little in the way of defining characteristics that she could recognize to set them apart.

Ludmila noted that there were a few buildings that bore the marks of years of weathering and habitation, while the majority of the structures looked to be relatively new. The locations with the older buildings were all set closely to one another, so Ludmila surmised they were of the original settlement which recent expansion had centred around. As they continued to follow Lord Cocytus through the low trails between the mounds, the ground squelched wetly beneath their feet and pools of still water could be seen everywhere along their meandering route.

There were several distinct types of Demihumans visible as they wandered about, but the majority appeared to be the reptilian sort that had awaited them near their point of arrival. Clad in scales of a variety of earthy shades and scant garments that seemed more decorative than functional, they basked in the sun near their huts, attended to various chores or gathered around the fires amidst their clusters of homes.

They regularly went back and forth from a large structure that she thought might be a granary or a warehouse, carrying woven reed baskets filled with various unprocessed goods to seemingly everywhere else. She saw some pushcarts parked near several of the buildings, but she guessed they wouldn’t do much good on the waterlogged footpaths. Given enough time, she might have figured out which buildings represented which industries and services but, for the time being, the layout of the place was a mystery.

For his part, Lord Cocytus appeared content to wordlessly lead them around: as if simply witnessing their surroundings was sufficient explanation for their tour. The Lizardmen – or at least Ludmila did not see any other race present resembling what she would consider Lizardmen – paid them little mind, save for the group of six from before who had fallen behind them to follow in their wake. Upon reaching the boggy beaches of the lake nearby, she discovered that two-thirds of the Lizardman town was situated in the water.

Beyond the edge of the shore, in the shallow marshes which appeared to cover the entire southern point of the great lake, more of the same style of buildings in similar arrangement as the ones they had passed lay on small earthen islands nearby. Others still were built on wooden platforms raised above the surface of the water on sturdy poles, and Lizardmen could be seen working to connect them with boardwalks. Those in the water moved about just as they did on land, splashing through it all indifferently as they went around delivering planks and driving posts into the ground.

“Lady Shalltear,” Ludmila asked when they stopped to look over the lake, “where are we placing the office for the transportation network? These Demihumans seem just as suited for the shallows as the shore, but there may be issues with keeping cargo out of the damp.”

“I’m not too sure yet, actually,” Lady Shalltear replied. “Frost Dragons can land on the ground or in the water, but there’s no space to do so in the middle of the village. There are small populations of other Demihumans around the lake, too, and there are no roads that lead to them.”

“I have not seen any boats, even though settlements ring the lake…” Ludmila said as she scanned the distant shores which eventually vanished over the horizon, “Is there anything like a harbour?”

Lady Shalltear looked up at Lord Cocytus, who shook his head.

“Before we came,” he turned his head to look down at them, “war between races: common. War between tribes. Trade. Boats. Wagons. Roads. Nonexistent.”

Meaning to say that each population probably existed at a subsistence level, and subject to the whims of nature. The conditions for commerce did not exist, nor had it been possible due to the belligerent nature of each population towards one another. Ludmila wondered if this had something to do with why she had been summoned. When they made their overview of the aerial transportation network, the lake had no notable exports beyond what could be hunted or foraged, resulting in an imbalance in their projected cargo flows. Her own demesne shared a few similarities in its environment, so perhaps he was looking for ideas.

“Is this why you requested to see my vassal?” Lady Shalltear voiced Ludmila’s unspoken question.

“No. A different reason.”

Lord Cocytus focused his attention on Ludmila and, after a moment, he shook his head.

“It is uncertain,” he said.

“What is?” Lady Shalltear turned to look at her as well.

“A warrior noble,” he replied. “Her reputation: by reports; by rumors. But before me…a Human noble, like the rest. I see little.”

Beyond the disappointed tone of his voice, Lord Cocytus was unreadable. Ludmila couldn’t tell what his body language meant, nor did she notice any more subtle cues that indicated his general disposition. This was a common problem between species that were too different: in the absence of foreknowledge or experience, assumptions associated with one’s own kind could be projected onto others and the results of doing so could lead to no end of trouble. She supposed that the opposite was true: other Humans were able to tell to one degree or another that she was a Frontier Noble at a glance, but the cultural distinction was most likely lost on Lord Cocytus.

“The reports come from multiple sources,” Lady Shalltear said, “and are well documented. Is this why you called us? So you could see her for yourself? This seems a frivolous reason to draw us away from our duties.”

“It is related,” he said after another blast of cold air. “Come. The rest awaits.”

He strode off again, leading them along the shore. Eventually, they came to the edge of the town where a short, wooden stockade had been raised. The wall extended into the water, and Ludmila suspected that Lord Mare had a hand in setting its foundations: there was little chance it could have been erected in the marshy soil through any other means which she knew of. Wooden guard towers were set at regular intervals, manned by Skeletons that she had never seen before. The equipment they carried appeared far superior to those she would employ on the walls of her village strongholds – they even came with powerful-looking bows.

The procession continued beyond the walls, Making their way through a sparse forest which followed the shore of the lake. More of the same type of well-equipped Skeletons that had been stationed in the guard towers patrolled the surroundings. When they passed them, none of the Lizardmen reacted adversely to the presence of the Undead. Ludmila wondered if there was some sort of Lizardman Lord present, reinforcing the population. Then again, as the lake was actually a part of the Sorcerous Kingdom before E-Rantel was, they might have just become accustomed to them.

“What sort of Skeletons are these, my lady?” Ludmila asked.

“They’re Nazarick Old Guarders,” Lady Shalltear replied. “Hmm…I suppose they wouldn’t be a part of the regular labour request forms. Maybe they’re on the security forms?”

Ludmila recalled the mentioned forms, but she was certain that she would have remembered such an odd designation.

“I will take a look at them again when I get the chance,” she said. “I have not used the security forms since I ordered the forces for the first village.”

Their entourage continued to slowly trudge through the light brush, appearing out the other side ten minutes later. There was another section of wetland before them, which had seen significant development. An array of enclosures stretched out from the shoreline, and they stopped at a point where they could observe a handful of Lizardmen tending to them.

Ludmila watched as one of them leaned over and dove into the water. After a brief struggle, it came back up with arms wrapped around a huge carp. Wrestling it back to the shore, the Lizardman tossed the fish onto a simple mat of reeds, rolling it up and carrying it back towards the village.

“Is this the fish farm mentioned in the logistical overview?” She asked Lady Shalltear.

The enclosure nearby, if she was to be nice about it, was crude in construction. As she looked further, however, they were larger, more sturdy looking and uniform. It was as if someone had experimented with the idea at first, then built on their success, making drastic improvements with the succeeding enclosures.

“Yes.” Lord Cocytus answered in Lady Shalltear’s stead, “This idea, recent to this place. This place; these people, I know – primitive, in your eyes. But their spirit; worthy of respect. The Lizardmen, sometimes, have Travellers. Go out – into the world – to see, and learn. This farm; this idea: something that returned. Lord Ainz…suggested the same, to…broaden horizons. Lizardmen, I have dispatched: to E-Rantel, to Human lands, the Empire, the Dwarves. What is good, they will see; ideas will return.”

As they listened intently to Lord Cocytus’ explanation, Ostrik Kovalev came to Ludmila’s mind. A travelling blacksmith, he had been to lands far beyond where most Humans would dare to go: seeing things unimaginable to a rustic border noble like herself. Due to this, he was a font of knowledge when it came to matters related to his trade so she decided that the plan had real merit.

Ludmila looked towards him with a tentative expression.

“Speak,” he said.

“Lord Cocytus,” she asked, “is it your purpose then to send these ‘Travellers’ to my demesne? This is the reason for your summons?”

“Yes,” Lord Cocytus replied, “and no. They may – like Travellers – learn. However, the reason…from Lord Ainz, also. Send them with you. Parents, with children. Families. To live.”

It was an order from His Majesty? Ludmila turned her head to look over at the six Lizardmen who followed them. She had felt them watching her the entire time.

“These Lizardmen, my lord?”

“Yes,” Lord Cocytus nodded. “Hunters. They go first. Investigate. Your land: like this place, reports say…this is true?”

Ludmila looked over the shores and the vast wetlands in the south of the lake which stretched to the surrounding forests. The vegetation was far more sparse here, and the water ever-present due to being situated in a lake. According to the new maps she had received, the Great Lake in its entirety covered roughly the same area as the floodplain in Warden’s Vale. The floodplain’s form was different, however, running along the length of the valley floor and subject to the rise and fall of the Katze River with the seasons.

“There are some similarities, my lord,” she replied, “but the nature of my land is distinctly different. It is a floodplain, so the water level in the marches are dependent on the season. It will look vaguely like this when the river swells; otherwise, it looks more like an extensive, overgrown morass with many shallow bodies of water. There will most likely be differences in vegetation and wildlife as well, but, without some time to study the Great Lake, I cannot say how things will work out for the Lizardmen.”

“Yes,” Lord Cocytus told her. “These six will go: to survey your land. If suitable, they will report; their families will come…plus others.”

“How many did you plan on sending, my lord?”

“Enough for a…colony,” Lord Cocytus told her. “This, too, is my purpose. If war – true war – comes…entire lake: gone in a blink. All will be lost. To ensure their survival, I must send some away. To E-Rantel, to your place…others, in the future – when they are found."

“Lord Cocytus,” she asked, “does this mean the other races that live will be sent to my demesne as well?”

“Those that can, eventually,” he answered. “Others, unsuited: need lake – deep water. The Lizardmen: they come first. To pave the way.”

“Then what will the state of this ‘colony’ be, my lord? An enclave?”

“In E-Rantel, they live as citizens,” Lord Cocytus said. “I thought…to give you these, but, as mentioned…uncertain.”

“If they are to live on my land, my lord,” Ludmila reasoned, “things would run more smoothly if they were incorporated as my vassals. Having an enclave would introduce all sorts of needless complications for many.”

“Agreed,” Lord Cocytus nodded. “But first: proof.”

“Proof?” Ludmila frowned.

“Proof of lordship,” he told her, “proof of strength. Respect: must be earned. This is their way.”

“I see…this is something I have long understood of Demihumans, my lord,” Ludmila said, “but by what means do you intend on using to measure my suitability as their liege?”

She didn’t like the way this was going. It was probably going that way, anyways. Definitely.

Lord Cocytus’ head turned slightly to the side, and he jerked his head in a brusque gesture. One of the Lizardmen that had accompanied them since their arrival stepped forward, exuding an air of confidence.

Yep.

“Of the chosen,” Lord Cocytus gestured to the Lizardman who now stood across from her, “this one: the strongest. Proof…through combat. Prove your mettle, and they are yours.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Great, Ludmila thought to herself.

What she had initially believed to be some sort of audience regarding the business Lord Cocytus had for her suddenly turned into a test of strength to determine her suitability as a leader of Demihumans. She didn’t even have any particular desire to lead said Demihumans, yet the imposition enacted by Lord Cocytus only offered two options: take them as her own subjects, or have an enclave under a separate line of authority arbitrarily pop up until the middle of her territory.

She glanced to the side: Lady Shalltear showed no adverse reaction to such a thing happening in what was her own demesne by extension, so Ludmila was left to her own devices. Scanning her surroundings – over the expanse of fish farms and the forest with the Lizardman town beyond – she saw that a small crowd was assembling. Perhaps these Lizardmen knew what was going to happen all along.

“Were you aware of this, my lady?” She asked Lady Shalltear.

“I had absolutely no idea,” she replied. “I told you that you’re closer to him in disposition than I. The proof of strength thing sounds just like what you said about Demihumans, yes?”

“I would not say it is just as I said,” Ludmila sighed. “I definitely did not expect to come here and end up with a fight on my hands.”

“Well, keep in mind that they’re subjects of the Sorcerous Kingdom as well.” Lady Shalltear replied lightly, “Resurrections are costly, so don’t have too much fun.”

A distance across from her, the Lizardman appeared to be readying himself. He had a few unknown adornments which had the appearance of accessories, but whether they were magical or simply decorations she could not tell. A tall, hide shield was fastened onto his left arm, and he sported a crude vest fashioned from layers of the same material. He pulled a gleaming scimitar from the sheath at his side, working it in smooth motions that caught the sunlight with its polished surface as he warmed up. Ludmila glowered dubiously at the weapon: how many strips her dress would be sliced into by the end of the match?

Looking to the side hesitantly at her lady’s maid, she found that rather than share Ludmila’s sense of trepidation over the safety of her new dress, Aemilia’s fists were balled up tightly; an excited expression painted all over her face. It was apparent that her side was entirely bloodthirsty – she wasn’t sure if Lady Shalltear or Aemilia was more so.

With a quiet sigh, Ludmila stepped forward. More Lizardmen continued to trickle in, forming in a loose line of curious spectators that grew to encircle them some distance away. Lord Cocytus studied her, head shifting slightly.

“Your weapon?” He asked.

“My apologies, Lord Cocytus,” Ludmila lowered her head. “I was unaware that this audience would include a duel.”

“Oh!” Lady Shalltear piped up, “I have this one I’ve picked ou–”

“Shalltear,” Lord Cocytus said. “Weapons you can wield would be too powerful.”

“Mmh…I can’t say that’s wrong, but, while she’s my vassal, she’s not going to be running around biting people. Probably.”

Lord Cocytus swept his halberd out over the gathered Lizardmen.

“Choose,” he told Ludmila.

She scanned the small, but growing, crowd again. Half held weapons or wore them, but they all appeared to be fashioned out of the materials available to work with locally. None had anything resembling the masterfully crafted blade wielded by her opponent. Her first thought was to mirror his armament somewhat, but all the shields that she saw were the same: made to be held by Lizardmen who looked well over two metres from the tip of their noses to the ends of their tails. The short clubs of bone and wood, stone axes and flint daggers did not look very promising against an opponent so much larger than she was, either.

“I guess that spear will have to do,” she said after comparing a few polearms held in the crowd around them.

Looking askance at her, then glancing to Lord Cocytus, the Lizardman came forward after the Lord of the Great Lake nodded. It looked down at it hesitantly before handing it over. There was not much to say about the weapon: a two-and-a-half-metre long shaft of Ash, which was mostly straight. There was a stone blade slotted into the end and bound in place with lengths of rough rope. She hoped it was sufficient to defend against the scimitar with. Turning away briefly, she tested its balance and weight while she thought on what she could do.

Gauntlets, nope. Bracers, nope. Boots and greaves, nope. Helmet and gorget, nope.

Lacking anything but her civilian attire, she felt perfectly ready for a stroll through pastoral farmland. Ludmila sighed again, frowning to herself as she mulled over how things had come to this. After a moment’s thought, she gave her head a shake.

According to Lord Cocytus, that the Lizardmen find new places to live and learn was not his idea, but the will of the Sorcerer King. A supreme sovereign demanded excellence from his subjects and, as one of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s nobles, it was her duty to deliver. It was not an imposition – it was obligation: to render His Majesty’s will into reality. The first step would be to prove that she was suitable for the role.

Turning back, she saw Lord Cocytus look to the both of them briefly before stepping away to watch from the side. The Lizardman's expression seemed to pick up when it was apparent she had no further preparations, and his thick tail slapped the wet ground twice. Ludmila realized what the strange sound back at the statue finally was, and she took a mental inventory of her opposite number.

Ludmila guessed that he was well over half again her weight, not quite standing as tall as she. Though Lizardman limbs appeared shorter relative to Human ones, he still had a powerfully built upper body and his legs and tail were similarly so. Russet scales covered his back and sides, and she guessed that they provided ample protection on top of his other equipment. The tall shield was positioned a bit strangely: along the length of his body rather than upright, probably due to its leaning posture and long torso. The odd placement – for a Human, anyways – was something that suggested a possible advantage in her favour.

The shore where they were fighting was wide and without obstacles. Her first thought was to lead the fight into the trees nearby, where she would be able to exploit her advantages as a Ranger and the Lizardman’s probable weaknesses given where their homes were built, but she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to do that in this duel.

“Are we restricted to this location, Lord Cocytus?” Ludmila asked.

The Lizardman started at her question: he probably knew why she had asked. Lord Cocytus did not miss his alarm.

“Hmm…within the spectators,” Lord Cocytus answered. “On the shore. No terrain advantages.”

She was unfamiliar with Lizardmen, but judging by her observations of their posture and gait as they moved about the settlement, she would still have the advantage in reach and agility where they were. While he registered to her senses as being a bit weaker than herself overall, he also clearly had advantages over her both in his natural traits and equipment.

Considering his mass and size, as well as the large shield and superior weapon, closing the distance between them was the most obvious and safest option on the Lizardman’s part. She would have to fight defensively, keeping him at bay until she could figure out his probable range of movement and find a way to strike decisively past his shield. Or she could probably tire him out…but that probably wasn’t the point of the contest.

Facing forward, several moments passed before Ludmila raised her spear into a field guard, leading with her left hand. She set her face into an expressionless mask, but she thought it would be nice to have at least some fingers left after the fight.

Seeing both combatants take their stances, Lord Cocytus let out a blast of frigid air.

“Begin!”

Ludmila tensed, ready to move at a moment’s notice, but the Lizardman did not immediately explode into action as she had expected. It was puzzling, but this suited her just fine as they took their time gauging one another. He advanced several paces and she drifted back to maintain a four metre gap between them. He looked over with some consternation, peering at her skirts, until the spearhead darted forward and glanced off of his snout. She recentred herself as he recoiled from the blow.

Between her stance and the length of the spear, she could easily strike him, but he could not even reach half the distance. In addition, it seemed that her opponent was having a harder time reading her than she was him, and her skirts were partially concealing her footwork. Maybe he was mistaking her dress for armour as well, considering the vaguely militant appearance that resulted from Aemilia’s modifications.

A dim clamour rose around them after the sudden strike. With the sudden awareness that the spear could move far faster than he could react, the Lizardman assumed a more conservative stance. Unlike a Human, however, he did not raise his shield – instead lowering his head, which already curved naturally into a slouch, to be in line with the shield that was positioned lengthwise with his long body. This made it extraordinarily hard for her to score any solid blows. The stone spear wasn’t able penetrate his coat of thick upper scales even with that fairly strong thrust, and his underbelly was at an angle with the ground and entirely covered by the shield.

His movements appeared to become more committed in the new stance as well: Ludmila surmised that it was effective against the weapons that the tribes of the Great Lake used, giving him the sense of confidence which was relayed in his movements. She did not have a good read for his more subtle body language, but, based on how impossible it seemed to injure the Lizardman now, he was a veteran of some sort.

No…that wasn’t right; he entirely lacked the scarring commonly found on Demihumans who fought with enemy tribes. It was probably the result of training, and he had fallen into a familiar stance well suited to sparring with his peers. A young warrior, somewhat similar to herself – this was probably the basis of Lord Cocytus’ selection.

She maneuvered to gain different angles on the Lizardman while continuing to test his defences, trying to determine what he could do from his position. The spearhead darted in and hammered into the bottom of the shield; the next strike came in a half second later, glancing off of the Lizardman’s shoulder through the opening she had created. His torso jerked roughly but there was still no apparent damage.

He didn’t seem to like the last hit to his shoulder. As the spear withdrew, his late attempt to parry abruptly changed direction and the scimitar effortlessly sliced along the front end of the spear. Their gazes both followed the long curl of shaved wood as it fell to the ground, and a strangled sound came from the side – probably from the Lizardman that had lent her its weapon.

Not only was the scimitar of masterwork quality; it was almost certainly enchanted as well…and even the gathered spectators knew beforehand. A part of her cried foul: why was she stuck using a stone spear against a magic weapon? Her internal complaints turned dark as the Lizardman let out a strange sort of hissing chuckle, and the spectators clamoured all the louder. She honed her fighting edge by another degree, mentally shoving the distraction aside.

The Lizardman continued to hunker down behind his shield, scimitar occasionally flicking out in continued attempts to catch the darting spear. He appeared to have come to terms with taking hits on his upper side, keeping his shield tucked in to defend his face and belly. The purpose of the defensive tactic was clear: she needed to end the fight quickly – or at least change the flow of the fight – or she would eventually be left with a pile of wood shavings.

Based on their series of exchanges, Ludmila believed that had a fair grasp on her opponent’s capabilities. While he held his current stance, she couldn’t really hurt him. She needed some way to break it. His maneuverability in the low posture was poor, but it would still enable him to bull his way forward powerfully with his compact legs. Closing distance was the sensible course of action when a Human shield user was faced with a two-handed spear. The problem was whether it also made sense in Lizardman combat, and whether she could goad him into doing so to dislodge him from his defensive stance.

The spear lanced forward again, striking the edge of the shield in front of his face. Ludmila dipped her weapon under the expected retaliation, bringing the spear back up and jabbing him just beneath an eye as the late parry shifted his posture. Once again, the stone point scored no apparent injury. She watched his tail waver slightly after the blow, but his stance remained unchanged – Demihumans with tails tended to have superior balance in their natural postures, and the Lizardman seemed no different in this regard. Combined with his patient, methodical, approach to the fight, it was quite difficult to deal with.

Why was he so defensive with all of his advantages? Unnecessarily letting an opponent measure one out wasn’t very wise – he should be resolving the fight before any of his own weaknesses could be identified and exploited. Maybe Lizardmen just had that sort of disposition: favouring drawn-out defensive tactics over aggressive ones that would resolve combat quickly. Most Demihumans did leverage their natural advantages in combat, after all. She had not scored any wounding blows, so she didn’t even know if they could regenerate to help make up her mind on the matter.

Ludmila circled around to the right, and his feet shuffled over the ground as he pivoted to face her. It looked awkward, compared to performing the action in a fully upright position. The spear poked at his feet a few times to see what sort of reaction she would get, then jabbed him in the tail when she noticed it trailing behind his turn. His scimitar was on the far side of his body throughout, and a muffled hissing sound issued from behind the shield. She had seen enough.

She stopped circling and planted herself solidly, and he charged her with shield before him; gleaming blade raised. Rather than directly giving way to his rush, she punched at his shield with the stone point while leading him around in a sharp, counterclockwise path. It had the effect of bleeding away his initial momentum, and he was forced to maneuver awkwardly again with his weapon hand on the wrong side of his body. When their steps almost slowed to a stop, Ludmila switched her grip to lead with her right and committed to her assault.

Feet flowing beneath her, she now circled clockwise with the spear positioned to attack his exposed lower right side. It gave the impression of her somehow significantly outpacing his attempts to bring his shield into play again, and the rapid sequence of jabs over the Lizardman’s body eventually led to it desperately flailing its scimitar in a vain attempt to keep up. Gashes appeared over his underside. Crimson blood traced over scales. The enchanted blade took another chunk out of the spear. She needed to collapse his form and finish him off.

Switching her grip again, she reversed her maneuver. Circling back into the Lizardman’s continued turn while he was still focused on trying to deal with her flurry of attacks, Ludmila entered the blind spot provided by his shield. Her spear thrust down between his legs. She drove her foot into the shield, pressing forward with her full weight. The Lizardman fell awkwardly in a heap. She couldn’t let him recover.

Ludmila came forward with her spear, but he scrambled away as well. His tail lashed before her skirts; she stomped it to the ground. The Lizardman jerked to a stop and howled in pain. She drove her weapon down at the base of his skull.

“「Evasion」!” The Lizardman cried.

His head and shoulders blurred, somehow managing to move out of the way. The spear blade buried itself two-thirds of the way into the sandy soil. His desperate defence confirmed another suspicion: that the spear could get under his scales from her position. With her boot still planted on his tail, Ludmila leaned back as she withdrew the spear to put him down for good.

The Lizardman followed the stone point with a wide eye as the spear was extracted from the ground, and he twisted desperately to get his shield between them. She casually batted the poorly-structured attempt at defence back down to the side and drove the blade forward again.

“Ludmila.”

The spear stopped. The sound of the waters lapping on the shore returned.

The Lizardman’s head was turned to the side, jaws open. Inside his mouth was the blade of the spear: it had found his long, pink tongue – pinning it to the ground. The scimitar was on the ground a few metres away. Pained choking issued weakly from beneath her as bright crimson blood flowed onto the ground. The spectators stood paralyzed: tails pointed stiffly at the air; mouths hanging open.

“I believe the outcome is clear.”

Again, Lady Shalltear’s voice drifted from behind her. Ludmila let out a breath.

She yanked the spear from the Lizardman’s mouth and removed her heel from his twisted tail. His screams of agony echoed over the shore. He rolled over on the ground, curling up as he cradled his head in his hands. Lord Cocytus came forward again with another, smaller Lizardman, adorned in some sort of tribal mystic’s garb over its olive scales. He nodded, and it leaned down to tend to the wounded combatant.

A few minutes later, the Lizardman returned to his feet. Lord Cocytus spoke.

“A blade. Rings. Necklace. Bracelets. Anklets. Magic items: prizes, for accomplishment. Gifts for a promising new warrior.”

A blast of cold air followed. The nearby Lizardmen shivered.

“Yet, when your mettle was put to the test, in place of honor; in place of respect: hubris. Her name, you knew: yet your own you did not offer. Looked down; laughed at her weapon. Complacency. Conceit.”

Lord Cocytus turned his gaze to Ludmila, tilting his head down to look over her.

“That ring,” he asked. “What is it?”

“A Ring of Mental Fortitude, Lord Cocytus.”

“The rest?”

“Casual dress, my lord – nothing magical.”

Lord Cocytus shook his head slowly, rubbing it briefly with one of his clawed hands. He spoke once again, loudly enough to be heard by the Lizardmen all around them.

“You Lizardmen: valour, against impossible odds – in nine months…have you forgotten? Is this what my ways have wrought? Honour. Valour. Respect. Lost. Last month, insolence before Lord Ainz; now, this shameful display.”

They lowered their heads at his reprimand, and there was no sign of the excitement or tension that came before. Another blast frosted the air, caking the blood-soaked ground in a thin film of pink ice.

“I thought to rule with tolerance; benevolence. An open hand – to encourage and reward – for fealty, service and accomplishment. Yet, now, by one who has nothing, I am reminded of what must come before. Without duty, all service is shallow. Without conviction, will is weak. Perhaps, in my zeal to produce results, I have committed an injustice to the memory of the past. Too open-handed. Too many nice things. The root of decadence…has wormed its way in.”

He paused to look around himself, looking over the Great Lake and the settlements along its shores. Then he looked to the southeast, to some place not apparent to her.

“To rule, without employing terror: Lord Ainz’s command to me. But Shalltear has received no such command; this vassal, undoubtedly hers. You Lizardmen have become brazen, even to Lord Ainz. Respect and fear, forgotten: you must learn again.”

Lord Cocytus turned his head back down to her, but his voice still sounded over the spectators around them.

“You have proven your mettle, Baroness Zahradnik,” he told her. “Their lives are yours.”

Ludmila planted the base of the mangled spear into the ground and lowered her head in a curtsey.

“I am unfamiliar with their kind,” she said solemnly, “but I will do what I can to carry out His Majesty’s Will for them, Lord Cocytus.”

With a slight nod and a short grunt, Lord Cocytus turned and strode away with his insectoid escorts. The spectators parted for him as he made his way back to the village. The crowd dispersed – save for the six Lizardmen who had followed them around since their arrival. Lady Shalltear and Aemilia came to where she and they stood, looking down at the still-frozen traces of blood.

“While I appreciate the fact that you answer directly to me,” Lady Shalltear said, “when a member of the King’s Cabinet says something, it would be prudent to heed them.”

Ludmila turned to face Lady Shalltear with an uncertain expression.

“My Lady?”

“You stood down at my word, yes?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila answered.

“Before you ceased that Lizardman’s terrified wriggling so amusingly at the end,” Lady Shalltear explained with a grin, “he was screaming and wailing quite pitifully. Lord Cocytus called the end of the match when he saw that the Lizardman was clearly broken.”

Ludmila furrowed her brow at her liege’s words and turned her head to look at the half dozen Lizardmen. They flinched under her gaze, and the one in question stumbled backwards slightly.

“Is that so, my lady?” Ludmila replied, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 24

Chapter 24

A hymn filled the air – its severe and militant themes at distinct odds with the gentle voice of its songstress.

Heard half a year ago, it would have surely given passers-by pause with its stormy melody...then as those people registered the lyrics of the hymn, they would have surely frowned in disapproval. It was not half a year ago, however, and the state of the realm was in no way similar to how things were before. Voice falling and rising through the hymn’s verses, Themis also knew that she was alone, in a place where no passers-by were present to hear her anyways.

The hymn floated out of the office, through the stone halls and into the chambers of the morgue in E-Rantel's vast cemetery. Even if she were not an adherent of Surshana, she still believed it would be her favorite. It was a call to action, a song of war. The battle hymn’s clarion call was wrought with conviction and offered devout prayer and supplication to Surshana, the god of death. It was a song she had locked away in her heart since she was a child but, now, with the population of the duchy slowly but surely returning to the faith, it indeed felt like a long, hard, battle was being won.

The revival of the Temples of the Six graced her voice with fresh fervour, and any heathens and apostates would have surely felt great discomfort upon hearing the hymn. It was one that one might expect to hear in the lands of the Theocracy, sung by the zealous masses in their great cathedrals; their tens of thousands of temples, monasteries and shrines. Hearing it in E-Rantel would, to those sensitive to it, signify a change that had come over the Human population – making one wonder what else the faith of the Six Great Gods would bring.

She glanced at the timepiece on the desk and reached out to pick up a clipboard and pen. Themis rose from her seat and walked slowly down the hall, carefully scanning the names on the documents attached to the clipboard in hand. Crime and hunger were issues that had become nonexistent in the city since the advent of the Sorcerous Kingdom, so murder and starvation were nearly unheard of. Death from accidents had also receded, but the fact of the matter was that death still came, and Surshana would have His due.

The majority on the list were those who had passed away from old age. The rest included those who had died instantly from various accidents, those who passed away from health problems that were not addressed in time, and those brought in from the surrounding lands who had met similar fates. The latter was a measure that came with new procedures in the processing of the dead within the Sorcerous Kingdom. Previous to its advent, the recently deceased were placed in a period of observance followed by the appropriate rites and interral. The wealthy often did so in family crypts or mausoleums, but this had been done away with. Now, regardless of social standing, all of the dead passed through the expansive city morgue.

These tasks were performed by members of the city priesthood and, as the majority of the citizens still worshipped The Four, their temple staff saw to most of the duties. Not too long ago, the few worshippers of The Six had rites performed individually at the request of their families. In the past few months, however, worship of The Six had increased dramatically, so one of the six chambers of the morgue – which had originally been built when the majority of the city population worshipped The Six in the past – was once again a place where their faithful rested.

As such, two shifts in the week were now allocated to the Temple of the Six. As an adherent of Surshana, the job fell to Themis. It was something that just happened to fit quite well with her schedule as an Adventurer. After expending her mana through training, she would assume her post in the morgue and meditate between her periodic rounds through the facility. Weak Skeletons and Zombies she could handily defeat without using any mana. If anything she couldn't handle appeared, all she needed to do was inform the sentries outside.

Walking up and down the rows of corpses, she updated their progress on the lists as she went. The observation period consisted of several days where the corpse was laid within the morgue. Any that showed signs of manifesting as Undead were specially noted. If a corpse started to show signs of decay, the soul was considered to have moved on and the corpse marked for relocation and interral. She had not seen anything actually get up in the short time she had been working here, but it was still a procedure long practiced in the city.

She stopped over a body which had reached the end of its observation period, and she marked off the person’s name on the list. After sprinkling droplets of holy water onto the resting form, she drew the incensed linen shroud over its body, unfurling the symbol of the Six Great Gods stitched into the cloth.

“Lord Surshana, into your merciful embrace we commend the soul of our beloved brother. May your faithful servant–”

Her voice broke, and she felt moisture run down her cheeks. She recalled the man’s aged face, and sobbed.

Themis had only graduated recently from being an Acolyte of the city cathedral; so far she had only spent a few weeks ministering to the people. She knew of him, however, and several others like him. Long-standing members of the congregation, they had personally witnessed the decline of the Temple in the city. Through generations of dwindling numbers, through all of the scorn and ridicule, these few had remained and kept the faith.

Though sprightly and active still in his advanced age, he somehow knew his time was coming. Some time ago he had come to her: a young Cleric of Surshana. He worried – yet his worries were not for himself: they were for his son and his family, who had been blessed with several children. They had fallen away from the faith, and his heart ached – if he was gone, he believed that no one would continue the fight for their souls.

The gods themselves had heard his heartfelt prayers. The people started to return to the faith, his family among them, and still yet they returned. He passed away shortly after, assured in the providence of the gods over his line. How many more were like him? How many before? How many prayers for the lost, over how long? Years? Decades? Generations? She could not even begin to imagine what they had experienced in their long lives. Surely such righteousness was of the highest order, and their faith would be rewarded in what lay after.

“May your faithful servant receive his deserved measure in your judgement, and be granted his rightful place in your eternity. To those who have been touched by his righteousness; his perseverance: bestow unto us a portion of your grace, that we may sustain the fruits of his faith – that we may follow his path until, in the ever after, we meet again.”

Her hand moved in a gesture of sanctification over the shroud, then she made a sign of the Six Great Gods over herself.

Themis took a few deep breaths to settle herself once again. She just couldn’t get used to this – she didn’t want to get used to this. It would mean that it didn’t mean as much to her any more, and that a piece of her faith somewhere had died inside. She would willingly go through these feelings every time, for as long as she drew breath. Straightening her clerical robes and scapular, Themis continued in her duties.

Nearly an hour later, she came out of the main hall and back into the front office of the morgue. An Elder Lich appeared through the entrance while she seated herself to update the morgue’s paperwork. She looked up and nodded silently to the Undead administrator, and it disappeared into the hallway. Two pairs of Skeletons walked in and out of the morgue repeatedly, carrying the corpses that she had just completed rites for, while bringing in new ones from outside.

Rather than bury the dead or cremate them, they were now all taken away to some unknown place by the Sorcerous Kingdom, presumably to be used as materials for the Undead labourers that had started appearing in various places. The Temples of the Four were aghast at the practice, but had no choice but to acquiesce to the change in procedure. The Temples of the Six had Surshana, who received the souls of the dead, so, to them, it didn’t really matter what happened to the corpses.

There was a brief exchange of documents after the Elder Lich’s tasks were complete, and it then left as quietly as it had arrived.

Themis finished cleaning up her desk in preparations to leave for the day. At the door of the building, she briefly exchanged pleasantries with the priest of The Four who had arrived ten minutes late. She frowned as she turned away and walked through the cemetery, where the grave markers and monuments cast their lengthening shadows in the late afternoon sun.

The priest taking over the shift and the Elder Lich that oversaw the delivery of corpses were supposed to arrive at the same time. She could then hitch a ride on the Soul Eater-drawn wagon that ferried the corpses out of the city through the north gate. At some point, she had mustered up the courage to ask if she could, and the Soul Eater just waited for her to get on before continuing on its way. The Undead in the city operated like clockwork, so of course the wagon was long gone and Themis let out a long sigh.

It took fifteen minutes just to walk back through the cemetery and to the northern entrance of the civilian sector of the city. It took an additional ten minutes to traverse the city streets to the Cathedral dormitories, and thirty minutes to change into her combat equipment. The growling of her stomach could somehow be heard through her undershirt, layered gambeson, chain mail and scapular, but, since the other priest was late and she missed her ride, she had no time to grab a bite to eat.

After experimenting with the timings surrounding her mana regeneration, she had devised a schedule that would have her ready for a training session with the Adventurer’s guild after a long shift in the morgue where she could meditate to full mana. It guaranteed two points in the week where her mana wasn’t constantly in flux seeing to the needs of temple supplicants, and allowed her to see to those needs without worrying about when she would have mana to train.

Cutting across the corner of the plaza between the cathedral and the Adventurer Guild, she peered around the hall after entering the building. It was now barely used with the guild’s transition to becoming a nationalized institution. There was no point in gathering to exchange information on the region, fill vacancies in parties or to check for new job postings. For the most part, it served as a gathering place for teams slated for training sessions, reviews of said training and an information kiosk for the bare trickle of prospective members that appeared.

Themis followed the women’s voices which floated over the stairs to the second floor, finding that most of her team had already assembled. All but one of the faces was familiar: Kyla, Penn and a Rogue that went by the name of Mag stood around the reception desk where Ishpen and Wina waited for the odd recruit or query from a member. The receptionists now also helped to organize the training teams and ensure they were properly prepared before setting off.

“I’m not late, I hope,” Themis said as she joined them.

“Naw,” replied Mag, “you’re safe. The other two haven’t shown their faces yet.”

“Who are we missing?”

“Henrich and Ludmila,” Ishpen answered. “Howe got himself eaten by turtles the other day, so he’s behind.”

Themis grimaced, and so did Kyla. They had been in the same party, and had watched as Howe fell prey to some ridiculous sequence of traps and was dropped into a moat full of giant turtles. She spent the same night awake with the sounds of his odd demise echoing in her mind.

“Howe was supposed to be here as well?” Themis said, “That makes it the original party we had back then, doesn’t it?”

“Gods, don’t remind me of that,” Kyla paled.

“Still…we see a couple of us at most as they shuffle members around – is there some reason why we’re back to the same combination? And why Ludmila? We haven’t seen her for weeks…”

“The Training Area Manager is the one that actually made the changes,” Ishpen replied. “Apparently he wants to try something out…”

The Adventurers exchanged worried glances. ‘Try something out’ had become known as a code phrase for pain and suffering. Before anyone could ask, however, the door to the guild hall opened and they quieted at the sound of approaching steps.

“Thirty.”

“Twenty-Five.”

“Ten.”

The robed man, who appeared around the stairs, stopped and shuffled back the way he came.

“I can't believe you're still doing that," Themis said incredulously.

“There’s no rule against it,” Ishpen smiled as she watched the defeated Adventurer slink away. “Men always complain that we’re never clear about these things anyways, right?”

The Adventurer Guild receptionist was leaning forward over the counter, chin propped in her left hand. Ishpen’s habit of grading men had gotten to the point of other women openly joining in. It had the effect of turning the reception counter into a fortified position when there were several women present: where men had to weather the spears and arrows that were hurled at them as they rounded the stairs to approach. Few survived. Most turned away abruptly just like the poor Silver-plate Sorcerer from a moment previous.

“Ishpen is as harsh as ever,” Kayla laughed. “I thought he’d at least come close to a pass if he polished himself up a bit.”

“How many years do you think I’ve been sizing up Adventurers for?” The receptionist sniffed dismissively, “There are just some things that no amount of polish will fix.”

“I swear one of these guys is going to run away crying because of you one day.”

“Hmph. Adventurers should be made out of sterner stuff than that. Eighty.”

“Eighty-Five.”

“Eighty-Eight?”

“Ninety-Five.”

The other women turned their heads at the score that had absently rolled out; Themis clapped a hand over her own mouth.

“Why?” The newcomer asked.

“Maybe she just fancies you that much?” Penn mused.

“That’s…no, I mean why? People already have a hard time seeing me as a Ranger – I can’t imagine things have gotten so bad that I’m not even recognizable as a woman.”

The new challenger who had just come around the stairs was Baroness Zahradnik. She tried having the other Adventurers simply address her by her first name but Themis, who knew what she meant to the Temple of The Six, could not help but defer to her social standing. Along with Countess Corelyn, the two nobles were steadfast cornerstones of the faith in the Sorcerous Kingdom and, to the Temple, their support of the faithful far overshadowed something like being an Adventurer.

“If you didn’t look like you just crawled out of a sewer,” Ishpen ignored her protest, “I’d have given you at least an Eighty Five.”

“I actually did just crawl out of a sewer,” Lady Zahradnik said. “I swear I’ve seen something like it somewhere before…since when did we have something like that?”

“A couple of weeks now, at least,” Themis replied. “The Training Area Manager came out to meet us at the entrance one day looking all pleased with himself. Then we were buried in giant rats, slimes and cockroaches. There was even a huge crocodile swimming around that we had to fight at the end. I swear whenever Mare gets that expression something absolutely horrifying always happens right after.”

“Is that so?” The noblewoman tilted her head, “I’ve seen Lord Mare happy with his work before, and nothing bad happened…”

Considering how Baroness Zahradnik was clearly made from something else entirely, Themis thought that events that would traumatize even veteran Adventurers would simply bounce off of her with little effect.

“Uh huh,” Ishpen answered dubiously. “Anyways, how did your run go?”

“It was completed, I believe?”

“‘It was completed, I believe?’” Ishpen mimicked Lady Zahradnik’s refined tones. “You just completed an exam for Silver-rank without a scratch. Did you even fight?”

“I walked by nearly everything – there were a few interesting traps along the way, but I skipped by those as well. The crocodile at the end didn’t want to let me by, though.”

Themis frowned. The giant crocodile for her silver rank exam had taken a whole group of Adventurers to take down, and they had barely squeaked by.

“What happened?” Kyla asked.

“I shot it.”

“And then?”

“That was it?”

Ishpen rolled her eyes.

“A single Iron-rank passes a Silver-rank exam meant for a group without a scratch: ‘I walked by some stuff. There were some traps. I shot a thing.’ Remind me to never put you on recruitment – even Farmers will think their own lives more exciting. Would it kill you to spice things up a bit?”

“…that’s all that happened, though?” Lady Zahradnik replied, “You were there when Merry sent me off to do this, saying that I was already way above Iron. It shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Yes, yes,” Ishpen drummed her fingers on the counter. “Congratulations on Silver. Time for your Gold Exam. You know, it’d be one thing if you were like Momon and Nabe, who came here from some far away place with no previous guild registration, but I gave you the Copper-rank assessment personally. You did, what, a run in the Training Area, earned your Iron-plate, disappeared for a few weeks and now you’re taking the Gold Exam? Just what the hell did you do between now and then?”

“Paperwork in my manor…holding court with my vassals…some planning for a village? I had to travel out west for a few days, too.”

“What happened out west?” Kyla asked.

“A legal issue,” Lady Zahradnik answered.

Ishpen rose from her stool, placing both hands on the counter.

“If a few weeks of paperwork and a legal issue made nobles so strong,” she said. “Re-Estize wouldn’t have needed Adventurers. We would have just had Adamantite nobles all over the place with the mire of ‘legal issues’ constantly stewing there.”

“There are at least a couple, as I recall…”

“Right,” Ishpen snorted, “and how many nobles do you think there are in Re-Estize, even?”

“Hmm…there should be around forty thousand, if you include their families.”

“That’s my point – you must be doing something different. What else happened?”

“Well, I went to a Lizardman town and got into a fight. There was also a flying sheep that blew up one of my Death Knights.”

They all stared at Lady Zahradnik.

“…should I save all of us some time and just hand you an Adamantite tag right now?”

“It was a joke,” Baroness Zahradnik said. “The Death Knight didn’t explode.”

But there was a flying sheep, right? And you fought a whole town full of Demihumans?

Before Themis could voice her thoughts, the door of the Adventurer Guild slammed shut and heavy footfalls came from behind the stairs.

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Six.”

“Out of ten? Not bad, not bad…”

Henrich strutted up to the women at the counter and leaned upon it heavily. He flashed a broad smile at Ishpen, who had bestowed the highest of the abysmal ratings. She plainly looked like she wanted to change her score.

“So, miss receptionist, are you free after this?”

Ishpen let out an exasperated noise, turning away to walk into the back hall.

“Didn’t think she’d be so shy,” he chuckled and turned to Mag, who had given him the eight. “I gotta say, you’re a lot easier on the eyes than Howe.”

There was a creak of leather, and Wina quickly interceded before Kyla decked the oblivious Fighter.

“Since you’re all assembled,” the receptionist said hastily, “you should head out to the Training Area – it’s about forty five minutes before you’re scheduled to begin, and the manager still needs to brief you on what he wants to do.”

Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 25

Chapter 25

“「Clairaudience」.”

Ilyn’s voice sounded quietly over the room as she cast the spell through a Mirror of Remote Viewing.

“This is actually going to be worth casting this time, right?” She asked after she reseated herself, “I may as well have not used it at all for that last run.”

Ainzach grunted at what was probably a rhetorical question.

The Silver-rank exam that had preceded the current exam was nothing more than a formality by Merry’s estimation, and it had been exactly that. The Ranger examinee, Ludmila, simply stalked by everything undetected, bypassed all of the traps and killed the ‘boss’ at the end with a well-placed broadhead arrow from over a hundred metres away. The Giant Crocodile bled out within a few minutes, never knowing what had killed it.

It was a test meant for a group, defeated by a single, patient hunter. The only sound transmitted by the spell was at the end, after she had descended to the next floor and asked if there was anything more.

“It’s a group,” he told her, “so they should be communicating with one another most of the time. You’re up next, Blair.”

“「Life Essence」.”

“「Mana Essence」.”

Glowing auras appeared over the party members being observed, representing the relative condition of their Health and Mana. The auras were overlaid over one another, yet somehow the observers could clearly discern both at the same time. The Druid nodded over to Aura and Mare, who were standing to the side of the assembled proctors: one for each role represented in the party.

Except for one.

There was a Bard seated with them, who was one of the Gold-ranks present at their disastrous first showing outside of the city walls. After reading over the party composition – and who he was supposed to be monitoring – he looked about as confused as the others when they had gone over the briefing materials as well.

“Ah…ah…testing – why am I the one doing the talking, Mare?”

“B-because you like doing it, big sis? You’re always the one doing this kind of stuff, anyways…”

Aura frowned at the answer, and Mare shifted away with a timid look. After peering at her brother suspiciously for a moment, she turned back to address the figures in the mirror.

“A-hum,” she cleared her throat. “We’ll be trying something new today, so this’ll be a test in more ways than one. Ludmila will be in charge of the party, and uh…don’t die!”

The party members in the Mirror exchanged glances, except for the suddenly-in-charge Ludmila, who was trying to not make eye contact with anyone. Mag, their Rogue, looked up.

“Since this is an experiment,” she asked, “what happens with our points?”

“Even though it’s an experiment,” Aura told her, “it’s still a test so you’ll still be taking a hit to your points if you fail. Rezzes are the same deal, too. No pressure.”

“Ehhh…”

There was visible consternation between the party members. Ainzach couldn’t blame them. Failure in training runs resulted in a penalty to each participant’s running point tally. It had been worked out to roughly what a party would experience in losses of supplies and other materials if they failed a job that took a week to do. The penalty for resurrections scaled up according to rank, starting at ten percent of the cost at Silver; eventually becoming full cost at Adamantite.

Not that they had any tests higher than Gold yet. However, with equipment and consumables now provided through the point system, as well as the frequency of training, they found that the penalties stung enough that the trainees ended up treating each run about as seriously as could be expected.

“I still don’t get why I’m here,” the Bard, Vincent, said. “I mean, I get why you brought me here, but I don’t think I have anything to do with what this briefing claims.”

“You’re the closest thing we have,” Ainzach replied. “This branch has had noble Adventurers in the past but, beyond the ones who were Adventurers before becoming nobles, the rest were in name only. I got no clue how they work. At least a Bard with group-enhancing abilities might be able to notice things that we don’t.”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to note when she does paperwork off-key,” Vincent looked down to his desk where the briefing lay spread out before him. “I have no idea how noble abilities work – hell, I didn’t even know nobles had abilities until I read this thing.”

Ainzach scratched his head, as Vincent still appeared unconvinced. Even he wasn’t really sure what to think of it all. Everyone had some sense that nobles had certain things they were good at, and Frontier Nobles were distinctly Frontier Nobles for some intangible, yet non-negotiable, reason. No one really explored why it was: nobles had their own things to do, and Adventurers in general didn’t really care since it wasn’t something they had to deal with directly.

In other places, where the spare children of nobles sometimes became full-time Adventurers, they’d participate as the common vocations that were associated with Adventuring. A Cleric; a Fighter, a Wizard. Or a Ranger, in Ludmila’s case. But you never had a noble sign up at the reception desk saying that they’d be a Noble. Well, it wasn’t actually unheard of, but those particular nobles were politely turned away, coming across as being pretentious, overbearing and obnoxious. Not to mention that it was considered suicidal. Nobles belonged in their manors, performing administrative tasks and managing their little corner of the Kingdom.

The examinees were also trying to figure out how things would work with the unforeseen change. All things considered, it was a confused mess.

“Seems like half of them didn’t take well to being told that,” Moknach remarked. “We Adventurers pick leaders ourselves – that part hasn’t changed even though a lot of other things recently have. We’re not some retinue or army where butlers or sergeants are set over us.”

The veteran of the E-Rantel Adventurer Guild was right, of course. Adventurers were fiercely independent and free-spirited, and having someone put over them arbitrarily was sure to invite an adverse reaction. Respect between them was not granted as a matter of course: it was earned. This was being made clear before the observers right now: with Henrich, Penn and Mag voicing their doubts over the decision rather plainly. The party had been purposely chosen because they were mostly well acquainted with one another, yet it had still become a problem.

Frontline combatants, who were capable of anchoring their team during a fight, tended to have the best sense of how combat was flowing around them and what shots could be called without breaking their party’s formation. As such, they more often than not were accepted as party leaders in a profession that often saw sudden, pitched, battles. Bards, too, could rise to a position of leadership as their broad set of abilities altered the dynamics of the group and could be employed to orchestrate the flow of combat.

It was commonly accepted, up to this point, that strikers, supporters and ranged combatants were best left to focus on performing their specific roles rather than becoming distracted by additional responsibilities. Though they were perfectly capable of melee combat, Ludmila was recognized as a Ranger, and Rangers were usually perceived as ranged combatants and scouts. With their often being too far away to communicate properly, it simply did not lend well to a leadership role in conventional Adventurer parties.

Much had changed with the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Adventurer Guild, yet much was very difficult to change. Party practices, taboos, preconceptions and overarching traditions would all take time to shake off – if they ever were.

“Well it is a trial, after all,” Josin said. “If we stubbornly stick to tried and true, we’ll never learn anything new. The Training Area Manager thinks that one of our members can be used as a Commander, and we can explore that idea in a controlled environment here.”

The Silver-rank party in the Mirror of Remote Viewing seemed to have reached the same general conclusion as well. They made their way inside the surface entrance and down the spiralling stairwell to reach the nexus where trials appropriate for their exam rank started. From there, the Rogue went on ahead of them to reconnoiter the crypt-like passages ahead.

The current exam reflected what the proctors considered a relatively light Gold-rank training session, but it was also at this point that the first major challenges to an Adventurer’s perception started. While Copper to Silver-rank training was relatively straightforward and simple: consisting of experiences and concepts that could be related to by the everyday individual, Gold marked where common sense started to make less sense.

Adventurers gained in strength at a pronounced rate past this point; as did their adversaries. Martial Arts became far more frequent and all sorts of things started to use extraordinary and supernatural abilities, often employing increasingly powerful spells. The level of complexity in encounters exploded as the avenues of possibility expanded in all directions. It was the first step an Adventurer took beyond the mundane world of regular people – where Adventurers learned just how far away the realm of Heroes really was, and that the histories so romantically regaled by the Bards were not as preposterous as cynics would have others believe.

Between all of the Adventurer Guild veterans and the Sorcerer King’s vassals that had been assigned to work with the Training Area, it was agreed upon that this would be the starting point for when their curriculum truly started to become a challenge. It was the minimum qualification for expeditionary work, so they would need to be schooled broadly. The Gold-rank exam would give them a taste of what was to come, but it was still considered manageable.

“I can’t help but think you really hate us scouts,” Merry said from where she was standing near Aura and Mare. “There must be some way to make this part better.”

“Weren’t you the one that suggested doing this?” Ainzach arched an eyebrow at her.

“Well, yeah,” she furrowed her brow, “but you guys agreed and I can’t help but get annoyed watching.”

In one Mirror – the one without additional sensory enchantments – Mag was sneaking around, covering the routes that led through the exam area. Single-route training sessions ended at Gold, and the scout would have to perform reconnaissance over several possible routes. As it was a part of each session past this point, higher rank runs took much longer to complete. The scout would ideally report back to their party, where they would together determine the best route and what methods could be used to overcome the various challenges identified.

The ‘dungeon’ this time split into three paths, the two side paths held chambers that gave a clear view overlooking the central path, and each of these side chambers had a dozen moderately weak Skeleton Mages in them. The central path had a large group of stronger Zombies that would tie up anyone that tried going through the middle. Immediately trying to advance through the Zombies would draw the attention of the Skeleton Mages and pelt the Adventurer party with magic from both sides. At the rank intended, no one would fall for that sort of trap as long as they scouted ahead in advance.

The party would have to go up the sides, to clear the ambush first. While the Skeleton Mages being used were only capable of casting spells of the First Tier, going about it recklessly would still result in taking a fair amount of damage. If one was careful–

“Uh…what is she doing?” Ilyn sat up in alarm, clutching the edges of her desk.

An arrow flew out and struck one of the Zombies in the central chamber, who turned to look in the direction of the attack with the shaft buried in its head. Ludmila and the rest of the party were out in the open, standing slightly inside the central hall, adjacent to the junction between the three paths. The Ranger loosed another arrow, and the Zombie collapsed. The noise alerted the Undead in all three chambers, and they started to converge on the party. Arrows and crossbow bolts continued to fly out from the party with the Fighters forming a defensive line, oblivious to the Skeleton Mages now running down the side halls towards them.

The proctors leaned forward as one at the incomprehensible action. The party knew what was waiting, yet they chose to ignore it.

“This is suicidal,” Josin stated. “She just made things ten times harder for them!”

Four more of the advancing group of Zombies fell before the small swarm reached them. Henrich and Kyla switched to their shields and melee weapons, while Mag continued to release crossbow bolts into the Zombies from behind the two Fighters.

“This is going to be so ugly,” Blair said. “It’s so much unnecessary damage.”

The two groups of Skeleton Mages started to round their respective corners at the same time, and Themis raised her holy symbol high above her head.

“My Lord Surshana, god of death,” her voice rang out, “return our foes to your embrace!”

A wave of divine power washed out from the Cleric of Surshana, and two dozen Skeleton Mages were reduced to ash in an instant. The remaining Zombies turned around and shuffled away. The two Fighters set upon them, cleaning up the fleeing Undead in short order.

“Turn Undead is such bullshit,” Blair muttered sourly to the side.

The Rogue headed out again while the group recovered their spent ammunition, and the assembled proctors exchanged looks with the action abruptly ended.

“That’s our bad, I guess?” Moknach seemed amused, “The Adventurer Guild only has two Clerics, and Themis is the most powerful one we have at the moment. Just an oversight, yeah?”

“Gotta admit,” Merry said, “that was pretty neat. It’s not often that you get to see that many Undead go poof at once…actually, why was that even a surprise? I didn’t hear anything until the fight started – did your spell go wonky?”

“My spells don’t go ‘wonky’,” Ilya sniffed. “I’ve been maintaining Clairaudience ever since we started. We didn’t hear any of their planning because they didn’t say anything after the Rogue reported her findings: they all just stood around that Ranger and nodded once in a while, then they all set up for the fight.”

“Can you do anything like that?” Ainzach asked Vincent.

“Uh…I can do something that resembles a Message spell,” the Bard answered, “but that requires a spellsong, and I’m fairly certain she doesn’t use those. Ventriloquism still requires me to say something, so Clairaudience would pick it up. There are a lot of oratory abilities – it may be something along those lines, but I’m hard pressed to think of anything else that lets you say something without saying anything.”

“Maybe they were being really paranoid and had the Cleric set up a Silence spell before discussing their plans?” Josin presented a possibility.

“No, that doesn’t make sense,” Moknach shook his head. “We’ve done that before, too, but why would they only do it after Mag reported her findings? It didn’t look like their mouths were moving either.”

“We’ll just have to ask after they’re done,” Ainzach said while jotting down the mysterious ability on the page sitting on the desk in front of him. “Looks like the Rogue is back.”

“That was fast,” Josin said. “Did she miss something? Hidden doors?”

“N-no,” Mare shook his head, “there’s nothing like that this time.”

“She just went through all the passages and disarmed the traps like it was nothing,” Merry noted. “That was a lot faster than the first set…it was about the same amount to cover, and I’m pretty sure I set them all to be around the same difficulty.”

The proctors frowned at the anomaly. Being able to watch the goings-on during the training sessions made many things obvious that would have not been otherwise. Having something genuinely mysterious or unknown occurring was actually quite rare.

“Ah, I get it,” Vincent said.

“Get what?” Ainzach glanced at the Bard.

“The difference between Bards and Commanders,” Vincent told them. “Bards use a sort of magic that can bolster their allies and afflict their enemies, as well as a whole lot of other things. The same can be said for any other sort of similar support magic: you cast it on your group or your target and it works. Commanders – Sergeants, Generals, and the like – don’t use magic. It’s more like an ability or an aura or maybe Martial Arts? Anyways, it affects a lot more people – armies, literally – but the kicker is that only subordinates receive the benefits of a Commander.”

“Uh…okay?” Blair said, “That doesn’t seem to matter here: they didn’t sign up for her army or anything.”

“But they did!” Vincent said excitedly, “Well, kinda. That fight just now was what did it. She coordinated a stunt that all of us thought was suicidal, and they breezed through it without a single scratch. They barely used anything: no potions, no mana – just a single Turn Undead. Before that fight, half of them probably didn’t care for being told to let her lead, but now she’s shown that she knows what she’s doing, they’re willing to follow – at least for the time being. That’s why the Rogue is breezing through everything: Mag’s getting benefits from her ‘Commander’ now, where she wasn’t before.”

“And somehow, this isn’t a spell,” Ilyn scoffed.

“It’s not a spell like you’d have in tier magic,” Vincent said, “but it is something like magic, just like how Martial Arts are considered a Warrior’s magic. I suppose you might say the successful ploy just now was a spell of sorts: once successfully cast, those who fall under her influence receive all of her benefits. As a Bard, I can move my audience to tears or laughter or feats of valour with a song. As a Commander, she can move those who subordinate themselves to her to greater levels of performance or coordination or whatever they’re getting from her. Similarly, though, it is double-edged: if I mess up a performance I can possibly lose my audience, so may she lose the faith of her subordinates if she falls short somehow.”

“Are you really sure?” Ainzach peered at him, “I’ve dealt with nobles before, and, while some might be charismatic, none of them do anything like this.”

Vincent’s gaze turned inwards, and he tapped a finger on his desk in thought. Several moments passed before he replied.

“It makes a certain amount of sense to me,” he said. “Consider the old tales, from before Re-Estize, after the lands were ruined by the Demon Gods – a wilderness savage and untamed. Who was it that drove back the races of that frontier? The heroes of those days were not Adventurers or mercenaries, but nobles: who led their retinues and armies, heading the charge and pioneering the foundations of the nation: what is now the heartlands of Re-Estize and the Empire. That is why most of the Great Houses in Re-Estize and Baharuth are styled in the manner of Marcher Lords.”

“I’ve seen some of those ‘Marcher Lords’ at the annual conflicts between Re-Estize and the Empire,” Moknach snorted, “they might talk big and wear a shiny sword, but there’s no way you can convince me that they’re fighting men.”

“That’s besides the point, really,” Vincent said. “What matters is that, at one point, these nobles did exist in that capacity: commonly enough to enter into our cultural memory. Baroness Zahradnik is a Frontier Noble: her house never stopped being those nobles from the early days – she is a song made flesh; one that continues its lonely tune to this day, significance forgotten even as she walks amongst us…save for the intangible sense that she is different somehow.”

The Bard was really beginning to wax poetic, but Ainzach still made a note of it. The world was certainly mysterious when it came to many things, but maybe this particular mystery could actually be tracked down in some rational manner. Still, the idea that Humans could be naturally influenced by a noble in similar fashion to a Demihuman Lord influencing their tribe was hard to swallow – especially since Adventurers commonly considered Demihumans uncivilized savages. Were Humans really not as different as they thought? Perhaps this was one of the reasons why the Sorcerer King did not consider Humans particularly special.

“I didn’t hear anything again,” Merry noted as the party set off.

“It probably doesn’t matter, whatever they decide,” Josin shrugged. “That first half was supposed to take up a lot more time and resources than they actually used. Now they’re effectively going into this next part beyond full strength if what Vincent says is what’s going on.”

Ainzach nodded in agreement. The opening fight had specifically been structured to force the party to use a certain amount of their resources, even if they played things as carefully as possible. They hadn’t expected that the party would, instead, crush it as aggressively as possible and render their calculations useless.

The second part of the test had the crypt turning into a crisscrossing network of caves that eventually led to a grotto, where several Ogres had volunteered to act as the final encounter. The caves had traps installed everywhere, and were guarded at intervals by various animals and monsters a Gold-ranked party would expect to commonly encounter throughout their work. Even if they straightforwardly cleared a way through the caves, going into them with their enhanced strength meant that they should handily make their way through with more leeway than intended.

Watching their mostly silent progress, the tactics seemed quite conservative – at least at first. As more of the passages were cleared, the team became so efficient that it almost seemed like play to them. Monsters were whittled away at range to be finished off by the Fighters, lured into ambushes or cornered and systematically taken apart with little excitement or flair. Traps meant for the Adventurers were used against their opponents instead to devastating effect. By the time they reached the exit of the cave system, they had perhaps used two healing potions and still hadn’t cast a single spell.

“I don’t think those Ogres are going to get what they signed up for…” Ilyn said in tones of pity. “Penn and Themis are just going to dump all of their mana on them once the front line ties them down. They’re three and three too – Mag’s going to have a field day.”

The Ogres were part of the Demihuman forces residing in the area around Carne Village. There were always a few of them around E-Rantel, who came to fight in the Adventurer Training Area to better themselves – or just have fun, depending who you asked. There were four in the grotto: three Ogre Berserkers and one Ogre Shaman. They were not the same as the ones that had fought the Adventurer Guild some weeks before during the battle outside of the city walls – those ones had already grown stronger – but a new batch that were each individually about as strong as a Gold-rank Adventurer themselves.

The Demihumans that came from Carne to participate always seemed stronger than they should have been, but, after witnessing firsthand the effects of a Commander over their subordinates, Ainzach decided that their extra strength must come from being under the Bloody General. It would be one mystery solved, at least.

Even so, he didn’t think they would fare too well: they were supposed to be a challenging final fight for a battered Adventurer party that was larger than them. As Ilyn had predicted, the Ranger – or was it the Commander? He wasn’t sure what to consider her any more – put away her bow and pulled out a spear from somewhere. With their respective frontlines occupied, the sheer magical power between Penn and Themis would come down like a hammer on the unsuspecting Ogre group. Mag had already slunk out of sight as well, crawling along the ledge below where the Ogres stood to position herself for sneak attacks.

Ainzach crossed his arms, awaiting the inevitable outcome as the two groups closed in on one another. The Ogre Shaman started casting a spell, but a sneak attack from Mag with her crossbow interrupted it. She ducked back under the ledge to reload while the Shaman turned about trying to figure out where the bolt had come from. Meanwhile, the three Ogre Berserkers and the three Adventurers occupied each other while Penn and Themis positioned themselves.

Clubs battered shields and counter-blows from the two fighters returned the favour. The Ogre facing Ludmila found itself pierced three times before it could reach her with a powerful overhead attack. She backed away with the incoming strike, positioning her polearm to receive the large club.

“「Smash」!”

The Ogre’s club snapped the spear like a toothpick, and the auras surrounding Ludmila winked out.

“Aiiieee!!!”

“Huh?”

“What!”

“Uh…”

“How the…”

“Ah, lucky~”

At his cheery words, all heads in the room turned to Mare.

“Mare…” Aura said with a frown, “What do you mean by that?”

“Um…didn’t big sis say that her build might be messed up? Now we can–ow! Owowoh! Hihter, whaus–”

Aura’s hands came in from both sides, fingers pinching Mare’s cheeks. Merry started to make fretful motions from the side.

“You…” Aura growled at her brother, and she stretched out his face, “You!”

“Uh! Wuh? Wha?”

“Just because you started getting along with a girl doesn’t mean you can just force her like that! Ah…how did my little brother become like this? It must be those women that keep spoiling you. I’m going to go and–”

“Awawa! Ih wahet ee!”

“What? Speak properly!”

“Uuuuu…”

Aura released her brother’s cheeks, but continued glaring at him.

“It,” Mare sniffed, “i-it wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything!”

“Haah?” Aura pointed to the mirror, where the party was wrapping up the fight, “They’re not supposed to go squoosh like that! Explain!”

“I-I don’t know! Everything should be normal…”

Mare looked around the room with watery eyes that begged for someone to come to his defence. Ainzach cleared his throat.

“I can safely say that that wasn’t normal,” he said. “This one was planned out with extra care since we were testing something out, so there shouldn’t have been anything amiss. If anything, everything went beyond perfectly until, uh, that.”

In the mirror, a Gate opened and Pestonya stepped out. After healing the subdued Ogres, she walked over to where Ludmila’s corpse lay.

“「Raise Dead」.”

After a moment, the noblewoman stirred.

Ainzach regretted that he hadn’t contacted them before the spell was cast. Raise Dead had been agreed on beforehand as the spell to be used to recover Silver and Gold-ranked Adventurers. According to Pestonya, those revived through Raise Dead lost ‘four levels’ or, in a more recognizable measure, roughly twelve difficulty ratings’ worth. The Training Area made it so that recovering from the loss in strength was relatively quick – as long as one participated earnestly. This being the case, they had decided on using the cheapest spell possible to free up more of their budget for crucial magical item purchases now that trade was flowing again.

The way Ludmila had died, however, was annoyingly unsatisfying and completely strange. If they had used a spell that restored her closer to her previous condition, a reasonably accurate assessment could have been made as to why she had died to what, by all appearances, should have been an easy attack to deal with. Her smoothly prepared defence indicated that she knew exactly how to handle it.

Now, he wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to keep her Silver plate. Ainzach let out a sigh, wondering if she could now even do anything that they had noted through the exam.

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Hmm…this should be about right…

He carefully examined his reflection, clad in black plate, one last time before turning to Narberal.

“Is there anything amiss?” He asked her, “Anything different from Momon’s most recent appearance?”

The battle maid, in the guise of ‘Beautiful Princess’ Nabe, bowed deeply upon being addressed.

“Hah,” she affirmed. “Your appearance is perfect as always, Ainz-sama.”

How can she even tell when she has her head down like that?

His first attempt to go out into the city as Momon had been thwarted by his own doubts, with Albedo’s report on his return raising all sorts of questions over whether he could manage carrying out the role without ruining whatever Pandora’s Actor had going on. When Ainz finally caught up with all of his work, he took the time to approach the Doppelganger to see if he could figure out what he had done.

What stage? What actors? Some day, I hope I can meet this mysterious Ainz Ooal Gown person and ask him what exactly his ‘Great Work’ is…

He couldn’t even try to fish out any details, out of the fear that Pandora’s Actor would ask him questions about this mysterious master plan in return.

In the end, Ainz had resorted to observing Momon as he interacted with the citizenry…except he couldn’t figure anything out from doing so. Momon was well-received wherever he went, interacted with local leaders and commoners alike, and acted as the Hero that everyone looked up to. Nothing seemed amiss or particularly noteworthy – the act was so perfect that he couldn’t tell any of its pieces apart.

“Are you certain?” He asked Narberal, “If Pandora’s Actor has made any adjustments, however slight, the citizens may notice and issues will arise as a result.”

“If anyone takes issue with your appearance, Ainz-sama,” Narberal said, “I will mark them to be incarcerated indefinitely by the authorities.”

“That’s not–!” He cleared his throat, “Nabe, my objective is to seamlessly assume the role of Momon for a few hours. Any strangeness due to my appearance or behaviour will conflict with this goal. Also – you should be addressing me as Momon now.”

“Hah!” She bowed even more deeply before straightening to speak. “Pandora’s Actor has made no alterations to Momon’s appearance, Momon-sa–n.”

So she can say it right…wait, how did she screw it up in the same sentence?

Well, there was no agonizing over it. His various experiments and attempts to streamline the setting-induced behaviour of the NPCs to their new reality had convinced him that, rather than trying to force them into uncharacteristic changes, it was best to find roles that suited their ‘natural’ settings. Cocytus’ progress with the Demihuman tribes of the Great Lake served as the springboard for the concept, and he had followed suit with various assignments along that vein. Albedo’s settings made her an excellent head administrator for the Sorcerous Kingdom, Pandora’s Actor fit in perfectly in his role as Momon, and the NPCs stationed in and around the city promoted various positive aspects that enhanced the reputation of the fledgling nation.

Most recently, Shalltear had proven that this methodology was correct. Due to Cainabel’s portfolio, Shalltear – as a Cleric of that particular deity – had, in turn, demonstrated talent in logistics. If the NPC who was most often perceived as an agent of wanton destruction could be turned to such productive ends and naturally grow as an individual, Ainz wondered what other gems he might be able to find hidden within the mountain of setting information in Nazarick.

“If I may say so, Momon-sa–n,” Narberal added as he started to drift away into the possibilities, “Pandora’s Actor has involved himself heavily with the citizens in performing his various tasks according to your orders. While Momon’s outward appearance has not changed, his degree of involvement with the people has. There are…relationships that have grown over the months, and many new ones that have formed.”

“Of that, I am aware. Out of consideration for his ongoing efforts, I will refrain from doing anything that will interfere with what he has planned.” Ainz chuckled to himself, “I have become something of a Doppelganger myself, don’t you agree? ”

“Hah…”

A dispassionate expression appeared on Narberal’s face with her reply, and Ainz berated himself inwardly. With only a single level in Doppelganger, Narberal did not possess the same range of abilities as the others of her kind in Nazarick. A bystander might say that he was singling her out over something she had no control over. He cleared his throat again in the awkward silence.

“According to my expectations,” Ainz told her, “Darkness has performed according to plan as a bridge between the Sorcerous Kingdom and its citizens. That means you have done an excellent job as well, Nabe.”

Narberal’s expression lifted, and her eyes shone at his words.

“This one is unworthy of such praise,” she lowered her head again. “Thank you very much, Ain–Momon-sa–n!”

And, just like that, a year of corrections over how she addressed him had rewound back to the beginning.

He suppressed a sigh, wondering if he erred somewhere, somehow. Thankfully, as Pandora’s Actor had pointed out, the image that Narberal conveyed as Nabe was not only remarkably popular, but also served as a powerful foil to the more friendly and heroic image of Momon. The perfect casting for the role, by the Doppelganger’s estimation. Ainz could only thank his lucky stars that his selection had worked out spectacularly well in the end. Though Narberal, with her downturned gaze could not see it, he nodded regally out of habit.

“Umu. It’s time to head out into the city: there are several things I wish to witness in person.”

Various subject headers in the endless march of paperwork he had been inundated with recently had caught his attention, and enough time working had passed that he finally felt that he could come up with some excuse to free himself for a few hours.

Foremost among them was checking up on how the newly re-envisioned Adventurer Guild was doing, but that would come last due to their training schedule. He had expressed his curiosity over the new Demihuman Quarter as well, but both Mare and Albedo insisted that they had only just finished with its basic layout and that he should visit when it was closer to completion and more worthy of being graced with his presence. It was a shame, considering that he wanted to see Yuri’s orphanage as well.

Aside from that, he wanted to personally experience the city at its most lively, to compare how things were relative to the time before his last visit to the Empire. For this, he had decided to go as Momon. Though he had walked the streets as the Sorcerer King together with Darkness a few times now, people would make themselves scarce the moment they saw him and he could not see what he wanted to as a result. At least it appeared that the streets were no longer as dreary as they once were.

When’s the last time I even went shopping around the markets?

The answer was too long ago. It wasn’t since he had last taken Momon’s guise, before the annexation of E-Rantel, that he had been free to peruse the strange and sometimes interesting things that could be found in this world. Going out into the markets was like hunting for rare treasure – something that he did not realize he would miss at the time. He had wanted to see the Imperial Ministry of Magic’s exhibition as well, but they were now long gone.

“I haven’t strolled around the markets for months now,” he told Narberal. “Let’s head to the main plaza first, shall we?”

Narberal voiced her affirmative and followed him out of the solar of the former mayor’s residence. The maids attending to the manor opened the doors ahead of them and, eventually, they found themselves before the main entrance.

“By the way,” he said, “what are today’s security arrangements?”

“In addition to the city’s security forces,” Narberal replied, “there are ten Hanzos keeping an eye on our procession from the rooftops nearby. Aura, Mare and Sebas, as well as Pestonya, Nigredo and Yuri Alpha and can be called in at a moment's notice from where they are in the city.”

“What happened to the usual Eight-Edged assassins?”

“The streets have become too busy for them to be able to operate to an acceptable standard,” Narberal replied. “Of course, we will bring them, if that is your command…”

“No, it’s fine Nabe,” he held up a gauntleted hand. “We’ll go with these arrangements.”

Too busy for Eight-Edged assassins? That was a promising sign indeed. He couldn’t wait to see what it felt like for himself.

They made their way through the roads of the central district and Ainz was greeted with the city’s busy streets the moment he came into view of the gatehouse leading to the common area. Pedestrian and vehicle traffic streamed constantly in front of him and it felt only a bit less lively than it was when he had first entered as an unknown stranger and received his copper plate. His illusory face smiled inside his helm at the sight as he joined the throng of people making their way around the city.

For having the vast majority of their trade stem from the Empire, it was not bad. It was great, actually. Once the Dwarves had reestablished themselves and merchants started flowing from the west and south as well, he dared to imagine that E-Rantel would be far busier than before. The fearful faces of the people seemed nothing more than a distant memory, and everywhere he could see people of all ages and vocations going about their business, paying little mind to the Undead maintaining security in the city.

Ainz felt many gazes fall upon him, far more than what he experienced at the height of his brief adventuring career. He nodded to himself – Pandora’s Actor had entrenched Momon’s image even deeper in the eyes of the people, as he had ordered, but he wondered just how the popularity of the Sorcerer King was supposed to increase with all of this happening. It was decidedly strange how, so far, he appeared to be more popular with the Dwarves than he was with most of his own subjects.

At first, he believed that he should slowly acclimate the citizens to his presence and that of the Undead as a whole, but progress was decidedly lopsided. Ainz eyed several children playing in the shadow of a militia post, where an Elder Lich and Death Knight were silently looking on. What would happen if he traded places with one of his summons? Surely the children would run away, or their parents would hurriedly take them to safety.

Brand awareness and market penetration, huh.

It was an easily recognizable issue to anyone that had even a bit of experience in sales. If Death Knights were brand A, Elder Liches were brand B and Ainz Ooal Gown, the Sorcerer King was brand C, brand A and B – who had a visible presence as they served everywhere in large quantities – would gain widespread recognition faster and have more opportunities to make sales than C. He imagined that, if any merchant heading out from the Sorcerous Kingdom were asked to describe an image that they considered ubiquitous to his nation, it would not have Ainz Ooal Gown anywhere upon it – just Death Knights, Soul Eaters and Elder Liches.

But how could he solve this? There was only one Sorcerer King.

Merchandising? No, the last time I tried that, it flopped horribly. Actually no, the goal is not producing financial gains this time…

Maybe this was why, throughout Earth’s history, leaders had statues and portraits of themselves commissioned and their faces stamped on currency. Even so, the statue at the Great Lake made him cringe internally every time his eyes crossed over it, so what would it be like if such monuments were all over the place? He could almost feel Ulbert angrily shaking his fist at him as he mulled over the idea.

As Ainz contemplated the matter, his surroundings widened and he looked up to see that he had entered the main plaza. He took in the crowds that stretched to the ends of the space in both directions, milling through rows of stalls representing a myriad of merchants selling goods from every industry. The explosion of activity that greeted his senses was indeed a stark contrast to the dreary atmosphere from before. He looked left, then right, wondering which way he should go.

Well, it did not take much to decide. To his left, stretching towards the Merchant Guild, were the stalls that presented more mundane wares for daily life and met the demands of the various industries within the city and its surrounding territories. To his right, towards the Magician Guild, Adventurer Guild and Cathedral, the wares displayed were more to his interest. This placement was on purpose, of course, to catch the eye of those traversing from the abovementioned locations: enticing them with magic items, arms and armor, alchemical consumables and the other goods and materials that saw demand by those organizations.

He turned to his right and joined the slowly moving crowd, and people turned to greet the Dark Warrior cheerfully. Fortunately, none seemed to be willing to occupy him at length for the moment, so he could reply vaguely while browsing the merchandise on display.

Gone were the dozens of Adventurers reselling used and salvaged items at makeshift stands, as E-Rantel no longer served as a busy quest hub for the nearby region. In their place were more organized and well-stocked merchants dipping their toes in the vacated market for equipment.

The items were, if he was to be polite about it, the best that the region could produce – and without the advanced resources from Yggdrasil, the best they could produce was equipment that he might consider suitable for low-level players. Ease of customization through data crystals was nonexistent, and magic items required specialized crafters and specific spells which may or may not be available from individual to individual. Durability was also an issue, with the best materials available being Adamantite or its equivalent in wood or textile form.

That being said, he had encountered more than a few interesting articles, though none approaching that of even a mid-tier item in Yggdrasil. There also existed spells in this world that produced effects that did not exist in Yggdrasil, and thus magic items that did not exist in Yggdrasil could also be created. With the fact that new magics could be researched and developed, the possibilities for Enchanting were, in theory, limitless.

And then there was Runecraft. Gondo and the other Runesmiths whom he had acquired for the Sorcerous Kingdom were still moving into Carne Village with their families, but Ainz greatly anticipated what the revival of their art would bring. The bulk of his investment in magical item production was focused on Runecraft, as it could potentially create magic items without the costs associated with Enchanting.

I will have to come up with some way to market Runecraft as well…

All of his thoughts surrounding low level magical items eventually led him to turn to look at the Adventurer Guild nearby. He had met with Ainzach, along with Mare and Pandora’s Actor, several times since its repurposing. Equipment was one of the more pressing issues when it came to the nascent organization – no matter how hard their members trained and advanced in rank, the lack of suitable equipment presented a wall that was impossible to surpass. Beyond a certain point in levels, monsters and other potential adversaries started to manifest special properties that required magical equipment to effectively overcome.

The opening of Dwarven markets would alleviate this need for now, but it didn’t mean that they shouldn’t try to achieve better. Due to the nature of crafting in this world, however, it was an industry that was difficult to establish. The majority of demand for magic items in this world was actually for domestic applications, followed distantly by militaries that jealously guarded their sources. It was unlike Yggdrasil, where item production was mainly focused on supporting the combat-related aspects of the game. There was a veritable mountain of low and mid tier equipment that had somehow collected in the Guild Treasury over the years, but Ainz felt that those items should only be awarded sparingly, rare enticements dangled as valuable prizes at the very top of their new point catalogue.

He spent another hour browsing through the market, speaking casually to various people and taking in the atmosphere of E-Rantel. Finally feeling satisfied with what he had seen, he stepped out to the side of the crowd, looking at the sun directly above.

“Hmm…it’s about that time,” he told Narberal, “we should head over to the Adventurer Guild – no, the Expeditionary Office? There should be a fresh training session starting within the hour.”

He wasn’t sure about calling the place where most of the Adventurer Guild’s administrative functions were relocated to the ‘Expeditionary Office’. In truth, he liked the old terms better and the new vocabulary sounded too aggressive for what he had intended as an intrepid and romantic exploratory organization under the benevolent umbrella of the Sorcerous Kingdom.

Narberal opened her mouth to respond, but movement to their side turned her attention away. A woman in a green and white dress was walking straight towards them. For some reason, Narberal turned her head back to him and quickly looked him over.

Her behaviour struck Ainz as strange. Did she know who the approaching woman was? He quickly mulled over several possibilities. A clingy fangirl? A creepy stalker? An assassin? No – she wouldn’t be alive to approach them if it was the latter. Still, something about this woman had put the battle maid on her guard. He turned to give the approaching individual his full attention as she closed the last few metres between them.

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It took a moment for the first solid thought to register in Ainz’s mind.

Tall!

She was nearly of a height with him, which was rare to see amongst the Humans in the region, never mind for a woman. He glanced down past her medium-length skirts – maybe she was wearing heels…no. The only female Human that he could recall surpassing this woman in height was Gagaran of Blue Rose, who he had met back during the operation in the capital of Re-Estize.

Ainz supposed that the warrior types that he had seen were often uncommonly tall when compared to others, yet this woman did not have the imposing and burly look of Gagaran. Instead, she possessed a lithe figure and stride that more closely matched the graceful posture and movement of Nazarick’s maids. Exuding confidence and charm, such a striking woman should have commanded the attention of those around her…yet no one seemed to notice her at all.

Many things did not quite add up. It seemed that she had come from the cathedral…a member of the Temples? Maybe a Paladin? He understood that the class existed in this world from a few of the reports that crossed his desk, but he never really interacted with the local temples for the obvious reasons. In addition, he had explicitly ordered the Temples in the Sorcerous Kingdom to be left alone, as they were essentially branches of a multinational corporation in this world. A single unfortunate incident could potentially result in international backlash, damaging the Sorcerous Kingdom’s reputation far and wide. He hoped she wouldn’t preach at him.

The woman glided to a stop a comfortable distance away. She smiled warmly, greeting them with a slight inclination of her head.

“Good afternoon, Momon, Nabe,” she said in friendly, mellow tones, “I hope the day finds you well.”

“Umu.”

He offered a neutral response to her greeting. It felt somewhat rude to do so, but he was preoccupied with trying to puzzle out just who this woman was. He did pay some attention while skimming over the reports that crossed his desk, but they generally did not offer personal descriptions of individuals – instead focusing on facts, figures, conjectures and projections. Pandora’s Actor interacted with so many people that she may not have even appeared on them in the first place. Out of the corner of his visor, he saw Narberal give the barest of nods.

“Woodlouse,” she said.

Huh? That was something like one of her usual insults, right?

Ainz glanced back and forth between the two. Usually, when women came Momon’s way, Narberal would fend off perceived hindrances through projecting her smug superiority, cool intimidation and cutting attitude. Her current expression, however, was strictly neutral. The tone of her voice was not overtly hostile, either. Then why had she initially been on the defensive? She did not move to interpose herself between a potential threat or annoyance, so that meant…this woman was an acquaintance of Darkness?

“Is there something I can do for you?” He asked her.

“I noticed the two of you when I was on the way out from the cathedral,” she replied, “so I thought I would come offer my greetings, and my thanks.”

“Your thanks?”

“Yes, for that matter.”

“Of course…that matter.”

What matter? Someone tell me what’s going on!

The young woman’s warm expression did not change in the slightest. She seemed entirely genuine. Narberal offered no hints to him at all.

“It was no problem whatsoever,” he decided to conclude the conversation before he sunk deeper into this unfamiliar mire. “I’m glad that I could satisfy your request.”

“I should have expected no less from the Legendary Momon,” she lowered her head in apology. “I hope you will forgive me for underestimating how thoroughly you could fulfil our desires.”

“Think nothing of it,” he told her. “If you’ll excuse us, we have an appointment at the Expeditionary Office.”

The woman seemed to think on his words for a moment before responding.

“Of course. You must be observing the next training session. Please – do not be late on my account.”

The woman inclined her head once again, and Ainz breathed an internal sigh of relief. How did she even infer exactly what he would be doing with such confidence? Despite her polite manner, he had a feeling that she had directed the entire conversation from start to finish, and he had just mercifully been released. He turned and strode off to get away from her, but his steps froze when she spoke again.

“Ah – Nabe?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Your partner might be one to flit from branch to branch,” the woman said lightly. “Please be sure to hold onto him tightly.”

Ainz turned back around at the cryptic words, but the woman was already walking away. She looked back towards them with the same, friendly, smile on her face and waved before disappearing off in the direction of the Merchant Guild.

He looked over at Narberal. They held each other’s gaze for several moments before her eyes suddenly widened and she turned her head away, blushing furiously.

What the hell just happened!?

“A-anyways,” he forced his voice out, “we should be on our way.”

“Y-yes, Momon-sa–n,” Narberal replied in a meek voice.

They returned to the central district in silence, with Ainz resisting the urge to scratch his head furiously in confused frustration over the strange incident. It didn’t help that Narberal kept stealing surreptitious glances in his direction every once in a while. He couldn’t ask her in public, as any number of people might overhear them, so he would have to find out when he went back to switch places with Pandora’s Actor.

The thoughts were still tugging at him from a corner of his mind as they neared their destination. The Expeditionary Office – he really needed to have that changed – was one of the office buildings formerly occupied by the city administration. Albedo’s restructuring of the territory’s bureaucratic apparatus into a more efficient form cut down on the offices required from a half dozen to two: including the Royal Villa. With their need for additional space, the Adventurer Guild was allocated one of the vacant offices, facing the main promenade running through the central district. Shalltear had recently claimed another for the new aerial transportation network.

Though its limestone architecture still retained the pompous-looking embellishments with the same themes as the rest of the district, the only other thing that Ainz could really say about the Adventurer Guild office was that it was clean. The staff that maintained the central district kept it in the same shape as every other government building, making sure the planters and beds were watered and stocked with blooming flowers. The Adventurer Guild hadn’t come up with any emblems for itself yet, so the walls were bare of any banners. Every window was closed, their heavy curtains drawn tightly shut. The result was that the exterior gave off a ubiquitous aura, and the members of the Guild were too busy implementing the new changes and training to care about the appearance of the office itself.

Due to its prime location in E-Rantel’s main plaza, the original branch office still served as the public-facing building of the new Adventurer Guild, but Ainz still thought it would be best to improve every aspect of the organization’s appearance for marketing purposes, even if it was just an administrative office. The solid oak door whispered open as they made their entrance, revealing an empty and unadorned foyer with an unmanned front desk. It appeared that the main floor was being renovated for something – hallways were dusty and the walls were being taken down. Any labourers he might have been able to ask about the work appeared to be off for lunch, so he continued on his way.

They climbed the stairs to the top floor where the observation rooms were located, stepping into the first open door. Several heads turned, immediately noting his entry.

“Oh, if it isn’t Momon,” Moknach’s voice rose in surprised greeting. “You just missed a crazy one.”

The rest of the room’s occupants looked up from their meals – it appeared that they were taking their lunch between observing the training sessions. Moknach was the only Adventurer he recognized: the remainder appeared to be newer members that had risen through the ranks and were now serving as proctors for lower level training. The sight of these new faces was vaguely gratifying, as it was proof that his idea for building the foundation of the guild’s membership through training offered by the Sorcerous Kingdom was indeed producing results.

The true result that he desired – that of the Adventurer Guild becoming an organization that truly explored; truly Adventured – still seemed to only be a glimmer on the horizon, but progress was progress. The reports from Mare, Pandora’s Actor and Ainzach showed that the membership, though growing in numbers very slowly, was almost at a size where they had enough members to begin hammering out the workings of the expedition system. Even though the initial stages were probably not going to be very exciting, he still looked forward to witnessing it. It was here that he felt the most qualified to contribute ideas to, after all.

“Hoh, is that so?”

Ainz made his way into the room, walking in behind the row of tables facing the set of Mirror of Remote Viewing used to observe the proceedings. They were currently deactivated, so he could not get an inkling of what had happened at a glance.

“What rank was the team?” He asked.

“Silver,” Moknach replied, “Was a brand new grotto run. On paper it should have been a steep challenge, but it was smashed mercilessly. Mare went to take a look at the aftermath in person.”

The Adventurer Training Area, after weeks of development, had expanded far beyond Ainz’s initial expectations. Mare had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the project, shocking even Aura with his zeal. Beneath a large portion of E-Rantel’s outskirts to the northwest was a massive facility which housed all manner of environments for the new Adventurer Guild to train in. Mare was constantly refining and improving his work, creating the impression that the facility was constantly under construction. It changed on a regular basis, so every week the Adventurers were faced with brand new layouts and challenges.

“Grotto, hm…did any Demihumans participate?” He set out a line, recalling how the themes loosely worked.

“Yep, was Lizardmen this time,” Moknach nodded. “They looked like a solid bunch too – a good balance of combatants – but, well, I’m not sure if they even know what hit them. With all the opportunities we’ve been given to train and learn, our members have gotten far better than ones of the same rank that we had in the past.”

“I’m sure His Majesty would be happy to hear that,” Ainz replied in a lively voice. “He has great hopes for the Adventurer Guild in the future.”

“Hehe…we’re just getting started,” Moknach said as packed away the leftovers of his lunch. “I can’t wait until we start seeing Platinum teams at work. Gear’s still a bitch though – I don’t know what we would have done if His Majesty hadn’t opened up imports from the Dwarf Kingdom to us.”

The reported quality of the Adventurer Guild members was the main reason Ainz had come to observe a training session. According to both Ainzach and Pandora’s Actor – and now Moknach – the performance of members under Gold-rank were already far beyond previous expectations. Low rank Adventurers were normally of dubious, non-uniform quality with a poor life expectancy, so he wanted to see with his own eyes how much they had improved relative to his own experiences with them.

There was a patter of feet in the hallway, and Mare entered the room.

“Did you find anything wrong?” One of the seated Adventurers asked.

“No, everything’s working,” Mare replied. “The next group is ready, so l-let’s see how they do…”

Mare looked up at Ainz as he finished speaking.

I have my ring of non-detection equipped, so he shouldn’t be able to sense me…

Or at least that was the hope. Ainz looked down at Mare.

“I came by to watch – I hope you don’t mind my being here.”

“N-no…it’s okay. Then…”

Mare turned to walk over to activate the two Mirror of Remote Viewing and pulled a clipboard out of his inventory. His eyes moved back and forth as he scanned over its contents before putting it away again.

“T-they’re about five minutes away – did anyone have any questions? We have a Fighter, Rogue, Bard, Druid, Monk and Wizard for the second run. I hope we have the right proctors here…”

Ainz cheered Mare on silently in his heart. Speaking before others was often hard, and it should be doubly so for the timid Dark Elf who was the age equivalent of a Human child. He nodded silently as Mare went through his last minute checks before the session started. Running out of things to double check, he finally turned to adjust the mirrors. What greeted Ainz was the fantastic vista of a verdant cavern system, an intricate natural dungeon that Blue Planet would surely gape in awe over.

“「Clairaudience」.”

One of the proctors cast the divination spell on the mirror focused on the main body of the party, and the sounds of the Adventurers moving through the ferns and giant mushrooms in the cavern filtered into the room. They stopped in a sheltered position, and their scout set off to perform reconnaissance. The second mirror focused on the scout, while the first continued to transmit the rest of the party as they discussed amongst themselves.

This is almost like I’m watching a live stream – no, it actually is a live stream…of a real fantasy world.

Ainz crossed his arms and raised a hand to cradle his chin as the session continued. The proctors leaned forward in their seats. When the action began in earnest, he could only stand and watch as he had to keep track of so many things happening at once. The Adventurers, as reported, were far more skilled than the ones he remembered when he was climbing the ranks. And it was no wonder: the dungeon itself was so deadly and unforgiving that he thought that there was no way that anything they encountered on the field could be so severe.

If this was Yggdrasil, the newbies running this dungeon would have cursed the shitty devs for overtuning it. The bitching on the forums would be endless. How many times would people wipe on this? Wait – doesn’t that mean that these Adventurers are actually more skilled than low level Yggdrasil players?

He supposed that it should be the case. These Adventurers were career professionals in this world, not newbies playing for recreation.

A particularly dangerous sequence of events triggered his emotional suppression, which he was thankful for, else he would have let out an embarrassing sound. Even though it was a party of low levels, the challenges they faced were so full of suspense that his attention remained riveted to the scenes unfolding before him. A part of him felt that it was a shame the Adventurer Guild’s activities were treated as confidential – the Imperial Arena would definitely be put out of business if the Sorcerous Kingdom exported this training as entertainment.

Forty minutes later, the session ended with the Adventurers barely eking out a win over the final showdown with the Lizardmen. Though he didn’t need to breathe, or had any way to, Ainz finally let out the breath he had been holding for half an hour.

“If these get any more exciting,” he said, “even members not assigned to be proctors will be clamouring to watch.”

“You got that right,” Moknach laughed. “That might be half the reason why we’re looking forward to Platinum training sessions – they’re bound to be even better than this. Hmm…maybe we should add that as a perk in our recruitment efforts? Actually, I guess it already is, but it’s hard to convey all this.”

“You said this morning’s team ‘smashed’ this exact same dungeon?” He recalled Moknach’s statement from earlier, “Was it due to party composition, or something else?”

“They were roughly the same, save for a single position – so I bet you can guess who was there.”

Ainz had no idea who Moknach was talking about. He focused on nothing in particular, putting on a contemplative pose.

“I see…that one, then?”

“Yup,” Moknach nodded as he looked down to take some notes, “that one.”

Oh for the love of – you too?

“Speaking of which…” Moknach looked up and to the side. “Mare – this run should be around where you had it, right? The results from this morning were probably due to one person.”

“Y-yes, that’s right,” Mare turned away from watching the recovery operations in the mirror. “We’ll be able to use this for a few days. I’ll start working on the next one.”

The proctors offered their feedback on the new dungeon section in turn, after which discussion over the group’s performance started in earnest. Not wanting to loom over the proceedings and interfere with their work, Ainz excused himself and left the Expeditionary Office together with Narberal.

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The excitement from watching the training session wore away, and the worrisome thoughts from earlier in the day returned after leaving the Expeditionary Office. Knowing that he should be able to get his answers upon reaching Momon’s guest manor, Ainz distracted himself by striking up a conversation with Narberal.

“So Nabe,” he asked, “what did you think about all that?”

“Mare-sama is working very hard,” she smiled fondly. “The tomb he created is wonderful as well.”

“…I meant the Adventurers, Nabe.”

Narberal narrowed her eyes and frowned.

“They’re still pitiful insects,” she said.

“I believe they’ve become much better compared to the ones from back then.”

“It is only through Ainz Ooal Gown-sama’s benevolence that they’ve been able to make any improvement,” she sniffed. “They would still be wallowing in their ignorance otherwise.”

“Mah…that’s just how it is, isn’t it?” He told her, “The Sorcerous Kingdom will bring change for all, becoming the ideal nation where all its citizens may live in peace and pursue their happiness. Adventurers should be adventuring, not working as disposable bounty hunters.”

“Yes, Momon-sa–n.”

They crossed the short distance to the guest manor and paused at the door. It would be decidedly odd if Momon had to wait to be let into his own home, so Ainz entered and made his way upstairs to the solar.

“Pandora’s Actor,” Ainz said as he opened the door to the room, “there are a few answers that I require from…”

His voice died in his throat as he walked in on the very same woman that they had encountered in the main plaza. She turned and offered him a brilliant smile.

“Ah, my lord father,” she spread her skirts out in a curtsey, “did you enjoy your time in the city?”

L-lord father? Ah, that’s it, this is Pandora’s Actor in...

Ainz’s thoughts froze and he ground to a halt in the doorway. His mind slowly unthawed as he recalled the happenings of the past few hours.

More involved with the citizens…new relationships. What did that woman say? ‘…flit from branch to branch…hold him tightly’.

––!

As the pieces fell into place, Ainz’s mouth fell open in horror, emotional suppression firing several times but unable to quell the storm raging within.

The familiar behaviour of the woman. Narberal’s reaction. He had been fretting over Aura and Mare’s education on these topics, but it appeared that the most problematic one of them all was right in front of him.

“You!”

His voice filled the room as he strode forward. Pandora’s Actor, in the form of the woman, backed away in alarm until his back bumped into the wall. Momon’s gauntleted hand slammed into the wooden surface beside the Doppelganger’s head, and wisps of long, chestnut hair fluttered after the impact.

“Ah, kabedon~” Came the woman’s faint voice; a rosy flush appeared over high cheekbones.

“St–”

Ainz’s illusory eyebrow twitched as he registered the shy words. He hesitantly turned his head to glance behind him, finding Narberal staring at them with an expressionless face. Then her lip twitched. This was definitely bad. He stepped back before anyone else could accidentally stumble upon the sight. Stealing another glance at the woman’s form, he decided that if Pandora’s Actor had not addressed him so, he would have believed it was actually her. Something didn’t feel quite right, though…

“Pandora’s Actor,” he attempted to keep his voice calm. “What are you doing? What is your relationship with this woman?”

“Our relationship? Hmm...I suppose we see each other from time to time. We’ve known one other for a few months now.”

A few months? That’s basically since I had him take over as Momon. More than enough time to – wait, does that mean I’m going to be a grandfather soon? Damn you! I haven’t even–

“Ainz-sama?” The fact that Pandora’s Actor was in the form of the woman made things even more confusing.

He gave himself a shake. Even if he was too late, he should still give him a good talking to. Women would often proposition him during his days as Momon; considering the warm and relaxed aura of this woman in his presence, there was a strong possibility that ‘that matter’ was…Pandora’s Actor would need to take responsibility – and stop being such a philanderer.

A philanderer…that meant…

He looked over at Narberal.

That’s what it meant, right? Aaah! I’m so sorry, Nishikienrai-san! Because I didn’t teach my son properly, your daughter has–

“Ainz-sama?”

This time, it was Narberal’s voice, and Ainz looked to his right. Her face was painted with concern as she looked up at him.

Ah, so this is the face of my daughter-in-law…hm? No, wait! This can’t be right…or can it? It’s true that they’re both Doppelgangers, but…Narberal doesn’t really like him, right? Wait…Pandora’s Actor said she was perfect for the role of Nabe – maybe she’s been acting so perfectly that only Pandora’s Actor can tell? No. Nonononono. Narberal is just a Narberal. Or…or…AHHH! What do I do!?

“…did something happen?” Pandora’s Actor asked Narberal as Ainz wrestled with his inner turmoil.

“That’s…we came across that woodlouse near the cathedral. Near the end of the conversation, she said…something.”

The battle maid’s voice faltered and fell off.

“Something...?” Pandora’s Actor tilted his head.

“T-that’s right!” Ainz looked back towards him and interjected, “Explain!”

“Eh…what am I explaining, Ainz-sama?”

“That voice – no, that woman!” He pointed at Pandora’s Actor, “Why did she approach us and say that? Who is she?”

“I still have no idea what she said, Ainz-sama,” she–no, he replied. “Did she thank you for something?”

“Yes, exactly!”

“Ah…then it must be that.”

“That!”

“Indeed. It was not strenuous, by our measures, but it was quite eye opening in various ways,” he chortled in the woman’s voice. “As for who she is, she is a noble we encountered shortly after the handover of E-Rantel.”

“A-a noble?”

Like Adventurers, he discovered that the nobles of this world led, for the most part, rather mundane and decidedly non-fantastical lives – contrary to how they were often depicted in the entertainment of his own world. He had studied Emperor Jircniv while performing research on how to conduct himself as a sovereign, and it seemed that only the Emperor and his court somewhat matched their fictional counterparts, mostly when acting in an official setting. If anything, running a nation more resembled running a company rather than leading through acts of high-handed willfulness or spectacular charisma.

Even the annexation of E-Rantel did not have the hallmarks of a fantasy conquest. A formal battle had been fought and won, and what had followed was nearly a month of paperwork. Rather than a conquest, it felt like a business acquisition: once the paperwork was signed, the territory, its assets and its staff simply saw a transfer of ownership. Many had fled, which was to be expected given the circumstances as they saw them, but many had also stayed.

If one were to continue with the analogy, the nobles who assisted in administering large portions of Ramposa’s former demesne were essentially middle managers who came along with the acquisition. As he had ordered the adoption of Re-Estize law in the Sorcerous Kingdom, the roles of these managers did not change – they simply went from working for company A to company B. Which was perfectly fine with him. Or rather, he didn’t want to think about rebuilding everything from scratch.

Like any company, these employees would be of varying quality but, reportedly, the dismal state of Re-Estize was mostly due to the lack of resources available to enforce law and policy, or more compelling options being presented. As he planned on creating a utopia for all which was supported by the might of Nazarick, any vestigial problems that they inherited would quickly melt away…or so he hoped. Come to think of it, he felt that there was something related in some past report…

“Ah, that’s right,” Pandora’s Actor said. “The domestic reports almost never describe personal appearance, so it’s understandable that you might not recognize this individual on sight. She was one of the first to embrace many of the ideas that you introduced to the new realm: Undead labour, Lich administrators, Death-series security as well several interesting innovations stemming from her unique perspective. Her ability to analyze and adapt could be said to be one of her strongest traits. The data we’ve collected from her activities has helped to improve and refine our systems for use elsewhere in the realm. She, along with her associates, even resolved a legal issue inherited from Re-Estize to even Demiurge’s satisfaction.”

“I-is that so. Then what is this person up to now?”

“Shalltear has enlisted her assistance in various things, including with the new aerial transportation network. Baroness Zahradnik is also actively participating in the new Adventurer Guild.”

“Shalltear did? Adventurer? To be honest, she didn’t have the look of one…”

“That in itself is a most intriguing point,” Pandora’s Actor detached himself from the wall and started pacing about. “Demiurge has conducted tens of thousands of studies regarding the physiology of the natives of this world and has proposed several theories that attempt to reconcile Yggdrasil’s systems with its own. We’ve taken this foundation and used it in the Adventurer Guild to further build our understanding.”

Ainz mulled over the statement. Their woefully inadequate knowledge revolving around the mechanics of this world, along with the inability to bring up status screens and other elements associated with Yggdrasil served as a lofty barrier to their development of the citizens. Not only could they not guide Adventurers properly in their class growth, they could not ensure that their national industries were optimized by using civilians with ideal production builds. Using the Adventurer Guild – which they enjoyed comprehensive oversight over – as an avenue of research was an inspired notion.

“I presume that this is the reason you’ve taken this appearance,” he said.

“That’s precisely correct,” the Doppelganger replied. “Hmm…you’ve recently encountered her – this is just the likeness, no?”

Ainz returned to his normal equipment, dispelled his Momon illusion, and examined Pandora’s Actor. To be honest, while he could distinguish between Humans better than he could, say, Goblins, he was not exactly confident in assessing individuals that he had only seen in passing.

“Her breasts are nowhere near that large,” Narberal’s lip curled.

“That’s…um, you know – they just…feel better this way, right, Ainz-sama?”

Ainz’s emotional suppression triggered once again.

Why are you dragging me into this, you walking cringe generator!

Narberal clicked her tongue sharply; both Ainz and Pandora’s Actor flinched.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he would be forced to agree. Those were his own tastes, after all. He did not recall putting anything of the sort in his NPC’s settings, though…it appeared that his black past was not the only thing Pandora’s Actor had inherited. He dreaded what else could possibly manifest if this was the case. Wait, did that mean he himself had a penchant for crossdressing, too? The recent outfits that had been selected for him by the Homunculus Maids were quite…

“If replicating this individual for research purposes is the goal,” Ainz said quickly, “then I believe you should be as authentic as possible.”

“Your Word is my will, Ainz-sama!” Pandora’s Actor replied sharply, and Ainz could not help but watch sadly as the manifestation of hopes and dreams before him shrunk away, “Where was I…ah, yes – physical appearance. The subject you see before you is a most compelling case of how experience and levels are gained in this world. While I mentioned that she was participating as a part of the Adventurer Guild, she was barely active in their training program until recently.

“When we first encountered this young noblewoman, she had unknowingly inherited her family’s territory and was barely an adult – level one, if you will. This is what I surmised, based on my measurements of her physical performance relative to other Humans of various vocations that we had encountered previously. Between that starting point and when she was able to commit more time to the Adventurer Guild, she qualified to take the Gold-rank test.”

Ainz cradled his chin in thought after taking a seat on a plush couch nearby. If he recalled the equivalencies correctly, this meant that she had gained somewhere in the neighborhood of ten levels in the time since the annexation of E-Rantel.

“I take it that, like in Yggdrasil, low levels are not difficult to obtain?”

“That is a matter of some debate,” Pandora’s Actor replied, “but at least with Adventurer Guild this seems to be the case. Even the Copper plates we started out with are already Gold now, or nearing it, due to the regular training Mare has put them through. How they advance from this point is yet to be seen. Anyways, this individual did not partake of the regular training, yet advanced as fast as her Adventurer peers.”

“Hmm…so she discovered an alternative method of leveling – one that rivaled what we could provide to the Adventurer Guild?”

That sounded like bad news. The Training Area was one of the major draws of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Adventurer Guild. If there was a way to match its benefits through other means…

“Initially,” Pandora’s Actor said, “we could only speculate that she gained her levels undergoing challenges which provided a sum of experience equivalent to what could be gained in the Training Area. After some investigation after being made aware of it, however, it seems that there is indeed a precedent. Actually, the vast majority of experience gains in this world do not occur from killing monsters – it is mostly from performing tasks relevant to one’s vocation. This may be a gross oversimplification, but one could swing a sword ten thousand times and gain Fighter experience by doing so.”

“I see. So she performed ‘relevant tasks’ and gained levels through them.”

“Precisely – and in using those alternate means, she did not gain the usual physique of a combatant. As long as one possesses the appropriate levels, one will also gain the stats, abilities and traits associated with those levels. A perfectly harmless-looking individual can actually be a dangerously powerful one in reality…I suppose that is something we should already know, as many of the NPCs have appearances which belie their actual capabilities.”

“So in taking the form of our Adventurers, you can confirm various observations that have been made…that seems straightforward enough,” Ainz nodded. “Then, what have you found out about this woman?”

“This woman – that is, Ludmila Zahradnik – is quite the puzzle, actually. The rest of the Adventurers were easier to figure out, as adventurer roles tend to share much in common with Yggdrasil ones. I’ve spent a lot of my free time with her analysis, actually.”

“Hoh…do tell.”

A spear appeared in Pandora’s Actor’s hand, and the figure of the Human woman flowed through several smooth maneuvers across the polished stone floor.

“Though she is a noble, which we understand to be something like a civilian class that did not exist in Yggdrasil, she currently exhibits the rough baseline performance of a level ten Fighter. She also refers to herself as a Ranger rather than a Fighter, and has repeatedly demonstrated the skillset of a Ranger.”

“Well, both Ranger and Fighter have similar basic capability in melee at low levels,” Ainz noted. “It isn’t until they start branching out into specialized class builds that any sort of significant divergence occurs…the notion that she is a noble is curious, however. As you’ve mentioned, they’re supposed to be weak noncombatants.”

“Save for a handful of cases, yes,” Pandora’s Actor propped the spear up in one hand. “It wasn’t until I did some digging into the older intelligence reports that I made any sense out of it. The Imperial Army actually has many nobles that pursue martial service – becoming captains and generals in their Legions. Two of the surviving Imperial Knights are from these ranks of the martial nobility, both reportedly quite powerful by the standards of the local Humans.

“My running hypothesis is that Baroness Zahradnik, and those nobles like her, possess a prestige class: except rather than the prerequisite for that class being fulfilled by contributions from base classes, it comes from her lineage and cultural tradition. In essence, she has access to an advanced class from level one.”

Uwah…that’s dirty! If this was Yggdrasil, everyone would be screaming imba…well, no – even if it had a good suite of skills and abilities, the people around here usually don’t have the levels to bring out the full power of those classes… actually, she might? Under us, she might have the chance for a good build…

Ainz set aside his thoughts on build mechanics and started weighing out the pros and cons. On one hand, it might be dangerous if she were to grow powerful. On the other hand, she was being monitored closely and could potentially yield knowledge in several of the more practical fields of study in this world that they were still woefully ignorant of. For now, it should probably be alright...

“Then what of her capabilities?” Ainz asked, “What benefits are gained from having this class?”

“Well, therein lies the problem with this method of analysis,” Pandora’s Actor scratched his head. “While I can copy the appearance and physical properties of the Adventurer being studied, I only seem to be able to perform actions that are available in Yggdrasil. Actually, since there have been some adjustments; allow me to try again. Hold still for one moment please – this won’t hurt.”

Ainz’s stomach sank as Pandora’s Actor went through a series of movements that looked suspiciously like that of a sentai hero before framing his eyes between his hands and crying out.

“JUSTICE RADAAAAAAAR!!!”

Ainz froze in his seat, jaw dropping open as he gripped the armrests of his seat. He waited for his emotional suppression to catch up.

‘Won’t hurt’, my ass! It’s so embarrassing that it hurts! What sort of penalty game is this?

“Hmm, it’s as I thought,” Pandora’s Actor said, “no effect. Nabe-chan…that sneer of yours hurts.”

“W-w-what the hell was that!” Ainz unfroze and nearly shouted, “Is that an actual ability of hers? Does she actually scream that when she uses it?”

“I’ve only read about it in reports, Ainz-sama,” he replied. “It doesn’t mention anything of the sort, but I figured it should have a suitable activation phrase. It’s some sort of tracking ability that detects criminals or something along those lines…”

“Something like that exists?” Ainz said, “Perhaps you should have asked her to demonstrate how it works before attempting it yourself.”

“Unfortunately, she lost the class level associated with this ability and hasn’t been able to re-obtain it through Adventurer Training. As such, I believe it has something to do with her judicial duties.”

Ainz winced. That was the worst kind of death when you were leveling – ones that robbed you of new abilities shortly after you gained them. It was apparently far worse in this world, since one couldn’t just select what levels they were taking by choosing it from a game UI.

“So she has to run around catching criminals to get it back?” Ainz asked, “Touch Me would have a field day with that. Wait – she lost levels? From how you’ve been promoting this individual, she sounded like she was doing well for herself.”

“She died twice in as many days; it’s quite the mystery. It certainly shows that the quality of personnel can vary so widely even when they should all be the same strength.”

“Dying twice, back to back in this word…that seems like it would be rather discouraging.”

“Not at all,” Pandora’s Actor chuckled. “She only comes back with varying degrees of annoyance. As I mentioned: adaptability is one of her greatest strengths. Even death no longer seems to have any hold on her, now that she knows that resurrections are available. She dies, gets up, analyzes what went wrong and throws herself back into training. A voluntary test subject that energetically applies herself into whatever task is at hand, and she always comes back – even when faced with frustrating setbacks.”

“It sounds like you’ve identified a most useful individual,” Ainz said. “How are the costs for these experiments being handled? I promised my full support to the Adventurer Guild but, even so, they’ve been allocated a limited budget in order to promote efficient expenditures.”

“Albedo frowns, Ainzach sweats.”

“I see…I suppose a provisional budget for the purposes of collecting test data should be established. You may present it to Albedo when you determine what is appropriate.”

“Your generosity is most appreciated, Ainz-sama – though hunting down criminals…do you believe this would be effective in regaining her missing levels in this mysterious class?”

“You mentioned that she resolved a legal issue in the west, did you not? If nothing else has worked so far, and she’s done nothing else of note, then it should be the case. Something like a class quest…”

His voice trailed off as he considered what he had just said.

As if…Adventurers would have all sorts of exotic classes by completing job requests if that was the case. We don’t even have NPCs that hand out quests in the first place.

“I shall begin making the suitable arrangements,” Pandora’s Actor said. “There is just the place for this as…hm, yes – everything fits together so well.”

Eh?

The form of the woman before him took on an inspired expression. He hoped that she–no, he wouldn’t enter into those grand gesticulations that he was prone to.

“Though the major issues have been resolved to the west,” Pandora’s Actor continued, “Count Völkchenheim is still sorting out matters in his reorganized demesne. There appears to be nothing substantial, but there should at least be a few lingering elements left over from Re-Estize to root out. Sasuga Ainz-sama: I cannot hope to compare with your mastery over the grand stage that is the Sorcerous Kingdom. To think that you’ve plotted out contingencies to this degree.”

Völkchenheim?

The name sounded like it should be familiar. Well, no matter. More importantly, he hoped he wasn’t about to send out one of the administrators of the realm on some fool’s errand…

“Umu,” Ainz nodded sagely. “I hope it does not need to be stated that this world has many distinct differences from our own, so labeling such things as ‘class quests’ may not be entirely accurate.”

“Of that, I am painfully aware,” Pandora’s Actor smiled ruefully. “Our efforts to qualify and categorize this world’s class progression systems with the Adventurer Guild often hit rough patches, though not as confounding as this particular one. With your definitive inference, however, we are one step closer to developing a way to direct our Adventurers onto the paths desired.”

“Good. If your work can be developed into a practical theory, we will be able to apply it to the entire Sorcerous Kingdom. I am especially keen on seeing how this knowledge can be applied to the growth of our new Runesmiths.”

“Hmm…while I can’t say that I can send tradesmen through the Adventurer Training Area, I will begin collecting information and see if I can find any correlations.”

The brow of the woman furrowed and she seemed to enter deep into thought, muttering to herself.

“Runesmiths…the world’s systems…unable to copy…I see, I see…” The expression of the woman brightened, eyes shining as she cast her gaze over him, “You are far too kind, Ainz-sama – to think that you would so gently guide me to the cause of her puzzling deaths. Truly, I am blessed to have such a father!”

The urge to squirm in his seat nearly overwhelmed him. Ainz thought he did well ad-libbing the mystery of the missing ability, but now he had seemingly solved another unfathomable problem. His mind worked as he tried to figure out a way to step around it.

“Well, I’m sure it was simply a matter of time before you figured it out as well,” he told Pandora’s Actor. “Besides, that particular problem has outsized costs associated with it.”

“You are, of course, correct, Ainz-sama,” Pandora’s actor nodded. “Not only with the cost of resurrections, but we very nearly made fools out of ourselves as well. I will begin planning out the required changes. As for the other problem, I believe that Narberal would be suited to observe Baroness Zahradnik as she performs her tasks. We certainly can’t take any of the Guardians away from their duties. They are acquainted with one another, so things should run within acceptable parameters.”

Narberal? Are you sure?

Or so he wanted to say. Glancing over at Narberal, he decided that he shouldn’t show any disapproval after he had so recently praised her for her work as Nabe. She didn’t seem to react so vehemently to this individual, either. Perhaps some progress could be made with the way she interacted with outsiders by going along with the plan.

“So long as it doesn’t interfere with your ongoing work together as Darkness.” He told them, then turned to Narberal, “Nabe – I look forward to some positive results.”

“Hah!”

Narberal responded with a sharp affirmative, and Ainz frowned inwardly. He hoped his message got through to her. Then again, she never left swathes of electrocuted Humans in her wake when left to her own devices, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…

“Umu…umu…excellent work, Pandora’s Actor. You may convey my satisfaction to all of the others involved in your activities.”

Ainz rose from his seat, and Pandora’s Actor waited on him, folding the woman’s hands over her abdomen.

Does he really have to stay in that form? He’s already come to his conclusions, hasn’t he? I hope he’s not going to do anything weird after I leave…

“Pandora’s Actor…”

“Hah,” the figure of the woman stood at attention.

“I consider you an adult, so I will try and keep my nose out of your personal matters…but you are to always conduct yourself as a gentleman, and take responsibility for your actions.”

“Hah?”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Hejinmal, as it turned out, could actually fly.

Ilyshn’ish could only watch in horrified fascination as her brother crawled out of the city through the main access shaft. She wondered if he would get stuck along the way but he didn’t, to her slight disappointment. Some time later, they emerged on the surface and crawled up onto a wall of the city’s trading outpost. Below, a steep valley stretched on, its depths shrouded by icy clouds and blowing snow.

Hejinmal pushed off of the wall and wobbled away ponderously into the sky. Ilyshn’ish looked around cautiously one last time for potential ambushes along the flight path before taking wing herself.

It was a matter of seconds before she caught up with her brother. Hejinmal struggled mightily, working just as hard to stay aloft as he did accelerating forward. It took nearly ten minutes until he finally picked up enough speed for his wings to keep himself level with the continued effort. Still, he was absurdly slow: flying at only a third of what Ilyshn’ish considered a leisurely pace. She sighed and pulled ahead of him, allowing him to pick up a bit more speed by following in her slipstream. It took nearly two hours to finally rise above the peaks to relative safety.

Ilyshn’ish turned her head back to speak to Hejinmal.

“In which direction are we going?” She asked.

Hejinmal’s only reply for a long while was his laboured breathing, before he puffed out a breathless response.

“South…” he huffed, “past foothills…three…concentric circles in…the lowlands.”

After hearing her brother’s directions, Ilyshn’ish banked southwards and ascended a few thousand additional metres before setting into a relaxed glide. From her altitude, she had a view of the region’s landscape to the east and the west, they were still too far north to spot anything beyond the spine of icy peaks to the south. Ilyshn’ish had ranged the length and breadth of the Azerlisia Mountains and out into the seas of the north, but she had little experience beyond.

Once, she had ventured past the foothills on the eastern slopes, but was immediately met with opposition. Shortly after she crossed over the low-lying forests, a half dozen Hippogriffs with small figures riding them appeared from below to ascend in her direction. She didn’t want to know what would happen if they somehow managed to get close, so she returned to the mountains. Plagued by doubts over how safe it was to travel, she had not tried to leave again even after several decades had passed. Home was dangerous enough as it was; beyond was possibly far worse.

It took them over two days to reach the beginning of the southern foothills due to Hejinmal’s sluggish pace, but, even with the long hours to settle her nerves as they glided safely high over the mountain peaks, her last memory of attempting to explore the lowlands remained at the forefront of her mind. The formation of Hippogriffs from back then certainly seemed aggressive. The riders, too, she sensed were each equipped with a small panoply of magic items. What if it happened again? She had very little confidence against so many unknown assailants.

Even as she scanned the terrain below with the worrying thoughts in mind, six dark figures appeared from the canopy below and to the east. They ascended directly towards Ilyshn’ish and her brother; it only took a moment to register their features. They were about half again as tall as Quagoa, but much thinner. Dressed in black robes and holding gnarled wooden staves, crimson points of light stared intensely in their direction from skulls wrapped in desiccated flesh.

Undead.

Though many Undead were capable of flight, they had the look of corporeal magic casters. They appeared too strong to be Skeleton Mages, so…Elder Liches? Once in a while, a Skeleton Mage or an Elder Lich manifested in the Azerlisia Mountains: in the valleys and passes that hosted the timeless conflicts and savage struggles between the numerous species making the range their home. They didn’t survive for long, however, becoming target practice for Frost Giants.

Individually, she sensed that they were weaker than her, but she still couldn’t beat six of them at once.

“S-sister?” Hejinmal's surprised voice came from below.

Ilyshn’ish looked down and realized that, while she was assessing the situation, she had unconsciously increased her altitude to gain time to think. Hejinmal rapidly fell behind as he no longer had the benefit of being in her slipstream, and he steadily dipped lower and lower in an increasingly futile effort to maintain his speed. It occurred to her that she could simply use her brother, so she watched as he fell further and further behind. Once the Elder Liches caught up with him, she would know whether they intended to collect them for experiments or materials.

It took about another hour for the Elder Liches to reach Hejinmal’s altitude and surround him, with Ilyshn’ish weaving high above as she awaited his fate. Due to the time it took for them to do so, she understood that they were limited to flight magic, and they were utterly incapable of actually catching her, should she choose to escape.

She didn’t know why, but the flight spells commonly used by magic casters conferred a set speed to whomever they enchanted, and many creatures capable of natural flight were far faster than what a magic caster using the spell could achieve. She estimated that she could fly many times faster than the Elder Liches that were pursuing them, so she relaxed and continued to glide well out of spell range.

Ilyshn’ish watched as Hejinmal looked around himself nervously, but he did not seem to be preparing to fight. His mouth moved as he said something she was too far to hear, and the formation of Undead mages split away and descended back towards where they had appeared. She tucked in her wings and dove towards her brother, leveling out behind him and slowing herself before assuming her position in front again.

“What was that all about?” She asked.

“It was a border patrol,” he answered. “They came up to see what our business was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before I flew off?”

“I didn’t notice them, actually,” he laughed nervously. “They gave me quite the scare when they suddenly appeared around me…I suppose that’s why you left me behind.”

“Yes,” she replied. “I figured that I would find out whether they were hostile or not by watching what happened after they caught up with you.”

“Oh. Well that makes sense.”

“Shutting yourself in for a century has dulled your instincts, brother. I hope that you now know the meaning behind father’s words.”

Their father always said the same thing to Hejinmal, who had shut himself away with his tomes and parchments to learn about the world. No matter how much they argued through the door, it would always end with the same advice: If you want to acquire knowledge, leave this place and travel the world.

A downcast expression fell over Hejinmal’s form; a tone of regret filled his voice.

“I do now, yes,” her brother said. “I always thought he was just unreasonably threatening me with something I dreaded, but I guess he really did care. I learn things a thousand times faster when I experience them directly. I guess that's just how we are, and he wanted me to understand that.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that you do.”

“I just wish I could apologize – to admit that he was right…but now, he’s gone.”

“Apologize?” Ilyshn’ish sneered, “Don’t tell me that you have even more useless thoughts bouncing around in that bouncy head of yours. Don’t waste your energy wishing for pointless things – no one wants your apologies. You should know as well as I what mother and father want.”

“Hmm…I’m not sure if you should be saying anything along those lines out in the open, sister. Becoming stronger is one thing, but I’m pretty sure we’ll never become so strong that any of us can claim dominion now.”

It seemed like prudent advice, at least until she could figure out the difference in strength between herself and this new Dragon Lord. There was no point in rushing anyways – if Olasird’arc had been slain so easily, she thought it would take at least a millennium to even consider such ideas. Until then, she could explore and learn to her heart’s content.

To her left, a circular structure on the ground drew her attention. It wasn’t three circles, though.

“What’s that?”

“That?” Hejinmal followed her gaze, “Oh, that. It’s the lair of our new ruler. You’ll probably see it up close sooner or later.”

Ilyshn’ish frowned. If a Dragon Lord had made his lair this close by, how did they not know about him? Distant lands aside, they should have sensed that the territory of another Dragon was right next to their own.

A cluster of structures passed below them, arrayed in circuits around a central group of buildings.

“How about all this below us?”

“That’s Carne,” Hejinmal replied, “a Human settlement. Well, they said that but it seems to be mostly Goblins and a handful of other Demihumans.”

“Are they slaves?”

“It doesn’t seem like it from up here. Slavery is against the law in this nation, anyways.”

“The law?” Ilyshn’ish said as she continued to observe the goings-on below, “You mean those things like rules?”

“Yes, dear sister.”

Their father had rules as well. Rules for the Dragons, rules for the Quagoa. Ilyshn’ish wondered what sort of rules were applied to Dragons in this new place. Slaves were useful for gathering treasure and dealing with menial odds and ends beneath the notice of their masters. Surely it was the lesser beings who were not allowed slaves, to keep them from becoming full of themselves and gaining undeserved wealth.

Ahead of them, she saw what she thought was what her brother had referred to. It wasn’t as grand as Feoh Berkana, but what she saw on the surface was many times larger than the Dwarf capital’s trading outpost on the surface. Considering this, what lay underground must be truly colossal. The three circles were three stone walls. The centre of the city, along with most of its inner ring, glimmered with light in the darkness. The outer section was dark, as well as a portion of the inner ring which seemed to be nearly bare of buildings. Hejinmal descended, but she remained high above to examine what lay below.

Many Quagoa-like creatures milled about, but they all seemed to wear some adornment like the Quagoa leader or what she imitated on her Dwarven self. Like the vast majority of land creatures, they almost never looked up. After she was satisfied that she had seen enough, Ilyshn’ish descended to a portion of the wall where she sensed other Dragons. She alighted on a frosted-over area and saw several of her siblings within some sort of stone construction.

At the entrance, two small figures stood behind a table. She sniffed at their pale bodies: they were…female? Their scent was cloaked under a much stronger perfume, but their features seemed like what races like Dwarves would consider female. They were also dead. First Elder Liches, now Undead female creatures. The Undead females looked up at her with their glowing, crimson eyes.

“Where is your number?” One of them asked.

“M-my number?”

The plain-sounding reaction to her appearance was unexpected. Usually, when a Dragon swooped down, those below would panic and make all sorts of noises.

The two Undead females exchanged glances. Ilyshn’ish sensed that they were roughly as strong as the other Dragons in her generation, making them weaker than she was. Even if it came to blows, she could always just flee if things didn’t turn out well.

“Then what is your name?” The same female asked as the other pulled out a book and opened it over the table.

“Why are you demanding my name?”

Ilyshn’ish was immediately suspicious. They stared at each other across the table for a long while before a third Undead female walked out from within the building, holding a wooden clipboard.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“It has no number,” one replied.

“It has no name,” said the other.

“It has no bag,” the newcomer noted, and looked down at her clipboard. “All eighteen are accounted for…”

They all looked to Ilyshn’ish and tilted their heads in unison.

“She doesn’t belong.”

“An intruder?”

“We should kill her?”

“Woah!” Ilyshn’ish hunkered down defensively, “How did that escalate so quickly? What do you mean I don’t belong? That’s my brood in there.”

“Brood?”

“Kin.”

“Blood.”

The one with the clipboard tapped her cheek for a moment before looking up at her again.

“Whose spawn are you?”

“S-spawn?” Ilyshn’ish felt her tail twitch, “Couldn’t you have put it in some better way? If you must know, I am Kilistran’s daughter.”

The Undead female looked back down to her clipboard again, scanning through the pages attached to it. Without a word, she turned away and walked back into the shelter. Roughly halfway through, she stopped and turned to speak to someone out of sight and Kilistran stretched her neck out to look in Ilyshn’ish’s direction. After a brief conversation and a slow nod from Ilyshn’ish’s mother, the Undead female made her way back towards them.

“She claims that she is what she claims,” the female produced some instrument and began to write something down.

“Nineteen, yes?” The first asked.

“There’s no badge for that,” said the second.

“Use the spare ‘nine’,” the third said.

The second female produced a white hexagonal plaque with an unpolished wooden frame; Ilyshn’ish sensed that it was of little value. Placing it face up on the table, the Undead female produced her own writing instrument and squeezed a ‘1’ in front of the ‘9’. The thickness of the character did not match the other, and after several attempts to make the digit more substantial, the Undead female held it out to Ilyshn’ish .

Ilyshn’ish sniffed at the plaque again – what little value it held had deteriorated even further from being scribbled on.

“What’s this for?”

“Identification.”

“Identification? I already have a name.”

“And now you have a number.”

Ilyshn’ish peered down in irritation at the female, but it looked blithely on. Rather than argue over the useless thing, Ilyshn’ish moved on to a more important topic.

“What about my bag?”

The three females exchanged glances again before the third spoke.

“Infinite Haversacks, along with all other articles, are not granted until training and orientation are complete.”

There was more? Hejinmal had not said anything beyond the valuable bags…

Another detail caught her attention.

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘training and orientation’?”

Rather than provide any real answer, the third female turned back towards the shelter.

“Follow me,” she said before walking away.

Ilyshn’ish looked to the first two, who no longer paid her any attention, then followed after the one who she thought would lead her to what she wanted. The shelter built along the wall consisted of a row of alcoves; each appeared to contain a Frost Dragon. Most lay despondent with their eyes closed or stared dully at nothing in particular. A layer of rime coated the floor, and the lack of possessions over the bare stones left a sad and lonely impression on her as she made her way along.

The Undead female came to a stop before the alcove that Kilistran had poked her head out of.

“This one requires orientation,” the Undead female told Ilyshn’ish’s mother. “Report to the front desk once she’s familiarized with the new procedures.”

Without waiting for a response, the Undead female returned up the corridor. Ilyshn’ish looked to her mother, then to the Undead female, then back again.

“It is good to see you well, daughter,” Kilistran said in dreary tones.

“I hardly recognize you, mother,” Ilyshn’ish flexed her claws over the stone floor. “Why are you here? Why are you acting so meek around these…these…”

“Vampire Brides,” her mother offered.

“Whatever. They’re so much weaker than you – plus you wield divine magic. How can you allow them to address you like that?”

“I know that they are much weaker, but their mistress is so, so much more stronger.”

“Mistress? Not master? What about this Ainz Ooal Gown fellow?”

Ilyshn’ish’s tail swished over the icy stone floor, and she awaited any useful tidbit about the powerful Dragon Lord.

“Ainz Ooal Gown is the master of their mistress…I suppose Hejinmal found you and told you what happened.”

“He said that father was slain easily,” Ilyshn’ish frowned, “though I cannot imagine how. He’s always been one to make mountains out of molehills.”

“He wasn’t exaggerating,” Kilistran sighed. “Olasird’arc died right in front of me – as far as I am from you right now. The other brood mothers were there to witness it too.”

“Then tell me: how was an Ancient Dragon slain so easily? Was he laid low by some powerful artifact?”

“It was a spell.”

“A spell?” Ilyshn’ish scoffed, “How can that be? Unless it was the fabled magic of our ancestors…then I suppose it would make sense. The magic of the present, however, cannot do such a thing.”

“That I do not know,” Kilistran said. “My poor, sweet daughter…you were not there, so I imagine that you will need to suffer a bit to understand.”

Ilyshn’ish scowled at her. Seeing her mighty parent so cowed and stuffed in what looked very much like some sort of stall, bereft of any treasure, was both disturbing and repulsive. Everyone else received the same treatment as well, as far as she had witnessed.

“When I see Hejinmal again,” Ilyshn’ish muttered, “I’m going to break his tail.”

Kilistran’s head perked up at the mention of his name.

“You shouldn’t give your brother such a hard time,” she said.

“And why is that?” Ilyshn’ish’s voice grated, “This is nothing like he suggested – you’ve all been crammed into these…these…”

“Pens.”

“They even call them pens!” Ilyshn’ish shouted, “This is insane!”

“He saved us all,” her mother’s tone was unchanged, “just so you know. If not for him, many others would have been slain – including me. You should be nicer to your brother."

“Well good for you, but that means nothing to me. Maybe I’ll add a knot or two for extra measure, wasting my time like this…”

A familiar chonking sound drew close.

“Ah, sister!” Hejinmal said cheerfully, “I found this instrument in front of your room…”

Ilyshn’ish turned and beamed at her sibling.

“Have I ever told you just how much I love you, dear brother?”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“You said I was ‘gross’ a few days ago,” Hejinmal said.

“I did,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “Now give me my instrument.”

“Eh…”

Hejinmal placed the magical drum on the floor between them and Ilyshn’ish carefully drew it towards herself with a claw. Inhaling the rich aroma of the enchanted instrument, she felt the tension in her mind ease away. It was already stressful enough that she had been deprived of her hoard – the histories, manuals, records and maps within her humble lair stripped away entirely – and losing yet another precious treasure would have surely driven her over the edge, or turned her utterly despondent like the other Frost Dragons of the enclave. Why was her brother so damnably upbeat anyways?

“Mother,” Ilyshn’ish asked, “has Hejinmal gone insane after all that has happened?”

“Your brother is…not the same anymore, daughter,” Kilistran answered.

“I’m still me,” Hejinmal protested, “you make it sound as if I’ve been transformed into something else entirely!”

“The you of times past would certainly have not agreed,” Kilistran returned. “Everyone who has watched you for the past few days recognizes this.”

“He still seems like a weakling to me…” Ilyshn’ish gave her brother a dubious once-over.

“That is not surprising,” their mother said, “coming from you. You’ve heeded my wisdom and made your way far ahead of the others – but you’ll see just how your brother has really changed soon enough.”

Kilistran yawned widely, shifting back into her pen. Ilyshn’ish’s mother showed little energy, not even reacting to the valuable drum that was passed right in front of her.

“Hejinmal, be a dear and let your sister know what’s going on. I don’t feel like much of anything anymore these days…”

Ilyshn’ish’s scales rippled in disgust as she watched the despondent Kilistran tuck in her head and close her eyes. She could detect no sign of the proud and cunning female that she long considered a role model for herself; the ambitious Frost Dragon matriarch who had set her children on the paths of power and knowledge. Even now, Ilyshn’ish openly agreed that her own strength relative to the others in her generation was in no small part due to her mother’s encouragement, and seeing her current state was disquieting, to say the least.

She scowled down at the drum from the Dwarf treasury. How could an entire population of Dragons turn into a pitiful group that resembled nothing more than chattel in such a short period of time?

“If you would like somewhere to put that,” Hejinmal said, “maybe we should start by finding a place for you to stay.”

Ilyshn’ish turned away from her discomforting observations, narrowing her eyes at her brother.

“You want to stick me in one of these pens?” Her icy tone set Hejinmal back a few paces, “Actually, there’s a mountain range to the south near here: it seems a much better place to stay – better than these…accommodations, anyways.”

“Actually,” Hejinmal said, “they only made the hoardings large enough for those of us that came initially. I’m not sure what they’ll find for you. They probably won’t let you just go around as you please – we should check and see what sort of arrangements they can come up with.”

“They won’t let me?” Ilyshn’ish furrowed her brow, “I don’t see anything that can stop me.”

She lashed her tail over the frozen stones, and her front claws idly drew long furrows before her. Hejinmal gave her a long look.

“Sister, it’s really not a good idea to display that sort of attitude around here,” he said carefully. “Can’t you tell from how all the others are behaving?”

“I can tell that they’re not worthy of being called Dragons any more,” she sniffed, “if that’s what you’re saying. Why that is is beyond me. You say that there are some powerful individuals around, but all I see are these pasty Undead females wandering about like Quagoa.”

“Mother was right,” Hejinmal sighed, “you’re in for quite a bit of suffering if you plan on learning the hard way.”

“You mean the easy way?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s practically correct,” he tapped a pair of talons on the stone lightly. “Ilyshn’ish, you said to me earlier that it’s a good thing that I finally understood what father meant by his words to me. Mother is far more cunning than father ever was, even on his best days, so it would be a good thing to heed her words before something unfortunate befalls you.”

Ilyshn’ish peered at Hejinmal suspiciously. They got along well enough as far as brood mates went, but it was the first time that he had expressed anything like concern over her well-being.

“This newfound care for my health is quite unsettling, brother,” she said. “What are you plotting?”

Hejinmal let out a nervous laugh, and she tried to ignore his jiggling as he did so. Dragons weren’t even supposed to jiggle – she once again wondered just how he got this way.

“Ahaha…was I that obvious?” He asked.

“Rather than obvious,” she answered, “I’ve never heard you speak this way to anyone before. Spit it out.”

“Alright,” he cleared his throat in an annoyingly drawn-out way. “You’ve learned how to take on the appearance of Dwarves and things like that, yes?”

“Go on…”

“Yes, well, I thought I could ask you to look around in the Human city, as a Human or something along those lines. This place is a centre of trade, like Feoh Berkana once was, and many things from the world pass through here. With your magic, you can go in amongst them and find books and things that we’ve never seen before.”

That sounded a lot more like her brother. If he required her to perform tasks he knew only she was capable of, then his cautionary words to her would at least have some tangible motive behind them. It was something she had planned on doing for herself, anyways, once she decided it was safe enough to do so. If she could get him to owe her a few favours along the way…

“Fine,” she said, and Hejinmal heaved a sigh of relief. “I will see where this leads me for now. By the way, brother: I hope you don’t plan on shutting yourself in again. This flimsy wall is nothing like Dwarven architecture – it will collapse eventually if you keep…expanding like that.”

“Ah, no, they wouldn’t let us do anything like that anyways,” he replied. “Besides, now that I know, I know, yes? Plus with these bags that we all get, I can carry my books with me and read on the fly.”

The reminder that there were other things that she could get her claws on mollified her irritation over the whole situation somewhat. The Undead female had mentioned that there were ‘other articles’ as well. If a small amount of her time could net her great gains with little risk, then all the better since she was going to take her time exploring the city with this apparent shelter near at hand anyways.

“One of those Undead said that there were other things that came along with those bags,” she said. “Do you have them as well?”

“Hmm…yes,” Hejinmal’s belly scraped over the floor as he turned to head towards the table at the entrance. “Adults like us receive four Infinite Haversacks. We all also receive a Periapt of Health, Ring of Regeneration, Ring of Sustenance and Greater Ring of Fire Resistance. In addition, there are several Message scrolls provided for communications purposes.”

Ilyshn’ish’s mind worked as he listed off the treasures. They had never entered into her possession before, but they were items seemingly similar to the ones listed occasionally in the ledgers of Feoh Berkana during the peak of its prosperity – except for the Greater Ring of Fire Resistance, but she decided it was just a more powerful version of that sort of accessory.

“There must be some catch to all of this,” she said as she padded after her brother. “Why is everyone getting these? How do they even have so many? It makes absolutely no sense that anyone would think to make even one of us any stronger.”

“Because they are so much stronger that it doesn’t matter,” Hejinmal replied simply. “Everyone is getting these because they believe us so weak that we will eventually perish without them. They are not a tribute, nor are they gifts: just a practical consideration for the times that lie ahead of us. Ah, excuse me…”

Hejinmal called out to the Vampire Bride holding the clipboard, who was walking in the opposite direction. She had several of the same bags that Ilyshn’ish had seen on Hejinmal slung over shoulders. At his voice, she turned her head to look up at them as they approached.

“What can I do for you?” She said.

“Do you have a place for my sister to stay?” Hejinmal asked, “I’m still showing her around, but she has something to put away.”

The Vampire Bride twirled her pen in her fingers as she looked along the row of pens. The pen stopped, and she looked back up again.

“This way, please,” she said.

She led them back over to the entrance with the desk. At the end of the hoardings, there was a large door, which the Vampire Bride pushed open. She stepped back and gestured towards the doorway.

Ilyshn’ish and Hejinmal stretched their necks to peer inside. The length was about the same as the pens that housed the other dragons, but it was only half the width. Several brushes, mops, brooms and buckets were stored at the back of the room, and a long, hanging shelf with towels and boxes placed upon it ran along one of the walls.

“Well, it’s a bit narrow,” Hejinmal said, “but it has some furnishings. You have a door as well – the others don’t have that.”

Ilyshn’ish’s tail twitched.

“Brother,” she growled in a low voice. “This is a broom closet.”

“I-is it? I’ve never seen one before…”

“It definitely is,” she told him. “I saw a few in the Feoh Berkana while wandering around. All of the inns had them.”

“The size might be a problem in a hundred years or so, but it looks nice and cozy for now, yes?”

Ilyshn’ish’s tail whipped out and slapped Hejinmal across his right haunch. Hejinmal let out a loud yelp, and Ilyshn’ish froze in shocked disgust as he rippled from the impact. It took a moment to find her voice again.

“I’m not some shut-in like you!” She shouted over his whimpering, “How can I stay in a place like this? Look here, you–”

She turned her head back towards where the Vampire Bride was, but she had gone off somewhere. Ilyshn’ish looked into the room, then twisted her neck back to look towards the desk before her senses registered someone approaching. A different Vampire Bride walked past her with something in hand, retrieving a hammer from the shelf in the closet before nailing the plaque with the impromptu 19 to the door. The number ended up slightly lopsided and, after a few failed attempts at straightening it, the Vampire Bride simply shrugged and put the hammer away.

“There you go, Number Nineteen,” she said. “Oh – we’ll be squeezing by you to access the cleaning tools inside, so don’t block the way when you’re in there…where are you going, Number Nineteen?”

“I am NOT Number Nineteen!” Ilyshn’ish growled as she stormed off, “I’m going somewhere else – you can have your stupid closet!”

“Your orientation and training are incomplete,” the Vampire Bride called out after her.

“Bite me!” Ilyshn’ish snarled.

After several more strides, the Vampire Bride started shouting behind her.

“A Dragon is fleeing!”

The two others at the desk turned and ran towards Ilyshn’ish. Several Frost Dragons poked their heads out from their pens.

“Halt!” One Vampire Bride cried.

“Stop!” Called the other.

The two Vampire Brides from the desk grabbed her tail and dug their heels into the stone, but the icy surface offered them no purchase. The remaining Vampire Bride ran after them as well. The Frost Dragons exchanged glances between themselves as the three Vampire Brides, fastened to Ilyshn’ish’s tail, skidded along the top of the wall.

“It’s Ilyshn’ish…”

“What is she doing?”

“...she’s fighting the Vampire Brides.”

“What!”

“We’re going to be blamed for this! We’ll be killed!”

“Stop her!”

“I’m not ready to become a purse!”

The wall shuddered under the force of a half dozen Frost Dragons dashing after their defiant sibling. Preparing to take wing, Ilyshn’ish was bowled over by three of her half-siblings.

“Ugh!” She shouted, “Why do you all have so much energy all of the sudden! Get…off!”

The tangle of Dragons and Vampires continued to writhe upon the wall as the remainder looked on.

“Sister, I–”

“Hejinmal, I swear if you jump on me I’ll–”

Ilyshn’ish didn’t get to finish her threat. The struggle rolled them off of the wall, and they plummeted to the mostly-cleared section of the city below. Six tonnes of Dragons and Vampires crashed into the ground, throwing up a large cloud of dust that rose over the battlements. A few of the nearby denizens – a mix of Dwarves, Lizardmen, Quagoa, Goblins and Ogres – started to appear from the surrounding dwellings, looking curiously towards the commotion.

The air was filled with the sound of Dragons hacking away after inhaling the cloud of dust, and the Vampire Brides walked out of it first. Ilyshn’ish wriggled her way out of the tangled mess of her half-brothers and sisters, finally dragging herself out into the clear air beyond. In front of her stood the three Vampire Brides in a line along a paved street. Behind them was some sort of building complex where many small heads poked out of windows to look in her direction. A tall figure, relative to the Vampire Brides, stepped out of the gate in the low wall of pale stone that surrounded the buildings.

She wore odd-looking garments of black and white: with a similarly-styled cap over long, carmine, hair that trailed down her back in two large braids. A dark expression emerged from her dark complexion – a predatory smile accompanied by the gleam of amber eyes that reflected the scarce light about them. For the first time in many months, Ilyshn’ish felt the chill of fear run up her spine.

“Oh ho~” The figure licked her lips and grinned, “Now what do we have here?”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Vampire Brides stood aside and lowered their heads as the new female came forward, her steps sounding over the cobblestones.

Is this their ‘Mistress’?

Ilyshn’ish peered at her from where she crouched warily. Glancing to either side, she figured that she could still escape – there were no discernible weapons or tools that she thought could snag her if she dashed away and flew off, though the dress that the approaching female wore smelled extraordinarily valuable. Perhaps it had some magic that could ensnare her.

“Miss Lupusregina,” one of the Vampire Brides said, “this one attempted to escape.”

“That so?” The figure replied casually, “Guess we can’t have that, can we…but weren’t these Frost Dragons all flaccid? The one here’s looking pretty feisty: which one’s this, anyways?”

“Number Nineteen,” another Vampire Bride replied.

“Number Nineteen?” Miss Lupusregina stroked her chin, “I thought we only had eighteen? Don’t tell me they’re getting busy already.”

“Yes we did, Miss Lupusregina,” the last Vampire Bride nodded and gestured to Ilyshn’ish with a pale hand, “and no, they’re not. This one arrived less than an hour ago, guided by another from the mountains in the north.”

“Hmm,” Miss Lupusregina gave Ilyshn’ish an appraising look, “so, uh, is this like a bonus…or a spare?”

Something about the way she said spare sent another shudder through Ilyshn’ish.

She began plotting how she could escape again. On one side, the road led into a gate in the wall that marked another section of the city. The other led into the cleared section where she could easily fly out of. Her thoughts were interrupted when another figure appeared in the shadows of the building complex, partially hidden by the walls.

If Ilyshn’ish was something like a Human, she wouldn’t have even noticed her there, but, as she was a Dragon, it did nothing to conceal the figure from her. Dragons possessed Blindsight, which made one aware of a large area around them. It was through not just her vision, but through vibrations in the air and ground, smells, heat, pressure and the presence of magic – all of her already keen draconic senses coming together to paint a precise perception of her surroundings and its occupants. Even a disturbed current of air brushing lightly over her snout would alert her to someone in the vicinity.

Ilyshn’ish would have ignored the newcomer but for the odd appearance it presented. At first, she thought it was another individual who was clothed similarly to the one that came before, but four large, chitinous, limbs extended from its back. There was some sort of small, squealing humanoid whelp gripped at the end of each, being waved about haphazardly in the air. Four smaller whelps clutched to the figure’s torso, supported by silken strands of some sort.

“Eh? Spare Dragon?” It said excitedly in what Ilyshn’ish thought was another female voice, “Can I get some of that, big sis Lupu? Lord Ainz had the ones he killed harvested for parts and I didn’t get to try any.”

Ilyshn’ish’s focus went between the two. They were siblings? As far as she could tell, they weren’t even the same species.

Miss Lupusregina looked over her shoulder, examining the newcomer with her squealing attachments.

“Mmh…if you’re feeling hungry, Entoma, maybe you shouldn’t be babysitting?” She said, “I don’t know what’ll happen to you if big sis Yuri does a headcount after she gets back and you’re three kids short.”

“I-I’m not hungry,” Entoma replied, “I just want to save some for later. I’ve never had the chance to taste the Dragons from around here. Anyways, if you’re done visiting with Lady Nigredo, you’d better get back to Carne before you get into trouble again.”

“This was for work, ya know!” Miss Lupusregina protested, “Those Runesmiths are moving in and new buildings are being raised for them, so I had to ask Lady Nigredo to redo all the counterdivination wards. Ah~ I don’t wanna walk…I know: can you call Lady Shalltear? This’s her mess to clean up anyways – maybe I can bum a ride~”

Ilyshn’ish couldn’t really follow what they were talking about, but the part about eating Dragons made her want to run away. They were acting so casually in front of her, however, that she feared that some spell or ability would be unleashed against her the moment she tried. Why would anyone even talk so casually in front of a Dragon? Maybe it was because they were so strong…but even the strong could be overturned by powerful attacks, of which Dragons possessed aplenty. She had slain a fair number of overconfident opponents this way.

A void opened in the air between them, something Ilyshn’ish had never seen before. She stared at the new sight, trying to make sense out of its existence as it manifested into a circular opening of some sort. A small figure came out from the void, roughly the height of a Quagoa and dressed in expensive clothing. All of the heads of the beings nearby – including those of Miss Lupusregina and Entoma – lowered in the presence of the new arrival as she fully emerged.

With pale features and glowing, crimson eyes, Ilyshn’ish decided it was something like the Vampire Brides that stood nearby…but she couldn’t sense how strong she was. Maybe this was the ‘Mistress’ that her mother spoke of? She examined the new arrival carefully: she was smaller than the others, yet incalculably powerful – Ilyshn’ish at least had a sense of how strong Miss Lupusregina and Entoma were.

“You said there was trouble here, Entoma,” the new Vampire said as she looked around, “but I only see one Dragon?”

Ilyshn’ish twisted around to see where the other Dragons had disappeared to. They had scattered out of range of her Blindsight as soon as the portal appeared. She looked up and saw a tail vanish back into the hoardings on the wall containing the pens. She knew that those of her kind were fast, but that was certainly a lot faster than usual – even Hejinmal had vanished without a trace.

“Yes, Lady Shalltear,” the strange, eight-limbed figure replied. “Just that one over there. If you’re going to kill it, may I please have a bit?”

Entoma’s words prodded Ilyshn’ish into making herself scarce. She darted away…except that, after a few steps, she couldn’t. She looked behind her to see the fourth Vampire gripping her tail. There wasn’t even any sense of effort being placed into maintaining her grasp: if anything, Ilyshn’ish felt more like she was pulling against some immovable obstacle – as if her tail had been tied to a whole mountain. Lady Shalltear’s voice sounded from behind as she continued to hold onto Ilyshn’ish.

“Hmm…what’s the reason for all this commotion anyways?” Lady Shalltear asked with no discernible sign of strain.

“Number Nineteen refused her accommodations, Lady Shalltear,” answered the voice of a Vampire Bride. “She then tried to leave before completing the standard orientation and training. Something about going somewhere else.”

“I see,” Lady Shalltear said, and her eyes met one of Ilyshn’ish’s own. “Where is this ‘somewhere else’ you planned to go? Are there more Frost Dragons, perhaps? If you are not one of the original eighteen, then maybe there are more you would like to show us?”

Ilyshn’ish ceased her panicked scrabbling over the cobbled road, which had been torn apart in her struggles.

There were other Frost Dragons in the Azerlisia Mountains, but they had become slaves of the Frost Giants. The rest of the Frost Dragon population had simply flown away to other parts of the wide world instead of joining her father, Olasird’arc, in his bid to consolidate power in the glacial range. Ilyshn’ish tested the hold on her tail again, with no more success than before.

With Lady Shalltear voicing her apparent interest, a vague scheme arose in Ilyshn’ish’s mind: she could have this powerful Vampire remove the pesky Frost Giants by exploiting her desire to find more Frost Dragons. Ilyshn’ish would then escape at a more opportune moment and have the entire range to herself.

“I can lead you to the other Frost Dragons, in exchange for–”

Ilyshn’ish felt herself leave the ground, suddenly twirling over the Vampire’s head as she was whirled around and around by her tail. She was just as suddenly released, and the few dozen Demihumans watching from the northeast threw themselves to the ground as she hurtled over their heads. Hitting the surface of the lake in the middle of the city section, she skipped over the water twice before plowing to a stop. The large wave she created washed under a few Lizardman huts on the shore nearby and doused their fires.

They hissed in annoyance at her. Why was no one afraid of Dragons in this miserable city?

When the world finally stopped spinning, Ilyshn’ish found Lady Shalltear over her floating form. She flipped over and made to dive into the water but, before she could get very far, she felt a hand grip the base of her neck. The water disappeared from beneath her, and she landed limply on the muddy shore nearby with a splat.

“I didn’t like the way you said that,” Lady Shalltear’s voice floated down from above her again. “Honestly, I had some hope that at least one of you might be at least half as excellent as the vassal I recently picked up, but it appears that all of my luck went into drawing her. What makes you think you’re permitted to take that tone of voice with me, hm? By what right do you believe you have to bargain? I thought the message finally sunk in when Lord Ainz turned two of your number into crafting materials, but perhaps the third time’s the charm…”

“Ainz…” Ilyshn’ish coughed up a mouthful of water.

“Haaah?” The Vampire’s voice dropped an octave.

“Lord Ainz Ooal Gown,” she cleared her voice. “Once I meet with him, he will father a powerful brood with me. Then I will have his favour – and you…you will pay for this…”

There was a long pause after Ilyshn’ish’s words, and she smirked to herself inside. This stupid Vampire realized just how much trouble she was in now, but there was no taking back what she had done.

“...what did you just say?” Lady Shalltear’s voice was deathly quiet.

“I said–”

Ilyshn’ish hurtled through the air again, smashing into the north wall. The world blacked out, and when she came to again, the Vampire was standing in front of her head.

“Was it this mouth from which spouted forth such ridiculous words?” Ilyshn’ish felt a pinching pain as the Vampire’s left hand reached down between her jaws, “This tongue? Know your place, worm!”

Crimson eyes flared brightly on a face which warped far more than it should have been able to. Ilyshn’ish felt her tongue being stretched out of her mouth. The shaft of a glaive appeared, gripped in Lady Shalltear’s right hand; its long, wicked, blade pulsing with vile darkness. The Vampire glanced up at it briefly, and an equally wicked grin appeared on her face.

“She has the right idea, I suppose,” she said. “All of you misbehaving reptiles should simply have their tongues pinned to the ground. How fitting that I have the weapon I’ve chosen for her on hand.”

Ilyshn’ish twitched, then she squirmed and writhed as she desperately tried to come free. But the fingers pinching her tongue were a merciless vise, and the evil-looking blade angled down, inching ever closer. The Vampire’s unnaturally wide smile stretched and grew.

“I see you’re quite excited over the prospect of being stuck here for weeks,” Lady Shalltear purred to the accompaniment of Ilyshn’ish’s laboured breath. “Mare doesn’t have any rain scheduled for the area around E-Rantel for the next little while since the crops of grain are ripening. It will be very hot on this side of the Demihuman Quarter, and Frost Dragons just love that sort of thing, don’t they? Maybe we can even cook those eggs in there before they give you any more insolent urges – I wonder what the nobles around here would pay for hard-boiled Dragon eggs. It should be an extraordinarily rare delicacy, yes?”

Monster.

The Undead were evil creatures, Ilyshn’ish knew, but it was only now that she understood just how evil they were. Why had Hejinmal led her to this horrible place, to be tormented by this exceedingly cruel being? A low sob left Ilyshn’ish’s throat, followed by another. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve this?

Her forlorn display only seemed to entice Lady Shalltear all the more, and Ilyshn’ish could only stare wide-eyed through panicked wheezing as the polearm slowly entered her mouth. The edge of the blade touched her tongue, and she convulsed violently as the dark energy of the weapon wracked her body. A wail of exquisite draconic agony echoed over the rooftops.

Ilyshn’ish thrashed and writhed in mind-rending pain; her screams bouncing off of the city walls multiple times before rising out into the night sky. It wasn’t until she had rolled over quite a few times that she realized that the grip on her tongue was gone. She tested her mouth for blood: it appeared that the glaive did not actually cut into her, but the horrific sensation still pulsed through her body. A feeling of wrongness fell upon her; a sense of dread that seeped into her very being.

Through her pain-addled senses, she looked around and saw Lady Shalltear standing above her nearby, wiping her fingers with a pristine silk handkerchief. The warped features of the Vampire’s face had vanished; returned to the appearance that was not much different than those of other humanoid creatures. Ilyshn’ish whimpered in terror as Lady Shalltear turned her bright crimson gaze down at her, a glow of satisfaction over her face.

“Ah, that was so refreshing,” Lady Shalltear said cheerfully. “Ludmila has an excellent sense for these matters, surely. I wonder how amazing it would feel if I went all the way…well, if ever you are feeling defiant, please feel free to let me know. I will be most delighted to oblige you again.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It hurts.

Ilyshn’ish stared morosely at the door of the broom closet, holding her jaw open gingerly.

The pulsing waves of pain from the horrible, evil, glaive still coursed through her body, and she wasn’t recovering at all. She felt weak and sick; she felt lethargic, yet she was unable to sleep. Dragons did not possess fast, supernatural regeneration like some other species, but they did have a robust constitution and recovered fairly quickly from even grave injuries if they were afforded the time to rest.

As far as she knew, the weapon had simply touched her tongue, yet, after over a day, she still teetered in the same, dire state as when she had initially received the injury. She couldn’t even detect any real injuries on her person – only a helpless sense of impending doom: the shadow of death that lurked just out of view.

Was it some sort of cursed weapon? Recalling the lambent darkness sheathing the wickedly gleaming blade, she believed the possibility high. It could have been some sort of unholy weapon as well – one that inflicted necrotic damage on a victim, leaving wounds unhealable until the attached conditions were addressed. Such weapons she had read about, but not from cargo manifests of traders and shopkeepers. These were weapons listed in judicial documents, considered the tools of assassins and villains and thus outlawed in the Dwarven Kingdom.

Not that knowing this helped her in any way. The songs of recovery and healing that she possessed didn’t work, and those powerful enough to remove curses and other similar conditions were beyond her.

“Number Twelve,” the voice of a Vampire Bride leaked through the thin wooden door.

A minute later, she felt the presence of a Dragon standing in the corridor outside. Due to her draconic Blindsight, she didn’t need to open the closet door to ‘see’ what was happening immediately beyond it. In an attempt to distract herself from the maddening pain, Ilyshn’ish focused on what was going on outside her tiny room. The door was so thin that it didn’t obstruct much of what was coming across from the other side.

When ‘Number Twelve’ arrived at the front desk, two of the Vampire Brides moved to equip magical bags onto his torso. He remained still, even when they crawled over him to secure the straps.

“Deliver these to the Feoh Jura surface outpost by this time tomorrow,” a Vampire Bride said. “You will receive further instructions from the clerk posted there. Have a safe journey.”

The Frost Dragon wordlessly nodded, walking out into the open section of wall nearby to take wing, where he vanished beyond the limit of Ilyshn’ish’s blindsight.

“Number Five…”

The process repeated itself several times over the course of the next hour. Why were so many Dragons being sent to the Dwarf city? It didn’t sound like they were mounting an attack.

“Number Two,” the Vampire Bride’s voice sounded yet again.

This should be mother...

Ilyshn’ish recalled the number nailed to the post beside Kilistran’s pen. As the much larger Dragon presence stopped in front of the door, Ilyshn’ish rose to her feet. Doing so made her involuntarily close her mouth, and a fresh bout of pain lanced through her body. Her back arched as she let out a hoarse sounding squeak one would ever expect to issue forth from a ten-metre long Adult Dragon. The ridge of her spine bumped up into the shelf above; boxes, towels and other objects rained down upon her.

Her drum landed on her head with a low booming sound – she did not recall putting it there. Considering who else was around, it had most likely been Hejinmal. The door drifted open from the various objects falling against it.

“Is something the matter, daughter?” Kilistran asked with an expression of vague curiosity on her face.

“What does it look like, mother?" Ilyshn’ish groaned. “No, wait, where are you going? I mean…why are you all being sent to the Dwarves?”

“Why? That’s because–” Kilistran paused as a Vampire Bride crawled up her shoulder. “That’s because...it’s a job? I believe that’s what they called it, anyways.”

“Job?” Ilyshn’ish furrowed her brow at the strange word, “What do you mean by this?”

“It is what it is,” Kilistran shrugged as the Vampire Bride hopped off. “Look, mother needs to go and work now, so be a good girl and stay at home. Hejinmal’s still around since they’re not sure what to do with him yet: you should speak with him if there’s anything more you need to know.”

Kilistran turned her head away and shuffled out to take wing, quickly rising to the north. Why did she have so many more bags?

The Vampire Bride called for the next number and, eventually, seventeen Frost Dragons had departed to the north on some unknown ‘job’ and Ilyshn’ish was left with her aches and pains. A Vampire Bride came up to the door.

“What do you want?” Ilyshn’ish said in sulky tones.

The Undead female ignored her question, stepping around her to clean up the mess in the broom closet. In a few minutes, everything was sorted neatly again – even the drum was back in its place above her head. Task complete, the Vampire Bride walked out and closed the door.

“Wait,” Ilyshn’ish called out after her.

The door opened slightly, and the Vampire Bride poked its head in, an unspoken question in its crimson gaze.

“My drum – did you put it away earlier today as well?”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“Is it not one of your belongings?”

“…”

The Vampire Bride’s head disappeared from the door, and she walked away.

“…wait,” Ilyshn’ish called out after her again.

A head popped into the door again. Ilyshn’ish quickly reviewed the events of the past few days before speaking.

“Ahem–ow,” she winced. “I would like to join the others. Is there any way to restore my condition, so that I may understand what is going on?”

The Vampire Bride blinked twice, and she walked off to the front desk without a word. After a brief discussion with another Vampire Bride that was working at her post, she returned to the broom closet and opened the door again. The second Vampire Bride hopped down off of the wall into the Demihuman Quarter.

“Come out to the front desk,” the remaining Vampire bride told her.

“W-why?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “I’m in pain, you know?”

“We are sending for Lady Pestonya,” she replied.

“Lady Pestonya? Is that something like Lady Shalltear?”

The Vampire Bride gave her a long look before replying.

“Lady Shalltear is a divine magic caster – as is Lady Pestonya. She will be tending to your condition.”

The offer of healing was greatly at odds with the memory of Lady Shalltear. Ilyshn’ish hesitated at the threshold of her room.

“Should I inform Lady Pestonya that you’re not coming?” The Vampire Bride asked.

“No, wait – I’ll come.”

Ilyshn’ish carefully slipped out of the closet, taking care not to step too solidly and thus send another wave of pain through her body. Upon reaching the desk, she craned her neck to look around. There was a slight noise as the Vampire Bride that had hopped off the wall crawled back up again, followed by another figure who seemed to have leapt straight up from the ground. Ilyshn’ish stared as it landed lightly before her – never in her life had she seen something so small jump so high before. What was the purpose in building these walls if everyone was able to get over them with such ease?

The new figure, who Ilyshn’ish assumed was Lady Pestonya, had an outfit which was roughly similar to the Miss Lupusregina and Entoma from before. It, too, she sensed to be of exquisite value. Like Lady Shalltear, she could not determine how strong this Lady Pestonya was, so she decided to not try anything lest she suffer another harrowing episode.

Lady Pestonya looked up at her with a face that Ilyshn’ish thought was what a Quagoa would look like if they were shaved bald. Upon further inspection, however, she did not have the same, distinct features as the subterranean race.

“Poor thing,” Lady Pestonya said. “How long has she been like this for?”

“Thirty-Six hours, Lady Pestonya,” one of the Vampire Brides replied.

“This appears to be Lady Shalltear’s work,” Lady Pestonya seemed to examine Ilyshn’ish with her strange eyes, “reducing someone to a sliver of health and leaving them to suffer indefinitely. Except, hmm…did she leave any instructions regarding this Frost Dragon?”

“Aside from having her returned to the pens, none,” the Vampire Bride replied, “Lady Shalltear left immediately after dealing with her.”

“I see. Well in that case…”

Lady Pestonya held her palm out towards Ilyshn’ish.

“「Greater Restoration」.”

Ilyshn’ish felt a wave of powerful magic wash over her, sweeping away the sense of affliction which pervaded her body. The magic dissipated, and a tangible sense of relief replaced the sense of wrong that loomed over her from before. She still felt the injury which had started everything, but no longer did she feel that she could not recover over time.

“The Dragons here have a Ring of Regeneration, I believe?” Lady Pestonya said, “There are a few Adventurer Guild sessions which may need my attention today, so I will be conserving my mana. Was there anyone else?”

“There is no one else, Lady Pestonya,” the Vampire Bride bowed respectfully. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“I’ll be off then. If you require anything further, you should be able to find me in the orphanage nearby…woof.”

Woof?

Lady Pestonya silently turned away and, like the Vampire Bride a short while ago, hopped off the wall into the Demihuman Quarter. The Vampire Bride near Ilyshn’ish peered up at her silently.

“What?”

“You Frost Dragons are entirely lacking in decorum,” the Vampire Bride told her. “Even though they are much weaker, the mortals I have come to know are far preferable to your kind. You need to learn some proper behaviour, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Wha–”

“Anyways, now that we’ve dealt with your affliction, we will be resuming things from where we last left off…”

The other Vampire Bride retrieved a clipboard from the desk and came forward to stand beside the first.

“In order for you to join the others,” the first continued, “you must first undergo orientation and training to qualify, though I suppose most of it shouldn’t take long…”

Ilyshn’ish stretched her neck out to look down at the clipboard. The Vampire Bride scowled up at her and swatted her in the nose with it. It didn’t hurt Ilyshn’ish, but being abruptly smacked in the snout caused her to recoil.

“Hey!”

“Stop being so nosy, it’s rude.”

She glared down at the Vampire Bride that had struck her, but she seemed entirely unconcerned.

“What is your name?”

“...”

“Well, I guess that doesn’t matter, since we just go by the numbers. Let’s see…you’re about ten metres long? That should make you an Adult Frost Dragon...how old are you?”

“One-hundred and seven.”

Ilyshn’ish answered promptly, then measured the two Vampire Brides for a reaction. It was difficult to tell the age of the Undead – she had no idea how, really – but if they outwardly deferred to their clear elders like Dragons did, she thought it was something she could exploit. The Vampire Bride simply moved on to her next question after the other penned down the response and nodded.

“You are part of Kilistran’s brood, yes?”

“Yes…”

“Hmm…Kilistran has divine caster levels: have you gained anything along those lines?”

“Levels? I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Are you able to use any spells or abilities aside from what your kind innately wield?”

Why she would be required to give away her secrets was beyond her. They wouldn’t even let her look at whatever was on the clipboard, yet they wanted to know everything.

“...”

“If you hide anything from us,” the Vampire Bride said evenly, “you may be punished in the future.”

“...”

“Ah, Ilyshn’ish,” Hejinmal’s upbeat voice came from behind her, and she turned her head at his approach, “I see you’re finally getting around to filling your paperwork. Don’t forget to tell them you’re a Bard – that’s pretty important, right?”

“Hejinmal!”

“Hiiiieee!”

The sound of pen scratching over paper turned her attention back around. The Vampire Bride taking down the information nodded.

“You’re a Bard?” The Vampire Bride conducting the interview asked, “What sort of Bard are you?”

“What sort of…” Ilyshn’ish muttered before answering, “A Dragon Bard, isn’t that plainly obvious?”

“Then…you can sing?” she continued to press her, “Perform music?”

“I know some Dwarf songs…”

“A Dragon Bard that sings Dwarf songs,” the Vampire Bride taking down notes looked up at her dubiously.

“Oh, give me a break – it was all we had at home!”

“How about magic?” The questions continued, “Can you cast spells? Does your music influence those around you?”

“Yes, yes and yes.”

Why were these even questions? Why was she even answering them, for that matter? This was all Hejinmal’s fault.

“What about fighting ability? Do you have any skills or magic relevant to combat?”

“You’re going to make me fight?”

“They’re just basic questions, sister,” Hejinmal said from the side. “I don’t think there’s any need for us to fight since they have much stronger things pretty much everywhere.”

“Of course I can fight,” Ilyshn’ish answered testily, “and yes being a Bard helps. I can sing and dance and recite poetry. I can cast spells and do all sorts of other things…that is what a Bard does, yes?”

“I-I didn’t know you could dance, sister,” Hejinmal looked at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of us dance before.”

“Neither have we,” said one of the Vampire Brides. “Show us this dance.”

“How about no?” Ilyshn’ish said, “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

“It doesn’t,” she replied, “we just wanted to see it. Bards are entertainers as well, yes?”

“I am not some sideshow for your personal amusement!” Ilyshn’ish slammed her right foreleg on the floor. “Let’s just get on with this inane series of questions.”

“Aww…”

“Shut up, Hejinmal!”

Her low growl quieted her curious brother, and Ilyshn’ish turned back to the Vampire Brides. The interviewer continued to scan over the contents of the clipboard.

“Do you know the locations of all the Dwarven cities in the Azerlisia Mountains?” She asked.

“Of course,” Ilyshn’ish sniffed. “I know all of the places in the Azerlisia Mountains.”

The clipboard-wielding Vampire Bride walked away, disappearing down a tower stairwell near to the front desk.

“How convenient,” the remaining Vampire Bride said. “Hejinmal only knows where Feoh Berkana is. You will bring him to Feoh Jura and participate in the activities there. Since you have Bard levels, you should be able to improve upon his sluggish performance.”

“Why am I suddenly tending to my older brother?” Ilyshn’ish complained. “I still don’t know what this job is about, for that matter.”

“Your tasks will be assigned to you after you arrive. Once your items have been equipped, you will depart immediately.”

“Don’t tell me I have to get him there by this time tomorrow. It took him two days to get here from Feoh Berkana the last time around.”

“Was this with your enhancements as a Bard?”

“Of course not. Why would I even bother doing that?”

“...”

“...”

“...anyways, just get there as quickly as possible,” the Vampire Bride told her. “There will be time for a proper analysis in the weeks to come.”

The second Vampire Bride appeared again, arms piled high with magical bags. Ilyshn’ish’s attention was riveted to them as they were laid upon the desk.

“One, two, three, four, five…oh, it seems like you’re being treated as an Old Dragon, sister,” Hejinmal said.

“I am not an old dragon,” Ilyshn’ish snapped. “I’m a fresh and healthy Adult Dragon.”

“Yes, everyone can smell that. That door blocking off your room doesn’t seem to help any.”

“You’re being gross again, brother.”

“...I didn’t mean it like that.”

“That’s not making it any better.”

The Vampire Brides split up between Ilyshn’ish and Hejinmal, each carrying an Infinite Haversack. The one approaching Ilyshn’ish sniffed in her direction several times; she wondered if she could swat her with her talons.

“You may use this one container for your personal belongings,” the Vampire Bride told her after fastening the magical bag over her shoulder. “The others will contain various cargo and parcels for delivery, and are organized as such. They will change hands at the various offices on a regular basis, so be sure not to misplace your own items lest they are left behind somewhere.”

After securing all of the bags onto her body with sturdy straps of some unknown material, the Vampire Bride came forward with the various articles of jewelry that Hejinmal had described the previous night. Ilyshn’ish watched as the items that were equipped changed in size to fit snugly to her digits, tail and around her neck. As soon as the Ring of Regeneration fitted itself to her, she felt herself slowly, but surely, recovering from her injury.

“These accessories are not to leave your person,” the Vampire Bride continued in her instructions, “unless a different set of equipment is ordered for use. They are the property of the Sorcerous Kingdom, and are not to be lost, sold or otherwise exchanged.”

Ilyshn’ish peered down at the diminutive Vampire Bride before her. Obviously she was never going to let these accessories go. She wondered how they even planned on enforcing this strange set of rules.

“A manifest has been added to your personal Infinite Haversack, which will be updated with all of the transactions performed throughout your scheduled stops at each post. Keep your deliveries timely and with a minimum of incidents: Lady Shalltear will be most displeased if we represent the new transportation network poorly.”

Ilyshn’ish’s tongue twitched at the mention of the powerful Vampire. She had agreed to play along with whatever they were on about for the time being, but she wanted to strike off on her own once she saw all there was to see of this place. Even with the halfhearted attempts at making life more comfortable, it was cramped, noisy and hot. It was not a place where one could sleep comfortably for a month after a decent meal.

“Lady Shalltear will be there?” She asked.

“Oh yes,” the Vampire Bride replied, “she will be supervising the operations personally. If you’re not on your best behaviour, you may incur her wrath again.”

Ilyshn’ish sighed.

“Are we ready to leave, brother?”

“Hm? Oh yes,” Hejinmal replied. “They don’t look it, but these bags are quite weighty – especially when you have to carry them for long distances…please don’t leave me behind again, sister.”

“If I’m supposed to take you to Feoh Jura, why would I leave you behind? That seems counterproductive.”

“...I suppose you’re correct. It must be because you did it last time.”

“Aren’t you the one that has supposedly learned in those abnormal ways for a century?”

“That’s true...I guess it just means that our nature is not so easy to escape – even for me.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Two of the Vampire Brides watched with looks of grave concern as Hejinmal hurled himself from the wall, flapping frantically even as he angled down alarmingly towards the lake in the middle of the Demihuman Quarter. Demihumans scurried about in mass panic as he skimmed over the ground like some sort of gigantic sausage with wings.

“Does he always take off like this?” Ilyshn’ish muttered absently.

“No,” the Vampire Bride beside her replied, “Lady Aura was here the last time to provide assistance.”

Another Lady? There certainly seemed to be many people with titles here. Hejinmal managed to level out just before diving into the surface of the water, huffing his way out of the bowl and over the city walls.

“Weren’t you supposed to be helping him?” The Vampire Bride asked, “What if he had crashed?”

“Then it would’ve been quite amusing,” Ilyshn’ish answered.

“It would have been a debacle!” The Vampire Bride placed her hands on her hips as she looked up at Ilyshn’ish with a cross expression, “We need to maintain a spotless image, or Lady Shalltear will be furious. She expects no delays, no collateral damage and a low workplace incident rate.”

“Doesn’t the other night count as an ‘incident?’”

“I said ‘low.’”

Ilyshn’ish turned her head and glowered down at the Vampire Bride, who did not react, as usual. The third Vampire Bride joined them, taking notes on her clipboard.

“Well, he didn’t crash – so that’s that,” Ilyshn’ish said. “He won’t be able to hunt for anything with that body of his either, unless something just happens to fly straight into his mouth.”

“With a Ring of Sustenance there should be no problems.”

“Hmph,” Ilyshn’ish sent a puff of shimmering ice crystals into the air. “In that case, he can just not eat until he sheds all that extra weight. Then I won’t have to waste my magic on him.”

“Don’t feed…the…fat one,” the third Vampire Bride murmured as she continued taking notes.

“Anyways,” Ilyshn’ish said, “I guess I should see where Hejinmal has disappeared to – maybe I’ll find him passed out in a field nearby.”

She shuffled up to the edge of the wall. With a single, powerful stroke, she launched herself into the sky, sending clouds of frost and dust swirling everywhere.

“Have a safe journey,” the Vampire Brides’ voice drifted up after her.

She glanced back towards the wall with one eye: the three Vampire Brides were staring up at her with expressionless faces.

Ilyshn’ish made two large circuits over the city walls, using the currents of air rising off of the sunbaked streets to lift her effortlessly to greater heights. A multitude of figures milled about below for purposes she could not discern: Humans and Demihumans of many shapes and sizes moving in nonsensical patterns from place to place. There appeared to be two roads leading out from the city to the south and the north, branching out over vast stretches of rolling fields and forested hills.

Satisfied that she had reached a suitable altitude to begin the journey back north, Ilyshn’ish altered her course and scanned the surroundings for Hejinmal. A vexed sound escaped her when she discovered his rotund profile far below, not very far from the city walls. She shed her precious altitude again, diving down and circling him several times before settling alongside her brother.

“Hejinmal, what are you doing?”

“I’m…uh…flying?”

Ilyshn’ish looked down: they couldn’t have been more than ten metres off of the ground. It was close enough that she could pick up every stone and stem below with her Blindsight. A group of six humanoids gaped up at them as the two Frost Dragons slowly drifted by overhead.

“Three of those things we just flew over had bows,” Ilyshn’ish glanced back at them. “What are you doing flying so low? If you fly over a glacier like this later, something is going to jump out of the ice and snatch you out of the air like the fatty snack that you are.”

“I’m trying!” Hejinmal cried out pathetically.

“What is there to ‘try’ about it?” Ilyshn’ish furrowed her brow, “You could have just used the air currents over the city to–bah, never mind.”

Looking over his corpulent figure again, Ilyshn’ish decided that Hejinmal was too massive to glide properly. How he had managed to make the trip up to Feoh Berkana alone days ago without being eaten or captured was beyond her ability to imagine.

“I’m surprised you managed to survive the last trip up there.”

“Lady Aura…helped me,” he huffed out. “Magic. Can…can you, haah…haah…”

The pitiful sight disturbed her. How could it be that they were siblings?

“Just hold on,” she told him, “I’ll figure something out.”

While Ilyshn’ish had used magic to attack others, she had only ever used beneficial enchantments for herself. Well, it shouldn’t be that much different…probably. Pointedly ignoring the laboured breathing of her brother beside her, she started to sing a soft song. The notes of the gentle melody swirled with the sweet sound of her voice in the air around them as she wove her magic. As the enchantment settled about them, Hejinmal picked up speed and steadily gained altitude.

“This is amazing, sister!” He said excitedly, “How long have you been able to do this for?”

“Who knows?” She replied noncommittally, “We need to be above the peaks before we get to them, so don’t stop climbing.”

“Er...really? I didn’t do that on the way north last time – shouldn’t it be easier to go through the valleys?”

“Seriously…how are you still alive? Every Frost Giant for the hundreds of kilometres along the way must have been sleeping or something.”

Hejinmal quickly ascended after her sarcastic reply. A few hours later, they were crossing high over the foothills into the mountains proper.

“You have a beautiful voice, sister,” Hejinmal suddenly said without prompting.

“You’re being creepy again, brother,” Ilyshn’ish frowned.

“I mean it! I really do…”

She shot her brother an annoyed look, and he cringed away.

“I’ve happened to overhear several of those Human Bards around the city while wandering along the walls,” he continued after a short silence. “They...they don’t sound like that.”

“They don’t?”

“No, I mean they do, but…”

“Make up your mind, brother.”

Hejinmal appeared to give his words some thought. They flew onwards for several kilometres before he cleared his throat to try again.

“When they are performing regularly, in the town plazas and noble gardens, their music sounds like what I suppose Humans consider proper music. When they are using music to weave magic for whatever other work they’re doing, however, it doesn’t – it’s a disjointed, chaotic, mess that you can only get bits and pieces out of. It sends shivers up my spine, really…it’s like something is wrong, and I can feel it: but I don’t know why.”

With most of her time in the city being stuck in her pen trying to recover from Lady Shalltear, she hadn’t had the opportunity to explore at all. With her injuries past her, Hejinmal’s words sparked curiosity over the new places that she could visit.

“I guess I’ll have to check the next time we’re back there…so you’re saying that it doesn’t sound like that when I weave magic through song?”

“Yes, exactly – when you performed that spellsong just now, I think I just heard it the way it was. It had Dwarven lyrics, with a proper melody and everything. If it was a Human Bard from the city, it would have probably sounded like a bizarre and jarring series of incomprehensible noises.”

“It’s probably because they are not Dragons,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Many races do not understand magic in the same manner as we – neither do they perceive the world by the same measures. You’ve been around that city for longer than I: there is no beauty or comprehension in its form – only the transient marks of toil and struggle in their brief lives, as countless fleeting wills pull in countless different directions. All of their efforts will crumble to dust as their histories tell, and even those histories will crumble away. Only we will remain to remember that they ever even existed.”

“That smug, twisted view is entirely mother,” Hejinmal remarked.

“It’s not as if you haven’t seen the Quagoa,” Ilyshn’ish countered. “All these mortals are the same: all that ever changes are their teeming numbers as they struggle in short-lived futility and perish. They have no appreciation for the world in its entirety – only the meagre fragment of it that is dangled before them. In being aware of that tiny fragment, they become confident that they understand the entire world. We Frost Dragons remember everything we experience and may develop a great degree of understanding through the ages, but even we would never become so arrogant as to believe such a thing.”

“Okay, that part is decidedly not mother,” Hejinmal admitted. “Still, it is not mortals that rule the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“You mean those Undead? I’ll admit a few of the things there are quite powerful, but they are much the same as mortals when it comes to their view of the greater scheme of things. It will take more than a dusty old Lich with delusions of grandeur to convince me otherwise…though perhaps with this Dragon Lord that leads them, there may be some promising things to come.”

The steady beat of Hejinmal’s wings faltered, and he turned to look at her strangely.

“What?”

“Why would you think Ainz Ooal Gown is a Dragon Lord?”

“…I’m going to kill you, brother,” Ilyshn’ish sang sweetly.

Hejinmal’s enchantment shattered, and he started to lose momentum.

“W-why!”

“Who else would you think that I would think could kill father so easily?” She fumed, “I even asked you!”

“You asked if he was a male!”

“You were withholding some pretty important details there, brother! These are your future nieces and nephews in here!”

“What! Why are you bringing them into this? It’s not as if anything would change if you knew!”

“Argh! What am I going to do now? Time waits for no clutch, Hejinmal!”

They flew on in silence for a few minutes, as Hejinmal struggled vainly to maintain their pace.

“I have to leave, brother,” she finally said.

“Leave? B-but…where?”

“North, over the sea to the frozen places far beyond. If I find a few good currents of wind, someone will latch onto my scent. Grr…I wanted to be more selective about my first clutch too. No, wait – maybe I have enough time to string a few males along…”

“What…will you do…after?” Hejinmal was rapidly running short on breath.

“Just leave them up there I guess,” Ilyshn’ish shrugged. “Or maybe set them up on some decent icebergs if I spot them along the way.”

“I…don’t…I don’t…” His words trailed off into heavy panting.

Ilyshn’ish restored the enchantments on her floundering brother before he dropped completely out of the sky.

“I…don’t think they’ll let you,” Hejinmal said after his wheezing abated. “They won’t even believe you’ll come back.”

“Hmm…that’s a pretty good idea, brother,” Ilyshn’ish said. “I’ve gotten everything I wanted out of them – it might be a good time to just leave.”

“The Sorcerous Kingdom is full of powerful casters: they’ve probably put something on this equipment, or have ways to divine you no matter where you go…”

“Then what do I do? Don’t you think this is a pretty pressing matter, brother?”

“It is! I know it is…but…well, maybe we could just ask Lady Shalltear when we arrive in Feoh Jura?”

“She wanted to cook and sell them to these mortals!”

“She did? I-I mean...what choice do we have? You can’t escape, sister. All we can do is ask and hope for a favourable reply.”

They flew for the rest of the day in silence, and it was not until the dark hours of the morning that they arrived at the surface outpost of Feoh Jura. Despite the early hour, the fortress-like structure hewn out of the mountain was bustling with activity: a stream of Dwarves was steadily bringing up cargo from the access shaft and loading them onto sleighs, while Vampire Brides attended to Frost Dragons flying in and out.

They landed on a clear section of the outpost wall, and several Vampire Brides crawled up to retrieve their delivery. As light as they had felt when she departed from the E-Rantel, they were now like heavy stone weights after nearly sixteen hours of flight. Hejinmal looked down to the Vampire Bride who was updating his cargo manifest.

“Ahem. Excuse me?” His voice lacked a certain draconic assertiveness, which annoyed Ilyshn’ish for some reason.

“Yes, what is it?” The Vampire Bride answered absently, not looking up from her work.

“My sister here needs to see Lady Shalltear,” he answered. “Is she available? It’s a matter of great importance.”

The Vampire Bride scanned the page in the manifest, then looked down into the area where the sleighs were being loaded.

“Hmm…the Dwarves seem to be behind a bit, and it says here that you are to travel together with Number Nineteen…”

“That’s my sister,” Hejinmal filled in helpfully.

Ilyshn’ish itched to give him a thwack.

“Is that so?” The Vampire Bride replied, “In that case, you should have about half an hour before there’s enough to send you two off with. Lady Shalltear should be near the gate leading down into the city.”

The two Frost Dragons looked to the massive, metal gate through the heavy flakes of blowing snow. With so many people moving about, the air was a mix of smells, sounds and movements which made it hard for them to determine who was who. Ilyshn’ish looked for the black gown that she had seen Lady Shalltear wearing the previous night.

“I don’t see anyone like Lady Shalltear,” Ilyshn’ish said.

“Me neither,” said Hejinmal.

The Vampire Bride turned to point in the direction of the open gates.

“She’s on the right side of the gate under the small pavilion there – wearing the white fur coat and ushanka.”

“Ushwah?” Hejinmal struggled with the word.

“The fur cap.”

Ilyshn’ish looked back down to the loading area. There was indeed a pavilion at the gate, with a figure in a white fur coat and cap standing within behind a stone desk. They padded around the wall of the outpost until they reached the mountain face and hopped down to the ground. There was a wumph sound as her brother flattened a snowdrift behind her, sending even more snow into the howling wind. Nearly half of those present stopped what they were doing to turn their heads at the sudden noise.

“You again,” Lady Shalltear peered up at Ilyshn’ish, then glanced over to Hejinmal. “Well, at least you brought the fat one as well. I didn’t expect him to arrive for a few days yet. Is something the matter?”

“I…” Ilyshn’ish’s voice trailed off as she thought about how she could put her circumstances across in a convincing manner.

“Lady Shalltear,” Hejinmal said from beside her, “my sister needs to breed.”

I will definitely kill this idiot.

The Vampire furrowed her brow, and her lips turned down into a small frown.

“Breed, you say? Hmm…well, if that means I get more Frost Dragons…we’re quite busy at the moment, so you have around twenty minutes to get it over with.”

“T-twenty minutes?” Ilyshn’ish said incredulously, “That’s nowhere near enough time; I still have to find a mate and–”

“How about this one?” Lady Shalltear pointed to Hejinmal.

“I-I, er, uh…” Hejinmal spluttered.

“That’s by brother!”

“Is that so? Hm…let’s see, how about…” Lady Shalltear turned to look around the outpost with a finger on her chin.

“They’re all my siblings!”

“Oh. Well, that’s too bad I suppose,” Lady Shalltear looked back up at her. “We have an important schedule to keep, so I can’t have you flying off to Lord-Peroroncino-knows-where. Better luck next time – maybe you should have used the Temple of the Six Great Gods? I’ve recently heard that they offer matchmaking services.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“I’m so sorry, sister.”

“Stop reminding me, brother.”

She should have put more energy into her reply, but Ilyshn’ish was too dejected to care about much. She shifted her weight as they waited on the wall for their deliveries to be readied and loaded. Though she wasn’t paying much attention to the goings-on around the trading outpost, everything that she sensed around her was still entering her memory and thus associations started to be made between the collective experiences of her life which could be recalled with perfect clarity.

The Dwarves were loading the sleighs with what appeared to be bulky and durable articles: food and furniture and other similar goods. In addition, each sleigh had a dozen or so Dwarf passengers. When roughly six of these sleighs had been fully loaded, the Undead horses drawing them would head off as a small caravan following the route to Feoh Berkana. Even with the heavy snowfall, there seemed to be enough traffic going back and forth to establish a clear trail.

The more fragile and valuable-looking items had been separated from the rest of the belongings being transported and placed into Infinite Haversacks after being recorded on cargo manifests by Vampire Brides. Having their cargo processed, each Dwarf was then handed a slip of paper and directed to wait for the next caravan. When enough of the magical bags had been filled, a Dragon was sent off with them.

As a whole, the Dwarves appeared to be doing practically none of the real work on the surface.

“For what reason are they helping the Dwarves?” Ilyshn’ish wondered, “There seems to be little benefit to all this. Has some great tribute been delivered for all this assistance being provided?”

“Hm…I’m not exactly sure how things went on the Dwarves’ end,” Hejinmal said, “but what it amounts to is the initiation of cordial diplomatic relations and trade. Though the relationship just started recently, I believe that the objective of the Sorcerous Kingdom is to have the Dwarf Kingdom become their allies.”

“Allies?” Ilyshn’ish scoffed at the notion, “Don’t you mean tributaries? These Dwarves are pitifully weak and offer no benefits aside from gleaning the fruits of their productivity. I assume this to be the case, at least – between the Dwarves and we Frost Dragons with our Quagoa slaves, we would have made far superior allies.”

“It’s a matter of perspective, I suppose,” Hejinmal replied. “Lady Shalltear is not the only powerful being in the Sorcerous Kingdom, and you’ve personally experienced her ire. We are all weak, in their eyes. The Sorcerer King apparently chose the Dwarves because he recognized them for that very productivity you mentioned.”

“So father died because the Dwarves are better crafters?” Ilyshn’ish snorted, “Maybe you had better learn some trade skills, dear brother.”

“Actually sister, about that…I was wondering if you could teach me.”

“I’m not a smith, Hejinmal.”

“To become a Bard, I mean. I thought more on what our parents would say: about strength and pursuing the paths to power. With the forces of the Sorcerous Kingdom being as strong as they are, trying to stand out on those terms seems rather futile…so I thought, ‘why not become something useful’.”

“You really need to stop with that cringing attitude of yours, brother,” Ilyshn'ish narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. “Start acting like a proper Dragon – you’re not some sort of pet.”

Hejinmal went into a fit of coughing, and the people below scattered away from flecks of spittle that rained down from above. Several Dwarves shouted up angrily at him.

“S-sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, deaf to her words.

Ilyshn’ish rolled her eyes and eyed the pavilion where the bags were being loaded – there still weren’t enough yet. A new caravan of sleighs departed, just as another arrived.

“It’s not just that, sister,” Hejinmal resumed speaking. “Bards are masters of knowledge and lore, aren’t they? We are not so different, you and I–”

“I cannot believe I just heard that,” Ilyshn’ish sneered. “Just because we both love to read and learn about the world does not make us alike. We are not like these mortals with their lifespans that are but a insignificant drop in the great ocean of time – who must decide what they must be before the brief flicker of their lives vanishes. You have an eternity to become what you are to be, and an eternity to regret should you embark upon the wrong path.”

“Didn’t you just advise me to learn some trade skills?”

“It was a joke brother,” she sighed. “I am now speaking to you seriously.”

“Then…then…why did you choose to be a Bard?”

“I did not choose: it is what I am,” Ilyshn’ish was growing impatient with his fantastical silliness. “How do you not understand this? Perhaps you’ve shut yourself in with those books for so long that you think you’re a Dwarf? Or perhaps a Quagoa? I will be nice enough in this case to remind you that you are a Dragon, brother. We do not grow the same way as those mortals, nor do we perceive and learn about the world the same way. Even the way we understand magic is not the same, if what the books in Feoh Berkana say on the subject are not just the ravings of a lunatic.”

“I suppose those books on magic did not make much sense. Even mother decided that they were only useful as a reference. The end results are similar, yet their ways are entirely alien to us.”

“Exactly. If you wish to grasp magic, then you must understand how we – as Dragons – use it naturally. If you wish to fly your own course, then do so with the understanding that you are a Dragon, not one of these puny mortal races. Knowledge that one acquires most certainly helps once you are on your way, but do not pursue these mortal paths; they aren’t suited for our kind, and will only lead you to sorrow and regret.”

“How do you know all this, sister?” Hejinmal said after a brief silence, “Did mother tell you?”

“Some of it,” Ilyshn’ish admitted. “But you should know by now that our kind is not one to be told. I know these things because I have already set out on my path, as has our mother. It is not something you will truly realize until you do. All I can say is what I have already said – all that remains is up to you.”

“All I am right now is incredibly confused.”

“Good. At least those silly pretenses no longer have a hold on you. Why else do you think father did not force you to become anything in all the years that you shut yourself away? Why does mother still hold confidence in you despite your current, wretched state? It can take ages to become what you are to be, even when you are seeking it actively – and forcing your hand may ruin it forever. Fortunately – or unfortunately – we Dragons just so happen to live for exactly that long.”

The fresh layer of snow built up on the wall near their feet crumbled away, and the heads of two Vampire Brides popped up. Ilyshn’ish noted the magical bags over their shoulders as they finished scaling the wall – it seemed that there was finally enough to have them fly to Feoh Berkana. She and Hejinmal shook off the snow which had accumulated on them during the wait. The pair of Vampire Brides looked back and forth between them after finishing their task.

“What?” Ilyshn’ish looked down at the two Undead in return.

“Can he fit?”

Ilyshn’ish blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“The broken ventilation shafts leading into the city have been repaired or blocked off entirely in the past few days,” the Vampire Bride explained. “Can this fat one fit into the main access shaft leading down from the trading outpost?”

“Oh. Yes, he left through there the last time – it was a tight squeeze, though.”

“As long as he can fit, it shouldn’t be a problem,” the Vampire Bride said.

“Why are you asking?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“The surface outpost at Feoh Berkana is in poor condition,” the Vampire Bride answered. “We just started using it and it almost collapsed entirely. The ongoing work to clear the rubble and survey the damage has just started, and the road aboveground is clogged with traffic. We’re having air freight delivered directly to the city level instead.”

“So when we arrive, we immediately enter the city from the surface gate…but how does Hejinmal get back out again if all the traffic is going down?”

“Traffic is being directed manually for the time being. There are some...things that need to be delivered outside before you return here as well. The ones at the office on that end will have more specific instructions when you arrive.”

The Vampire Brides looked up expectantly – Ilyshn’ish supposed it was their cue to depart. Hejinmal pushed himself off of the wall, angling down into the valley far below to pick up speed. She shook her head and followed suit.

“Have a safe journey,” the Vampire Brides’ voices followed her swooping descent.

She caught up with Hejinmal within a minute and, after weaving new enchantments over him, they quickly rose high above the mountain passes where the caravans made their way back and forth below. Feoh Berkana, at their current speed, was roughly an hour away to the southwest – sitting at the crossroads between its three satellite cities. Together, they made up the entirety of the once-prosperous Dwarven Kingdom in the Azerlisia Mountains.

“Do they always say that, Hejinmal?”

“Hm?” Her brother looked her way, “Oh, you mean ‘have a safe journey?’ Yes, they always say that when we depart.”

“How peculiar,” Ilyshn’ish murmured. “Why is that?”

“Image…I guess? Something like advertising, or familiarity. I think the word Lady Shalltear used was ‘brando,’ whatever that means.”

“‘Brando’ – I don’t get it.”

“Well, uh…I suppose it’s sort of like this: what they’re doing here is something new, so they want to make as good as an impression as possible. All of the mannerisms, professional behaviour, appearance – I believe those Vampire Brides will all have uniforms soon – the offices that they work in…just all one package that portrays the service as something that is warm, reliable and distinctly recognizable.”

“You mean Brand?”

“B-brand?”

“This is what you get for never leaving your room,” Ilyshn’ish said. “You’ve read all the same things that I have, but you don’t have the experience to make sense out of what you read. If you had simply explored the city and referenced all the things that you read about, you would have some understanding as well. Brand is something like you’ve described: it is image – a carefully cultivated reputation attached to whatever symbolism you’ve adopted. Like the sign of a store, or how Dwarf crafters place their mark on finished tools and equipment, conveying a certain sense of quality and reliability for their goods to all who would see and use them.”

“Ah, I see…I do recall reading something like that, but I never made all the connections. I get it now, though.”

“No, you don’t,” Ilyshn’ish told him, “and you won’t until you actually see it for yourself. Even I don’t understand the full meaning, only the hallmarks of it by sifting through the ruins of Feoh Berkana. It is not too late, though. Now that the Dwarves are returning, we will be able to experience this thing as it happens.”

As she spoke, Hejinmal’s flight path started to slowly veer from her own.

“Where are you going?” Ilyshn’ish called after him, “It’s faster this way.”

“We were instructed to follow the roads for this – ah I guess you weren’t there. On top of helping deliver cargo back and forth, we’re supposed to keep an eye out on the road for any sort of trouble and help out if we see it. If it’s too much to handle, we’re to use the message scrolls we’ve been provisioned with to inform the nearest office.”

Ilyshn’ish grudgingly altered her course to match Hejinmal’s. She didn’t know what to think about helping out, though.

“A part of the brand they’re trying to establish, then…” She mused.

“Yes, something like that,” Hejinmal said. “Service, hospitality, friendliness – that sort of thing.”

“Does this hospitality and friendliness apply to Frost Giants?”

“F-Frost Giants?” Hejinmal’s course wobbled about as he whipped his head around wildly, as if trying to look in all directions at once, “Where?”

“Stop panicking, brother,” Ilyshn’ish snapped. “We’re far too high for them to do anything to us – why did you even look up? We’ve passed by three of them so far…ah, there’s number four.”

Crouching against the icy mountainside, within a stand of tall, snow-crowned trees, a large blue-skinned figure wearing a metal cap and a chain shirt over layers of hides observed the caravans making their way through the passes. It's only visible armament was an iron-tipped spear, roughly nine metres in length, lying flat on the snow. It seemed so intent on observing the traffic below that it did not realize that it was being observed from above in return.

“I don’t see anything…” Hejinmal continued to scan the terrain, but they had already long passed over the Frost Giant’s position.

“Are we supposed to do anything about them?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“I-I don’t know,” Hejinmal looked back up at her, “we never received any instructions about that. What can we do anyways? They’re Frost Giants!”

“Kill them?” Ilyshn’ish wasn’t sure what the problem was, “They’re pretty easy to pick off when they’re alone like that.”

“You’ve killed Frost Giants before, sister?”

“Pretty regularly. Once a month or so?”

Hejinmal stared at her with his right eye incredulously.

“Mmh…even so,” he finally said, “I don’t think we should. Are they going to cause any trouble?”

“They won’t,” Ilyshn’ish told him. “They’re just scouts watching what’s going on. Those Undead horses…”

“Soul Eaters.”

“Really? Those are Soul Eaters?” Ilyshn’ish peered down at the road – they were much smaller than she expected from what she had read of them. “Anyways, there are six Soul Eaters per caravan and each of them is much stronger than I am. It would probably take a whole tribe of Frost Giants to take even one caravan down…at least if they want to capture everything mostly intact.”

“Well, if they don’t plan on doing anything,” Hejinmal reasoned, “then I don’t see why we should either.”

Hejinmal’s logic was sound: there was really no merit in doing anything. It was a pointless detour, especially if her kin no longer called the Azerlisia range its home. Since the Frost Giants were no longer competitors; they were now someone else’s problem.

“Let’s begin our descent then,” Ilyshn’ish said, “Feoh Berkana should be around the next mountain.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 10

Chapter 10

They banked around the final ridge, and discovered Feoh Berkana’s trading outpost was most definitely not in the state that they had left it in. If not for the slow stream of traffic to the gates of the Dwarven capital, Ilyshn’ish would have believed that she had somehow ended up in the wrong place entirely. The Vampire Bride informed them that it was in poor condition, but this was decidedly a gross understatement.

The outpost – in reality a massive fortress that guarded the surface gates of the old Dwarven capital far larger than the one over Feoh Jura – stood no longer. Whether an inevitability of the relentless march of time, or resulting from the merciless assault of the elements, a large portion of the mountain face had been shed: taking most of the fortress with it. In the grey hours of the dawn, the imposing entryway to the capital lay oddly exposed to the open skies over a vast flow of broken stone that disappeared into the misty valleys below.

Ilyshn’ish cast a pointed look over at her brother.

“W-what?” Hejinmal said nervously.

“I was thinking about how you were probably the pebble that set off this avalanche.”

“No matter how round I appear, I’m still just a Dragon!” Her brother refuted the assertion, “Besides, weren’t you the last to leave?”

“And just what are you implying by that?”

“N-nothing, dear sister.”

The high mountain winds buffeted them along their descent, and they skimmed over the beginning of a long snarl of traffic on the mountain trail. Many of the Dwarves in the sleighs cried out and ducked their heads, but the Soul Eaters were unsatisfyingly unresponsive.

In the gaping chasm where the fortress once stood, an impromptu bridge composed of iron lengths spanned the distance to the gate. There was nowhere for Dragons to land but at the lip that remained before the access shaft so, rather than being redirected to the city proper, they really had no choice but to go straight in.

They circled over the gate until a Vampire Bride stopped the traffic long enough to create a space to land in. Hejinmal landed first, and Ilyshn’ish slipped into the tunnel after him. She did not release her enchantments, lest he cause a different sort of avalanche by losing strength and tumbling down the ramp. Somehow, she suspected that blame might be pinned on her, and she didn’t feel like experiencing whatever would result from that.

Ilyshn’ish was forced to stare at Heminjal’s rump for over an hour while the traffic trickled down, deep into the mountain. If not for Hejinmal’s rotund body, two-way traffic of the sleighs and even other Frost Dragons was possible, so she felt particularly subject to scrutiny as her brother created additional delays. It was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation, as Dragons generally did not worry about such things as inconveniencing others or being in the way. Ilyshn’ish wondered if some sort of strange magic was being worked over her, or it was simply her awareness of the world around her expanding as her personal experiences did.

They emerged from the shaft into the commercial quarter of Feoh Berkana, and a Vampire Bride called out to them.

“This way,” she said, waving a pale arm over her head.

They were guided to the old, half-collapsed remains of a merchant inn. Once a sturdy structure of solid stone and hardwood timber frames, the foraging of the Quagoa and the centuries since it last saw any maintenance had reduced it to a single floor. The tavern that occupied most of the main floor had been cleared of ruined furniture and scattered debris – the sturdy stone counter converted into a reception desk for the office while newly made shelves had been installed and filled with parcels. A pair of Vampire Brides retrieved the Infinite Haversacks from Ilyshn’ish and Hejinmal, placing them on the reception counter.

“There doesn’t seem to be enough room to store everything,” Hejinmal noted.

“Yes,” one of the Vampire Brides let out a small sigh. “Our deliveries are operating as scheduled, but the Dwarves utilizing our service appear to have no schedule to speak of. Since they have not picked up their parcels, we have filled the entire space that we initially thought would be suitable for our office.”

“They don’t want their treasures?” Ilyshn’ish furrowed her brow, “Why would they bother sending parcels over if they don’t plan on retrieving them?”

“The reason is not clear,” the Vampire Bride replied. “We’ve sent word of the delays but they only seem to get progressively worse. The queue of Soul Eaters outside is nearly a kilometre long, so we’ve made the recommendation to put deliveries from Feoh Jura on hold until whatever it is that’s causing the problem is resolved.”

Ilyshn’ish raised her head, stretching her neck to look out over the city street. While the sleighs continued to trickle in slowly, she could see the point further in where traffic had stalled entirely, clogging up the main thoroughfare and spilling into the side avenues and alleys. Distant shouts punctuated the air, bouncing off of the massive stone colonnades that spanned from the ceiling to the floor of the cavern. She strained her hearing to make out the dim echoes over the city, but could not piece together anything coherent.

“Does that mean we’re on standby until there’s room again?” Hejinmal asked, and Ilyshn’ish lowered her head to return to the conversation.

“Until either we negotiate more storage space,” the Vampire Bride replied, “or whatever is causing the delays is resolved, operations are at a standstill.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Hejinmal brightened. “Maybe we could get a bite to eat…dear sister, did you have anything stashed away nearby?”

“I do,” Ilyshn’ish said, “but you’re not getting any. You need to lose weight, dear brother.”

“Ehh…”

“Don’t ‘ehh…’ me. I have absolutely no desire to tail you forever.”

Ilyshn’ish looked around for a moment before turning to walk around the tavern towards an alley nearby.

“Where are you going?” The Vampire Bride asked

“Seeing what these Dwarves are up to,” Ilyshn’ish looked over the wall and back down at her. “You said we’re on hold for the time being, yes?”

“Well, if you can find out what’s going on…make sure you check back in an hour, just in case there are any new developments here.”

Ilyshn’ish didn’t bother replying, turning the corner into an alley and disappearing from view.

Rather than immediately altering her appearance, she found a good vantage from where she could quietly observe the slow buildup of Dwarves arriving in the city. The various stone busts, portraits and statues that remained around the old royal palace provided her with a good initial reference for their appearance, but, with so many new subjects on hand, she could refine it into a more personalized look that would better fit in with their kind.

While Ilyshn’ish seemed to have accurately estimated their height and stout stature, as well as most of their basic features, there were a few points on which she had clearly erred. Female Dwarves, for instance, did not have such long beards as the one she had emulated from an iconic bust in the Royal Palace, thinking it an outward sign of prestige. There was no such frosty blue hair colour either, so she would need to shorten the beard and alter the colours to match. Their complexion as a whole was far more rugged than she had estimated.

With nearly all of them wearing dull travelling garb rather than the lighter, refined, robes she was accustomed to using, she decided to simply fit in by using the same, ubiquitous fashion as the masses. Well, maybe she spruced things up just a bit – it would not do to be looked down upon.

Satisfied with her adjusted mental image, Ilyshn’ish wove her magic and a rather average looking Dwarf female with steely-blonde hair and a short beard walked out of the alley shortly after. There were already hundreds of Dwarves waiting in the streets, so the appearance of one more did not seem to draw any notice from anyone. Squeezing by several sleighs, she stopped when she came upon a bored-looking female Dwarf absently chewing on a piece of dried meat.

“Do you know what’s going on up ahead?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “This is getting to be quite the delay…”

She spoke in Dwarvish tongue, fearing that using her native Draconic would inevitably give her away if she used the wrong words or the translation came out strangely – this happened once, when she had tried mixing in with a group of Quagoa as a test for the magic. Hopefully, her speech appeared to be passable. The Dwarf woman looked down at her from her seat at the edge of the freight bed, and her dangling legs stopped swinging. She gave her a pointed once-over which made Ilyshn’ish straighten nervously.

“Fights’ve started at the gate into the residential quarter,” the Dwarf finally replied to her question. “It’s what’s come up the way, anyways.”

“Fights?” Ilyshn’ish frowned, “But we just got here.”

“You tell me,” the Dwarf snorted. “Finally come back after two centuries and you’d think things should be lookin’ up. But nope – first thing’s a half dozen idiots ‘bout to start a feud over who gets to move into their grandpappy’s place.”

Fighting over territory already? That did not make much sense to Ilyshn’ish. She did not know how many Dwarves there were, but if the abandoned and ruined satellite cities were any indicator, Feoh Berkana was much larger than Feoh Jura. If the Dwarf nation planned on reclaiming all of their cities, grinding to a halt in order to fight over the first sliver of territory that appeared before them was utterly foolish. Reasonable races would simply spread out over the area, and only compete for resources when there were none left.

“Just who is running things here?”

“People sent by the council – who it actually is, beats me,” the woman smirked. “Officials looked so proud too, telling us that we were coming back to start a new golden age…fah! The only thing’s started is a giant mess.”

“It can’t be all that bad,” Ilyshn’ish offered. “They’re probably just being s–”

She clamped her mouth shut: she was going to say stubborn, but Dwarves were notoriously so. Saying such an obvious thing would have probably attracted suspicion. Her lips parted, and she let out her breath in a huff.

“Stupid? You bet,” the woman appeared to have misread her. “You look like you’re from some rich and influential clan – maybe you could go up there and un-stupid them for us so we can all get on with our lives.”

Ilyshn’ish dipped her head slightly to the woman and slipped away before any more misunderstandings could occur. Her Blindsight still worked perfectly even while she appeared as a Dwarf, and she navigated through the otherwise-confusing snarl of sleds and bodies with minimal effort. The street grew more packed as she made her way forward, and she stopped beside a building when the shouting grew noticeably louder.

There was a Dwarf standing on a stone bench along the wall, running his gaze over the throng. He held a long-handled hammer and a tall shield, with a dark suit of plate mail and helm to match. His visor was raised; grim expression somewhere between annoyance and wary watchfulness.

“Is it getting worse?” Ilyshn’ish looked up at him.

“Hm? That’s…” His gaze flickered over her as he responded to her voice, “It might not be as bad as it seems, miss. Letting them stand there hurling insults at one another sure doesn’t help though.”

“What about the council? Who did they send?”

“The Cabinet Secretary’s men – tax thieves, if you ask me.”

“Did they do something to start all this?”

“They’ve put themselves in charge of everything that every other councillor isn’t,” he grunted and resumed his watch over the surroundings. “That’s why nothing works past this point: they’re so used to managing desperate refugees for generations that they thought they could just do the same when it comes to moving back in. Now that the people have grown a spine over their ancestral holdings, these spineless officials are powerless. All they’re good for is turning everything into a bureaucratic mess and blowing hot air.”

“But there’s so many waiting outside, and even more coming…”

“Then it looks like we’re going to have a lot of people sleeping wherever they are tonight.”

The man sighed and looked back down at her.

“Look, miss,” he said, “if your clan has any clout here, we’d all appreciate it if you’d help get things moving along.”

Ilyshn’ish bobbed her head and left the Dwarf to his watch, working her way further into the crowd.

Soon there were far fewer vehicles, and far more bodies where the mass of curious onlookers observed the ongoing altercation. The expressions around her were varied: some were amused, others expectant. A sizable portion crossed their arms in grim silence with uncertain looks on their faces.

The six-way shouting match continued between the Dwarves in front of the gate, and a row of more expensively-dressed ones – whom she assumed to be the Cabinet Secretary’s men – attempted to intervene with exasperated expressions and no success.

“How long has this been going on for?” Ilyshn’ish asked when she came near to the edge of the crowd.

An elderly Dwarf to the front turned at the sound of her voice, and his eyes widened in shock upon seeing her.

“Oh…” he said weakly, placing a grizzled hand over his chest.

His mouth continued to work silently and she furrowed her brow at his reaction. The aged Dwarf turned away. Why did these people keep reacting like this? She lightly brushed her stubby fingers through her hair to make sure she hadn’t accidentally left her horns on her head or something.

“Too long,” another Dwarf muttered to the side, gaze fixed to the continuing argument. “They need to just drag them off to the side and have them figure this out elsewhere. Well, I guess that’d only help until the next group of louts comes in with conflicting claims.”

“Then why don’t they? There’s plenty of free space in the city.”

“Because it’s the Cabinet Secretary’s men,” he said. “If it was the Commander, he’d have hauled their asses off instantly. There’s just too few soldiers now, though. What little we had in Feoh Jura’s now split between keeping order between two cities.”

“You work for the Commander?”

“Yep, was my turn to get the missus and the kids moved in…now this.” He motioned into the air at nothing in particular as the argument rose in volume again, “The Council’s served well enough in holding things together, I guess, but now that we’re reclaiming our Kingdom, what we need is a King. It’s the King that all the families – all the clans – ultimately answer to, and the Secretary of the King’s Cabinet won’t be able maintain a regency forever.”

“But the Royal House…”

“Vanished with the Demon Gods, I know,” he sighed. “That’s the catch, ain’t it?”

Ilyshn’ish shook her head. Dwarves were silly beyond belief. If they needed a ruler, then they should just have the strongest rule over them. If anyone disputed that rule, they could just challenge it. As for the argument in front of her…it had a simple enough solution.

By all appearances, each seemed to assert their precedence by listing off the lineage which connected them to their ancestor, followed by any achievements and feats by said lineage that might earn them the distinction of being considered the most prominent branch of the family. The louder, it seemed, the better – but Ilyshn’ish believed she would only need to be heard.

“Can’t ya get this through your thick skull of yers, cousin? My pa’s Radur, son of Thondin, son of–”

“Bomor, son of Malvur, of clan Cragbeard,” Ilyshn’ish’s voice sounded clearly over the street in front of the gatehouse.

The six arguing Dwarves, the Cabinet Secretary’s officials, as well as nearly the entire crowd all at once turned their attention towards her. It took everything she had to not rear up and fly away beneath their sudden scrutiny.

“That’s right, miss,” the Dwarf she interrupted nodded. “You got something to add so we can finally get things sorted here?”

“I do,” she replied. “You are all descended from Thondin, son of Bomor, yes?”

“Well…I got my doubts about some of these lizards,” he said, and the others reacted poorly at his jab, “but let’s just say that we are one way or another, hm?”

“Two hundred years ago,” she said, “during the siege of Feoh Berkana by the Demon Gods, Thondin was an honoured Captain of the Palace Guard – charged with the defence of the eastern approaches.”

As one, the arguing Dwarves straightened, chests and heads held high at the recounting of their grandfather’s tale.

“That’s something we all know, miss,” one of them said. “You got something else to break this stalemate?”

“On the second night of the Demon Gods’ assault, the King himself happened to come across Thondin: abandoning his post. He was attempting to flee the city, even as the civilians he was charged with protecting were still being evacuated. By royal decree, Thondin, son of Bomor was stripped of his rank and title – his line exiled from the Kingdom for his craven conduct in Feoh Berkana’s greatest hour of need.”

The soldiers at the gate to the residential quarter immediately snapped to attention, purposely striding forward to apprehend the six descendants of the cowardly guardsman. The air exploded into a cacophony of Dwarf voices: an endless rain of angry curses and vehement insults that mercilessly pelted them.

“You…you bitch!” One of the Dwarves pressed down to the street shouted, “How dare you! Our grandfather was a Hero – A HERO! He stood with our King, to defend the people! You and all of your kin will pay for this slander!”

The ire of the crowd was subdued somewhat. The soldiers still kept their hold on their captives, however, and the Cabinet Secretary’s men looked towards her.

“Is it not written?” Ilyshn’ish answered their collective, unspoken, question simply.

The officials exchanged glances, and one of them retrieved a large sack from the ground nearby, placing it on a large table. From it, he pulled forth tome after tome – nearly all of them Ilyshn’ish immediately recognized as a part of her own hoard. She suppressed the urge to snatch them back as everyone awaited the answer. He finally brought out the tome in question that she had referenced, carefully flipping through it to find the record. All eyes were on the official, breaths held, as he silently mouthed the venerated Dwarven histories before relaying his findings.

“It’s true. Every single detail is as she said. Just how…”

The Dwarf’s words faded away as he looked back up towards the mysterious figure, but she was nowhere to be found.

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Ilyshn’ish dispelled her invisibility in an alley several blocks away, distancing herself from the crowded main streets of the city before she resumed her wanderings.

She walked out onto a nearly empty avenue of the commercial quarter, strolling by the shops and various establishments that once served the ancient Dwarf metropolis. As with the decrepit merchant inn where the Vampire Brides were posted, these buildings, too, were in a similar state of ruin. Dwarven architecture had a widespread reputation for their pragmatic and durable design, but even these structures could not withstand an era of neglect – especially with the Quagoa long having the opportunity to strip everything bare.

Anything resembling valuable minerals, ores or metals had been gnawed away. Any obstructions to anything that they perceived as nourishment for their young had been broken down and cast aside. Extravagant pieces of furniture lay in pieces, torn apart for their metal supports and fastenings, while finely sculpted pieces of stonework had their decorative veins consumed. The quarter looked nothing more than having been subjected to an army of giant, stone-eating termites.

Ilyshn’ish came upon a Dwarf with his belongings piled about him, the Soul Eater which had delivered them disappearing around the corner. His grim gaze ran over the demolished storefront before him before settling on a broken signboard lying on cracked streets with a sigh.

“Is something wrong?” She asked from a short distance behind him.

“Naw, nothing like that. This…” His voice slowed to a pause as he turned to reply, and he cleared his throat, “My family’s place has seen Demon Gods, Dragons, Quagoa and gods knows what else. I’m just thankful that there’s anything left at all.”

“It looks like a lot of work for just yourself,” she looked over his lair again.

Demolished was putting it lightly. The remains of the storefront was all that seemed to be left, with the rest collapsed into itself and caked over with decades of ice.

“Hmph, a little bit ‘o work ain’t nothin’,” he smirked, and his thick red beard waggled as he spoke. “Give me a bit ‘o time and she’ll be looking good as new.”

He pulled the thick winter mittens off of his hands and brushed them off briefly.

“Can’t say I’ll be doing much business till then,” he extended a hand towards her, “but welcome to my shop. Flint Firebrand – this here’s my family’s old store.”

She stared at his proffered hand as he introduced himself. The Dwarves had simple, nearly meaningless names: certainly nothing like rich Draconic ones. Ilyshn’ish, on the other hand, had no name that she wished to share with anyone. The Dwarf's expression of greeting faltered at her delay, so she quickly reached out and clasped his hand.

“Thank you, Flint Firebrand,” she fixed a smile on her face, “My name is…Shiver.”

“Shiver?” Flint raised a bushy eyebrow as he shook her hand, “A stage name, then?”

“Yes, precisely,” she nodded. “I am a minstrel.”

“Ye don’t say? Well, there ain’t been much cause for song in the past few decades, but things’re really turning ‘round now. I take it you’ve come as one of the first to reclaim our history.”

“Rather than seeking the histories,” Ilyshn’ish’s lips turned up with the hint of a smile, “I am more interested in witnessing the living history that is unfolding before our very eyes. It is a rare thing to be a part of such moments in time – I can always review the things of the past at my leisure.”

“Hah!” Flint roared, and Ilyshn’ish barely caught herself from jumping up in surprise, “Well spoken! I’m sure a fine lass like yerself will be welcome anywhere you go. I’ll be keeping an eye out around the taverns for ya.”

“How long until you think until they’re open?” She asked.

“As soon as they get the taps flowing, probably,” he answered. “The Brewmaster’s on top of his game when it comes to this sort of thing. Bunch of the Regency Council are, really. Now that they got the chance to show their stuff, they’re really throwing themselves into it.”

“So that’s why it seems so much more orderly on this side,” she murmured quietly. “What about the Secretary of the King’s Cabinet? There’s quite a chaotic scene in front of the residential quarter right now.”

The storekeeper scratched his beard and cocked his head slightly, but they were too far to make anything out beyond the general din floating over the city. Only the sounds of nearby restoration efforts could be clearly heard.

“Can’t be helped, I suppose,” he said at length. “The Secretary heads the ministers in the King’s Cabinet, but ya can’t truthfully say that it’s the same government as the days before the Demon Gods. You can clearly see that they’ve been holding things together for all these years, but maybe it was outta sheer desperation that people followed their lead. Now, with the reclamation underway, there’s probably a lotta pride and history and hot blood in the mix. Maybe they’ll get a handle on it eventually, but that won’t happen as long as things stay as they are.”

“It...it won’t become anything bad, will it?” Ilyshn’ish said worriedly.

“Probably not – the other parts of the Regency Council are runnin’ just fine. If anything, it’s probably just all the excitement getting to everyone’s heads. I get that people want to move in right the hell away, but seeing that they sent men to take a look around first, the council should’ve known what needed to be done first. They coulda sorted things out in Feoh Jura while that all got done, but maybe it just all happened so fast that they had no time to think things through…I doubt it’ll stay this way after their getting a taste o’ this first batch.”

“I see,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Well, thank you for your time, Flint Firebrand. I should let you get back to your work.”

“Yer welcome at my shop any time, miss.”

Ilyshn’ish bobbed her head as he smiled at her – were Dwarves even supposed to bob their heads? It seemed a common thing with humanoids, at least – and continued on her way.

She zigzagged through the streets and avenues, witnessing many of the same scenes repeated over and again. Soul Eaters dropped off their passengers and cargo, while men and women went to work on restoring the old, broken lairs that belonged to their families before the fall of the city. Crossing through into the industrial quarter, she found that things were a bit different.

Instead of various families arriving to each fix up the remains of their own ancestral properties, she saw that large teams of Dwarves had been organized for a concerted effort to get each facility up and running again in turn. Just inside the gate, in front of a large warehouse, a finely-dressed Dwarf with a thick, overflowing beard braided in gold bands stood in front of a small group of his fellows.

“We got another urgent order for nails, Guildmaster,” one of them spoke up over the ruckus. “Brewmaster again. He wants to know when we’re ready to get parts for furniture made as well.”

Ilyshn’ish’s steps slowed. According to the ancient texts in the capital, the Guildmaster was one of the prominent members of Dwarven society: a leading member of their ruling council. With the opportunity to finally get her first clear glimpse of a living Dwarf Lord, she decided that there was not much to them: this one was just a slightly wealthier-looking Dwarf who directed those around him, similar to how Quagoa Lords behaved.

“Damn that idiot,” the Guildmaster groused. “Does he think we can start churning things out the second we move in? How’s the Ironforge Foundry looking?”

“Still a long way – they’ve just finished making sure the area’s cleaned up and ready for the overhaul. Well, less an overhaul and more a complete rebuild: those Quagoa really left no nail uneaten. We got most of what we need together, but it’ll be weeks yet until the furnaces are lit: we’re setting up several dozen temporary smelters and forges in the meantime.”

“They’re going as fast as they can then,” the Dwarf Lord grunted. “We’re gonna have to lean on Feoh Jura until we get at least two or three of these big jobs done. The masons and carpenters – how are they doing out in the city?”

“The ones we have so far are already out and about doing what they can,” a different Dwarf replied. “All the shops are wrecked – we need more hands out here. Which genius decided to try to be nice and fair to everyone again?”

“Heh, that’d be the Cabinet Secretary’s people: think they can play all the sides and ignore priorities. If the Forgemaster was still around he might have been able to knock some sense into them before all this…well, no point whining ‘bout it. There anything else we can do to make things go faster? What about transport?”

“Nothing to complain about there, all things considered. Everything’s been precisely on schedule – well, until everything else clogged up. Now, all we can expect is that everything comes in in order. I sent out a man to request that they expedite delivery of some riding lizards to help move all this debris away: no idea how they’ll do that, though. The storm outside will freeze ‘em solid in the passes…”

The discussion faded into the distance as Ilyshn’ish continued further into the quarter. With all of the Dwarves’ efforts focused on one or two complexes, the rest of the Industrial Quarter was eerily silent. The buildings, mostly centred around the metalworking industries of the city, had been the focus of the Quagoa’s predations. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that the place had been chewed to the ground.

The Dwarf that spoke near the warehouse was right: rather than restoring the old industrial buildings, they would need to be rebuilt from scratch. Having been born in the city, Ilyshn’ish personally witnessed its slow decline over the decades. To the Dwarves – who had been away for centuries – however, it must have been quite the shock to see their old metropolis eaten to rubble.

The next set of Dwarves she encountered were all the way at the end of the avenue leading through the quarter. Three soldiers stood guard at the gate to the Royal Quarter of the city. Their eyes followed her approach, but they did not speak until she came within ten metres of the gate.

“Halt,” the officer standing in the middle of the road ordered. “By order of the Regency Council, no one’s to enter the Palace Quarter without express permission.”

I’ve just come to take a look at my old home.

A part of her wanted to say that to the soldiers at the gate, just to see how they reacted. Despite the often-unpleasant mix of memories that came with the place, she had lived in the palace of Feoh Berkana for nearly a century. It had been her lair for her entire life. The soldiers watched her as she stopped to stand before them, leaning on axes that stood up to their chests, but they did not move in any aggressive manner. Ilyshn’ish felt safe enough to speak from a distance.

“I’m just a minstrel, come to see with my own eyes this great homecoming,” she said. “To see the city, and what has happened since the time of the Demon Gods.”

The soldiers relaxed somewhat, eyeing her appraisingly.

“A minstrel, huh,” the officer’s voice lost its gruff tone. “Well, it’s good that you’re here, but our orders stand: no one in or out of the quarter, without express permission, until further notice.”

It seemed that they were at an impasse. Up to this point, the Dwarves seemed to be quite open with her for whatever reason, but the soldiers before her stood firm. It would be a simple matter to bypass them by going over the wall elsewhere, but the various interactions that had led her to this point left Ilyshn’ish with the feeling that witnessing the thoughts and reactions of the people were more important than just looking around.

She reviewed events in her memory, seeking a way to fish out some sort of response to start a dialogue.

“Does it have anything to do with that smell?” She wrinkled her nose as she spoke, and the soldiers frowned.

“Dammit,” one of the men to the side said, “we told those idiot officials that they needed those vents open to keep things aired out, but they only care about getting the temperature raised. We’re Dwarves, for crying out loud – a little bit of cold won’t kill us while we wait for the furnaces to be rebuilt.”

“What in the world is it?”

“It was a battle,” the officer said. “Quagoa parts and blood all over the grand promenade and all the statues and buildings along the way. The cabinet ministers keeled right over when they first saw it on the way to the palace. That Sorcerer King did a hell of a number on those vermin…I can’t even imagine what he did.”

“Well, the city is getting warmer like the officials wanted,” Ilyshn’ish noted, “and the crowds coming in are getting ripe themselves, being pressed together in the streets and all. Are we going to have to deal with some incredible stench going forward?”

“Ah, no, that particular part you don’t have to worry about,” the officer replied. “Some gentleman from the Sorcerous Kingdom appeared and kindly offered to collect all the, uh, chunks for us. Said he could use the meat for his livestock or something. Should be long gone by now, but we’re still dealing with all the stains – gotta get things cleaned up before all the rich folks start making their way in.”

“That’s the reason why the quarter has been barred?”

“For the most part, yeah,” the officer admitted. “Can’t have some clan patriarch walking in and finding out that his family’s mansion’s got a fresh coat of Quagoa paint, and can’t have anyone else coming in before they get their house guards set up to protect their precious property. Hmm…you’re not part of some big clan head, are you? I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before…”

“As I said,” Ilyshn’ish smiled disarmingly, “I’m just a minstrel. We’ve certainly never met – I’m sure I would remember it. How long until the Palace Quarter is open for visitors again? I’ve heard so many things about it: is everything they say true?”

“Everything and more,” the officer nodded, “well, minus the Quagoa splattered all over the place. Should be open for all to see and pay their respects to the Royal Family in a couple of weeks or so.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, there’s much to see elsewhere still. I hear the Brewmaster is working hard to get the taverns open soon too, so things should pick up before then.”

The soldiers brightened at the prospect she presented. Their stern expressions from when she had been called to stop had completely melted away.

“That’s some welcome news, miss,” the officer said, and the soldiers nodded. “Can’t wait to get that first mug in the capital – maybe we’ll run into you sometime too.”

Ilyshn’ish merely continued smiling and nodded before turning back the way she had come. She walked back through the Industrial Quarter; past the Guildmaster and his men at the warehouse. She returned through the streets of the Commercial Quarter that were slowly filling with buildup of incoming traffic. Entering an alley not far from the ruined building where the Vampire Brides were posted, Ilyshn’ish slowed to a stop after sensing that a Dwarf had slipped in behind her.

“Is there something I can do for you?” She asked without turning around.

The sound of iron-shod boots scraped over the stones as the figure stopped. Some time passed before the Dwarf replied.

“I-is it really you?”

Ilyshn’ish frowned at the unexpected answer. She spun on her heel to face the source of the voice, and found the elderly Dwarf who had reacted so strangely before she ended the altercation at the gate to the Residential Quarter. His reaction now was no less pronounced – if anything, it was even more so. He took in her appearance and let out a choked sob, falling to his knees.

“By all of the gods,” he said between shuddering breaths. “Why? How?”

Ilyshn’ish scowled down at the old Dwarf – she hoped that no one would appear and cause problems over this odd sight.

“What do you mean by why?”

“No, of course. I know…I know…but…” The Dwarf lowered his head down over the pebbles in the alley, “You’ve come for vengeance – for me! Please…my sons have done nothing wrong, neither have my grandsons. Take my soul if you want, but please have mercy on my line.”

Looking down at the shiny bald head and the wisps of dry, white, hair, Ilyshn’ish finally pieced together the mystery that accompanied her wanderings through Feoh Berkana. Many disparate things had converged: threads through time that had intersected and twisted together to create this insignificant, yet remarkable, incident. Sheer coincidence in the eyes of many, perhaps, but Ilyshn’ish knew: the world expressed its will in unfathomable ways, and fate was often delivered from an unexpected hand.

“Leave this place, Thondin, son of Bomor,” she told him quietly. “What’s done is done. I cannot change the past for you – nor can I forgive you for it.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“You’re late,” the Vampire Bride at the reception desk said in admonishing tones.

“…did anything happen?”

“No, but you’re still late. The mistress says that we must strive to maintain punctual operations.”

The Vampire Bride picked up her clipboard from the stone counter and produced a pen. She looked up at Ilyshn’ish, who had reassumed her Dragony self after sending the old Dwarf away and finding a new place out of view.

“What did you find out?” The Vampire Bride asked, awaiting Ilyshn’ish’s report.

“That Dwarves are stubborn, prideful and mired in traditions and history that they themselves have half-forgotten,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “That they are not as honourable as they might pretend to be – a few of them seem a bit more sensible than the rest, though.”

“That does not help with our present circumstances in any way.”

Though the Vampire Bride said that, her pen didn’t stop moving, continuing to scrawl notes in some unknown language.

“I might have given them a slight nudge,” Ilyshn’ish said offhandedly, “for all the good it will do for anyone. They’re currently disputing the ownership of their lairs, and their masters did not prepare the appropriate measures to manage them properly. It’s only a matter of time before things grind to a halt again, if it hasn’t already.”

“Let’s have some details,” the Vampire Bride tapped her pen on the clipboard. “Perhaps Lady Shalltear will be able to do something about this.”

Ilyshn’ish’s tongue twitched, and the flesh beneath her scales prickled.

“L-Lady Shalltear is coming? Now?”

“We’ve relayed a request for an expedited delivery through the set of Frost Dragons that left before you arrived,” the Vampire Bride replied. “They should have arrived at Feoh Jura by now.”

Ilyshn’ish relayed her findings to the Vampire Bride, who recorded her words without pause. She omitted the meeting in the alley, however – it seemed to matter little in regards to the business at hand.

“You managed to do all of that in just over an hour?” Hejinmal marveled, “That’s amazing, sister.”

“Considering that I'm a Bard, brother, it shouldn’t be,” Ilyshn’ish sniffed. “What have you been doing this entire time?”

“Um…chatting with the office staff?” Hejinmal offered shyly, “Getting stared at by all the passing Dwarves, too, if that counts for anything. You’d think they’d have seen a Dragon before, as long as they live.”

The Vampire Bride cleared her throat from the reception counter to the side.

“Is there anything else to report?” She asked, “The more information we have to work with, the better.”

“That’s all that pertains to this matter,” Ilyshn’ish replied, “unless you want every piece of idle conversation and gossip that came within range of my hearing for the last hour.”

Before the Vampire Bride could respond, a dark hole appeared in the yard in front of the converted office. A dozen giant lizards spilled out, followed by a pair of Dwarf handlers. Lady Shalltear stepped through at the last, stopping to look over the Dwarves and their unsettled livestock.

The sight of them reminded Ilyshn’ish that she hadn’t eaten for at least a week. When was the last time she had some lizard?

“Do you know your way from here?” Lady Shalltear asked them.

“Erm…no,” one of the Dwarves answered as they checked over their animals, “but we got a map – should be able to figure it out.”

Lady Shalltear extended an arm, pointing her gloved hand down the mostly empty road branching out from the main thoroughfare filled with cargo sleds waiting to get into the Residential Quarter.

“This delivery was requested by the Merchant Guildmaster,” she said. “He should be at the gate of the Industrial Quarter. The road here will lead you straight to him.”

“That so?” The Dwarf handler said as he gathered up the reins of his lizards. “Well, thank ye kindly, miss: you’ve saved us a lot of trouble. Don’t know how we could have packed these fellows up in this weather.”

Lady Shalltear smiled as they waved and went on their way, then she turned and headed straight into the office.

“Thank you for your hard work, Lady Shalltear,” the Vampire Brides lined up and bowed in greeting.

“Are we making any headway here?” She asked, “we’ve slowed down departures on our end, but that just means all the traffic is piling up in Feoh Jura instead. The Dwarves keep bringing more and more things to the surface, despite being informed of the changes.”

The receptionist stepped forward to offer the information collected by Ilyshn’ish to her mistress, who scanned them over briefly.

“Whose work is all this?” She peered suspiciously at the three Vampire Brides, “You haven’t left your post to wander around, I hope.”

They violently shook their heads in unison, and the receptionist quickly provided an answer.

“Number Nineteen went into the city to find out what she could, since her flight is currently delayed.”

“Number Nineteen…” Lady Shalltear’s crimson gaze went from one Frost Dragon to the other, then wrinkled her nose. “Oh, the obscene one. Well, I guess she’s at least showing more use.”

Lady Shalltear seated herself behind the stone counter, poring over the notes again. After several minutes, she produced a scroll from a hole in the air before her.

“「Message」.”

The parchment vanished in a flash of vivid azure flame, and Ilyshn’ish watched as Lady Shalltear went through a curious sequence of expressions. The pen in hand scratched over the notes presented and, after several minutes, she rose with a smile on her face.

“We will be altering the schedule according to the changes written here,” she said as she looked over to Ilyshn’ish and Hejinmal. “You two: with me – break time’s over.”

They flew up after Lady Shalltear as she streaked towards the cavern ceiling high above Feoh Berkana. She stopped to hover near one of the ventilation shafts over the Industrial Quarter that had been blocked off.

“This one should be good enough, I think…” Lady Shalltear murmured as she looked down to the city below.

The Vampire placed a hand on the colossal boulder stopping up the shaft and moved forward. There was little other way to describe it: the tiny figure advanced and the boulder – that must have been four times the mass of their father – appeared to have no choice but to advance with her. It scraped forward with no discernible effort on Lady Shalltear's part.

A few seconds later, a great amount of debris tumbled down the mountain face and the stale air from within the cavern blasted past them and into the gloomy morning skies.

“Our service will be using this shaft to access the city until further notice,” Lady Shalltear said. “Head back to Feoh Jura – the cargo schedule should be reorganized to resume deliveries by the time you arrive.”

Ilyshn’ish and Hejinmal resumed their work, and the day continued uneventfully: Frost Dragon flights to and from Feoh Jura and Feoh Berkana were proceeding smoothly with the newly adjusted schedule.

Smoothly…wait – wait a minute…

Ilyshn’ish grew annoyed as she considered what she was doing. This was certainly not something she had volunteered to do, she was just packed away and the events of the past few days simply swept her along. The idea that she had developed a sense for what qualified as ‘smooth operations’ for their tasks annoyed her even further. Was she really that airheaded, to simply go with the flow without realizing it?

She needed to find a way out of her predicament. She didn’t want a broom closet as a lair, nor did she want to be stuck with this damnably insidious routine. How long would they be doing this for, anyways? Until all of Feoh Jura had been emptied? At one point she heard that there were a hundred thousand Dwarves packed in the satellite city somehow, and considering the whole day had barely moved a thousand…well, she did not want to be stuck flying her brother back and forth for months.

Ilyshn’ish eyed the frantically flapping form of Hejinmal behind her: truly, there was nothing graceful or majestic about the image he portrayed.

“How long are we going to be doing this for, brother?” Ilyshn’ish asked after they leveled off from yet another departure from Feoh Berkana, “I heard that this was being done as a gesture of goodwill to the Dwarves as well: everything we’re doing is free of charge or obligation.”

“As long as it takes, as far as I know,” Hejinmal answered. “It shouldn’t take more than a month or two? After that, the service will be operating regularly along the routes within the Sorcerous Kingdom, in addition to some friendly destinations like Arwintar and the Dwarf cities.”

“So you’re saying that they plan on having us do this indefinitely?” Ilyshn’ish turned an eye to him with a furrowed brow, “What do we even get for this?”

“They subjugated the enclave, sister. I don’t think we get anything – we have to do what they want.”

"That sounds suspiciously like slavery, Hejinmal. Didn’t you say it was illegal?"

"Well, there are rules and then there are rules, sister,” Hejinmal did not sound like he cared either way. “You know how it is."

Indeed she did, but it did not make her feel any better about it. The others appeared so resigned to their fates that even acting for one’s own freedom felt like it would result in their turning against her – actually, they did just that a few days ago.

“You must have some different rules, brother, seeing how damnably upbeat you are all the time now.”

“That’s, uh, hmm…that’s technically true, I guess?”

“Technically? What are you on about?”

A pair of Frost Dragons crossed their path, flying a few hundred metres below them in the opposite direction. They did not even meet her gaze; she wondered if they even registered her presence. If they continued the way they were, inevitably some predator would end them.

The storm over the mountains grew worse, but it mattered little to a Frost Dragon. Ilyshn’ish sliced through the razor winds and blinding snows with no more difficulty than she would through a gentle spring shower: it was perfect hunting weather for many of the powerful beings that made inclement frozen climes their home.

She looked down to the rugged slopes below: most of the Frost Giants she had marked over their many journeys back and forth were still there, and they could see through the storm just as easily as Frost Dragons could. The Dwarf migration was quite the curiosity – she was sure many other denizens of the Azerlisia Ranges had taken note – but the Frost Giant clans were the only force that was probably capable of waylaying the caravans laden with the Dwarves and their precious cargo. It would take a powerful group of them, however, and whether such a great raid would be assembled was not something a Frost Giant scout could alone decide.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t killed any recently. Usually, she would get rid of one or two who became too brave or careless and the rest would lay low for a while. Without their main competition vying for dominance over the territory, it was probably just a matter of time before they moved against the Dwarves. She wondered if the Sorcerous Kingdom would do anything after the fact.

“Are you going to stop waffling and finally answer me?” She growled back at Hejinmal, who continued to remain silent as he followed her through the storm. “What happened to you? I’m starting to think that mother was right about your strange behavior.”

“Well, uh…I was actually the first of us to meet the Sorcerer King,” Hejinmal said. “Father actually sent me out to deal with him.”

“Deal with him?” Ilyshn’ish narrowed her eyes, “Negotiation is not the first option father would ever choose.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Hejinmal laughed nervously, “he sent me out to kill the intruders.”

“He sent you out to fight?” Ilyshn’ish scoffed, “It seems father was an idiot in more ways than mother described. I assume you just tried talking this Sorcerer King’s ear off like you do with anyone whenever you get in a pinch.”

“Er…pretty much, but the Sorcerer King just started casting something at me as soon as I asked what he was doing.”

“I see…I didn’t realize my brother had become Undead since we last met. I’ve read that the Undead aren’t prone to bouts of extreme emotion like the living, so I suppose things make sense now. If it’s any consolation, you’re very lifelike still, Undead brother.”

“Yes, I’ve read that as well. Though I guess we did read all the same stuff, after all – no, wait, I'm not Undead! Really, sister, don’t just kill me off like that.”

“Alright, what happened, then?”

“Ah, well…after a brief discussion, I agreed to take him to meet father and, along the way, he gave me to Lady Aura – a Ranger vassal of his – and I sort of became a pet.”

They banked with the bend in the mountain road while Ilyshn’ish tried to make sense out of what Hejinmal had just said.

“A pet…” The words finally sunk in.

“Ehe.”

“What do you mean by ‘Ehe’!?”

Seventy-two frozen faces snapped up to look towards them as her shout rolled over the sleds passing far below.

Unbelievable.

Simply incomprehensible!

Her brother, a pet? There were many things one could strive for, but this was something that Ilyshn’ish was quite certain stood as a first in the histories of the world. Dragons often achieved fame or infamy, but Hejinmal just ignored both to aim straight for ignominy.

“I believed that you had at least some ambition, brother,” Ilyshn’ish spat. “How could you simply roll over and become someone’s belonging!”

“I don’t believe my ambitions really mattered there,” Hejinmal replied. “It just happened, and I had no choice.”

“Fah!”

“Plus, by being useful to them,” her brother continued, “I was able to save mother and the rest before the Sorcerer King decided to just kill them all. It’s not as if my ambitions changed in the end, anyways – I wanted to leave and see the world after learning all that I could; my schedule was just advanced slightly.”

“Hmph. Seeing the world as a delivery Dragon is not what I had in mind when it came to the future.”

“A delivery Dragon…that sounds pretty catchy, sister,” Ilyshn’ish threw him an annoyed look, and he hurriedly spoke again. “B-besides, this work means we can see the world without worrying for our safety as we would otherwise. Also, as Lady Aura's pet, there are all sorts of other perks. She has many abilities that can reinforce us and enhance our performance, like your magic does…no that’s not quite right…”

“Our? Don’t tell me that the rest of the enclave now belongs to her as well. No – they’re not insufferably upbeat like you are, and it wouldn’t be Lady Shalltear directing things if so…”

“No, I was referring to all the others like me – the magical beasts and such who are also Lady Aura’s pets. Maybe if you joined, you’d also–”

“Oh spare me, brother!” Ilyshn’ish cut him off, “If I ever gain an interest in this circus you’ve become a part of, it will be as a spectator – you’ll never catch me becoming some Ranger’s lap lizard.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The work with the Dwarven migration continued for weeks, and Ilyshn’ish no longer considered their work slavery – it was nowhere near as nice a thing as that.

While the Vampire Brides posted at every office had a sort of cordial working relationship with the Frost Dragons, she felt that, as a whole, they were all simply used as livestock with a convenient set of traits rather than anything like a sort of skilled and intelligent slave. They were simply exploited for everything they had, with little regard for anything. They didn’t need to eat due to their accessories, so they worked. There was no sickness and injuries just regenerated, so they worked. Active Dragons did not need sleep in the first place, so they worked. All of the natural advantages of their kind – their strength, speed, resilience and endurance – had become a curse rather than a blessing.

The Quagoa slaves that the Frost Dragons kept during Olasird’arc’s reign were at least granted relative freedom when not set to various tasks: they were allowed to send their people wherever they pleased in the mountains, waging wars and expanding their quaint little empire – basically everything was allowed as long as they paid their dues and did not challenge the authority of their masters.

On the other hand, Ilyshn’ish’s life delivering parcels back and forth was nothing but pure drudgery: an endless schedule that spared them no reprieve on the job and little freedom. They were allowed a single day to reassemble their wits in whatever cramped accommodations that could be found for them. At all other times, they were flying back and forth endlessly on their routes: all day and all night for a week straight.

No, not even livestock was treated like this. It was more like they were being treated like the Undead servitors that pulled cargo overland in a similar manner…or perhaps like the unfeeling, lifeless constructs that the Dwarves had once employed to defend their royal palace in Feoh Berkana.

Maybe working us to death is the actual goal.

Ilyshn’ish mulled over this idea for a minute or two: it probably wouldn’t happen, given the ubiquitous trappings of efficiency that they had all been equipped with. They had been simply made as close to Undead as possible, and ruthlessly worked in the same fashion. With Hejinmal as insufferably upbeat as he was due to his ‘condition’, Ilyshn’ish wanted to ask her other broodmates how they felt about the whole arrangement. Since the problems of the first day, however, they never stopped for long enough for other flights to catch up to them.

She brooded darkly on the wall of the Feoh Jura outpost beside her brother, thinking about the upcoming ‘day off’ that would be arriving shortly. The first two of these days had been in makeshift sheds set up in this same outpost, amidst the hustle and bustle of everything. Sleep was impossible and she was barred entry into the Dwarf city, so the entire day was spent staring mindlessly at the endless procession of Dwarves and their cargo being moved out of the city and onwards to Feoh Berkana.

“Have I lost weight, sister?” Hejinmal asked while posing and sucking in his gut.

“A bit,” Ilyshn’ish replied absently, flicking a chunk of ice off of the wall with a foreclaw.

“Oh, that’s great! Perhaps we could celebrate with some deer or elk or nuk–”

“No.”

“B-but we haven’t eaten for weeks! This can’t be healthy.”

“Healthy?” Ilyshn’ish forced herself to look at Hejinmal’s corpulent form, “At this rate, we’ll need to starve you for another year or so before you even look remotely healthy.”

“Eh…”

“Come to think of it,” she added, “I should just stop throwing so many enchantments on you. That way you’ll melt off more of that fat faster. Even with us getting quicker over these past few weeks, all it results in is more work anyways. Lady Shalltear was giving us that funny look again when we nearly overtook the flight ahead of us last time.”

Hard work, as she had discovered, merely resulted in more work. Initially, they had been assigned with a rather languid schedule due to their dismal expectations for Hejinmal’s performance. It was so infuriatingly slow that she used her magic to assume a more sane pace. She reasoned that, since they would come in ahead of schedule, they would have longer breaks between each delivery…yet, within a day, they had been moved to the regular schedule that all of the other Frost Dragons were using.

Lady Shalltear had a calculating look on her face just before this happened, then she had come before them personally with a beaming smile on her face that looked far too nice.

“Your duties have been expanded,” the Vampire told them, “isn’t that wonderful?”

Another Infinite Haversack was strapped onto her, and Lady Shalltear looked up like she had just bestowed a medal on a hero. Now, Lady Shalltear had that calculating look on her face again. What sort of insane person would be happy about being burdened with additional labours? She needed to scale down the enchantments on Hejinmal before her ‘duties’ were ‘expanded’ once more.

A Vampire Bride appeared from behind a nearby snowdrift, followed by the two others who usually brought new cargo to be delivered. Ilyshn’ish peered at the procession suspiciously. From seeing E-Rantel, Feoh Berkana, and Feoh Jura, she understood that each post manned by representatives of the delivery service had exactly three Vampire Brides. One attended to the clients that came to drop off or pick up their orders at the front desk; also taking care of general administrative matters. The remaining two usually worked in the background, organizing inventories, tending to the Frost Dragons and sending various parcels on their way.

Whenever the Vampire Bride posted at the front desk came to the back, it meant that something was wrong – or something was changing. Ilyshn’ish eyed her warily: unwelcome and unexpected change was usually a Frost Dragon’s worst enemy.

“Congratulations,” the Vampire Bride receptionist beamed up at her. “Your duties have been expanded.”

Ilyshn’ish sighed.

“Congratulations, sister!” Hejinmal joined in and looked over to the Vampire Bride excitedly, “What does she get?”

“Based on our review of your performance,” the Vampire Bride replied, “we’ve decided to put you on the supply run between E-Rantel and Feoh Berkana. Initially, we set a trio of other Dragons to the task, but the two of you will deliver far more over time by comparison. This delivery needs to be dropped off at Feoh Raizo first, after which you will continue on to E-Rantel where you will spend your day off before assuming the new route. You mentioned that you knew where all the Dwarf cities here were, yes?”

"I’ve been there several times,” Ilyshn’ish replied, “but I highly doubt Hejinmal will fit into that pathetic hole in the wall.”

Unlike the three other Dwarf cities, their outposts long ago links in a major trade route between the once-thriving Human lands on either side of the Azerlisia Mountains, Feoh Raizo was originally established as an out-of-the-way mining settlement that shipped its products to feed the industry of Feoh Berkana. Its buildings were designed simply: for utility, with no thought towards replicating the grand architecture that could be observed in the capital of the Dwarf Kingdom. The city was treated solely as a place that housed and serviced those excavating the rich veins of ore in the area; therefore a surface presence was unneeded.

With the Quagoa no longer a threat, the more convenient underground routes between Feoh Raizo and the Dwarf cities to the north were free to be used again in relative safety, so all of the traffic would resume on the old subterranean highways. The only way in through the surface was through a fissure in the icy mountainside, followed by a series of passages that eventually led down to the city itself.

“The arrangements have already been seen to,” the Vampire Bride told her. “A temporary office for our service has been raised outside, in front of the passage leading to Feoh Raizo.”

The two other Vampire Brides finished fastening their delivery and stepped back to stand with the receptionist.

“Have a safe journey,” they said in unison.

Ilyshn’ish took off from the wall of the trading outpost, followed by Hejinmal. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched a Frost Giant on an outcropping not a kilometre away observe their departure. The local tribe appeared to be getting bolder. With the last of the spring storms receding and impatience over returning to their capital mounting, the Dwarves with fewer possessions were starting to travel in increasing numbers on foot, presenting a slow and soft target for swift mountain raiders. The caravans with the Soul Eaters were more than strong enough to repel what she had seen gather so far, but there was more than enough time to attack the Dwarves travelling independently between them.

“How far is Feoh Raizo?” Hejinmal asked as they leveled off.

“Two hours away, at this rate,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “We’ll need to be careful on the way down: we won’t have all this traffic keeping things distracted and at a distance, so there could be ambushes and such set up for us since we’ve been so reliably operating on this nice and predictable schedule.”

“Y-you mean they’re back?” Her brother tried looking in all directions at once again.

“What do you mean ‘they’re back’?” She said incredulously, “They never left! There are probably three times as many now.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.”

“I’m beginning to think that you won’t notice anything unless you’re so close that your Blindsight picks it up.”

“But then it’d be too late?” Hejinmal frowned.

“That’s my point!” Ilyshn’ish snapped as she peered down at the peaks ahead, “Far from being safe, this ‘service’ makes us so ridiculously vulnerable that I’m fairly certain you’ll just get eaten by something one of these days.”

With an irritated scowl, Ilyshn’ish tucked in her wings, abruptly diving towards an outcropping of rock a thousand metres below.

“Sister?” Hejinmal’s voice floated down weakly after her.

Her silent descent ended at a stand of trees, where she yanked an oblivious Frost Giant off of the ground, using her momentum to hurl it out from the mountainside. The Frost Giant gave a long cry as she fell to the rocks far below, bouncing several times off of the cliff face along the way. The massive form smashed into the ground, sliced open by the jagged reception of a rocky gulch, innards spilling out everywhere on impact.

“See?” Ilyshn’ish said as she leveled out after ascending back to join her shocked brother, “They’re all over the place…though these ones have been so preoccupied with looking down at everything that’s going on they don’t bother looking up any more. Those that are actually a challenge won’t be so oblivious.”

“Erm…considering you just killed one of them, won’t they come for revenge?” Hejinmal stared down at the remains of the Frost Giant.

“Revenge? I suppose if there was some personal stake involved – if any of the others even noticed. No one would waste time and effort seeking vengeance for an easily-killed idiot, however.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but the few times she had been confronted by a vengeful Frost Giant over such an idiot, they had been an idiot as well. It wasn’t very hard to dispatch such empty-headed opponents.

“I guess you’re the expert here, sister. By the way: if a Frost Giant got me, would you come to seek revenge?”

Ilyshn’ish rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be an idiot, brother.”

They carried on in silence and, about an hour and a half later, they were circling over the entrance of Feoh Raizo. Ilyshn’ish carefully examined the landscape below: an impromptu outpost had been constructed out of packed snow and piled stones gathered from the surroundings. The same flag she had seen fluttering from the towers of E-Rantel rose over the windswept highland moor. In the shadows of the ridge looming over the entrance of the Dwarf city skulked yet another Frost Giant, who seemed intent on observing the proceedings on the ground.

Ilyshn'ish glowered down at the figure.

“Do they not see them or do they just not care?” She muttered.

“What about?” Hejinmal asked.

“There’s another one of those giants over the fissure leading into Feoh Raizo,” Ilyshn’ish answered.

“Giant?” Hejinmal squinted down, “Fissure?”

“I can’t believe you, brother,” Ilyshn’ish sighed. “That fissure isn’t even trying to hide.”

Well, she certainly didn’t want a Frost Giant staring straight down at her while she was on the ground. A few minutes later, it came plummeting down, landing right beside a group of Dwarves who jumped up with startled shouts at the impact. Ilyshn’ish landed over its broken form, throwing up clouds of drifting snow over the rocky landscape.

The Vampire Bride waiting at the front of the outpost came running towards her, strips of diaphanous alabaster cloth fluttering in the wind.

“What are you doing?” She called out to her.

“Population control,” Ilyshn’ish replied lightly.

The Frost Giant groaned and stirred weakly beneath her, and Ilyshn’ish casually slashed his throat out. Blood blossomed on its pale, unkempt beard, spattering the fresh snow and pooling on the ground. She flicked the small amount on her claws away to the side as she watched her surroundings for reactions from any other Frost Giants that might be nearby.

“Would you like some Jotun?” Ilyshn’ish asked the Vampire Bride, “It’s fresh.”

The Vampire Bride stepped forward, leaning forward to dip her finger into the expanding pool of blood. She popped it into her mouth and made a face.

“It’s not very good,” she said.

“I find that there isn’t much to relish, myself,” Ilyshn’ish agreed, and looked towards the stout figures nearby. “You there, with the beard.”

The Dwarves that had gathered around the fallen Frost Giant all simultaneously pointed to themselves with a question on their faces.

“I will exchange this kill here with you,” she told them. “I don’t care how you split it.”

The stout figures traded sidelong glances at one another. She didn’t know if they were together or not – actually, it was better if they weren’t since competing interests would probably ensure that they didn’t collude on such short notice.

“Er…could ya give us a bit here?” One of the Dwarves asked as he eyed the corpse.

“You have about five minutes before I head out,” she answered. “I’ll be at the Vampire post.”

Hejinmal had already landed and was being unloaded when she padded up to the delivery outpost. He eyed her warily as she stopped in front of him.

“I didn’t know I had such a vicious sister,” he said.

“You’re the one that’s too soft,” she retorted, “in more ways than one.”

“Are you saying the entire brood just casually kills Frost Giants like that?” Hejinmal said in clear disbelief, “I hardly think they’d be considered our competition if that was the case.”

“Well I don’t fly around with the others around like we’ve been doing for the past few weeks, so how should I know? I did say that ones like that are easy to pick off, though. These are all just weak, inexperienced, scouts – expendable to their masters, and looking for ways to distinguish themselves. The strong ones won’t leave their tribal strongholds unless they have good reason to.”

“How strong do these ‘strong ones’ get?”

“Maybe there’s a few nearly as strong as our parents were,” Ilyshn’ish said as a Vampire Bride crawled up her shoulder to remove the bags, “but the real problem is that there are a whole lot more of them than us. That’s why father was afraid of them, no?”

“But father said he wasn’t afraid of the Frost Giants…”

“Well, he’s an idiot if he actually thought that,” she snorted, “and you’re an idiot for believing such a ridiculous thing. Why do you think he even founded our enclave in the first place?”

Being the weakest amongst Dragonkind, individual Frost Dragons were cautious in unfamiliar situations and generally nursed an inferiority complex – poking at it usually led to an unkindly reaction. Olasird’arc had recognized their race’s tenuous hold over the Azerlisia Mountains, which was why he had gathered his mates and established a communal lair in Feoh Berkana. Ilyshn’ish respected her father for having such an inspired vision for their future, so this revelation that he had not actually come to grips with his own nature was something of a disappointment.

“I suppose that makes sense…does that mean you’re scared of them too, sister?”

“These weakling scouts and hunters aren’t something to fear,” she told him, “but you won’t catch me anywhere near the more powerful ones. I wouldn’t even think of getting close to one of their strongholds. How many of us do you think they’ve captured or killed over the ages?”

“There’s no way to tell, really. Very few of us survive to adulthood, even with the enclave, and there’s a lot of things we can be eaten by before then. Who was eaten and who was captured is entirely up in the air.”

“Mmh…well my point is that even if we can easily kill these young and inexperienced ones that haven’t proven themselves to their respective tribes yet, it doesn’t mean that all Frost Giants are that weak. Driving them out of the mountains entirely would take millennia – our enclave would need to be many times its size, unless an exceptional individual is born one day…but that can just as easily happen for the Frost Giants as well. Thankfully one of those doesn’t exist, I think.”

“You’re not trying to be one of those ‘exceptional individuals’, sister?”

“Me? How can that be? The legendary great wyrms of old, according to mother, commanded magics that we can’t even harness today. You’d have to be able to do that much, at least. I’m just trying to get strong enough that I won’t get eaten by Adventurers immediately after leaving the safety of home.”

The Vampire Bride hopped off of her, carrying away the Infinite Haversacks in her arms, and Ilyshn’ish looked over at Hejinmal, who was similarly bare of all but one of his magical containers.

“We’re not taking anything to E-Rantel?” She asked.

"There’s nothing to deliver from here for now, so no.” One of the Vampire Brides replied, "We’re keeping this set of bags here so we can prepare future transfers in advance if necessary. The main hub for the network is Feoh Berkana, however, so I expect that any outgoing shipments to E-Rantel will be from there. Have a safe journey.”

Hejinmal shuffled out in front of her and let out a startled cry when he nearly stepped on the Dwarves patiently waiting outside. Ilyshn’ish shook her head: maybe her brother was doomed to be oblivious. He wobbled precariously on his right legs as he hopped forward awkwardly to avoid them before ploughing headfirst into a snowdrift. Ilyshn’ish popped out of the office after her brother.

“Have you decided on your offer?” She asked.

The Dwarves turned away from looking at Hejinmal’s tail, which was sticking out of the snow, to face her.

“Well, the equipment wasn’t magical,” one with a dark, grey, beard answered, “so it’ll be good to break down for raw materials. Wasn’t much else, though – we’ll take it all for six gold coins.”

“What about the corpse?”

“The corpse?” He blinked.

“Surely it’s worth something,” she explained. “You have lizards to feed, yes? Then there’s the skin and bones…”

“You said you didn’t like the taste, though?”

“Are you implying something?” Ilyshn’ish leaned forward, peering down at the handful of Dwarves.

The first Dwarf looked to the others for a moment, then grunted.

“Fine,” he said. “Twelve gold pieces. Who’d ‘a known a Frost Dragon would know what’s worth what.”

She supposed that, in his ignorance over what she knew, it was worth the attempt; she couldn’t fault the Dwarf for trying. He dropped the coins into Ilyshn’ish’s outstretched claws, and she tossed them into her bag.

“Pleasure doin’ business,” he said, “I’d shake on it, but that seems just a wee bit dangerous. You going to bring in giants every time you arrive?”

“Only if they’re stupid enough to come close like that,” Ilyshn'ish replied.

“Hmm…guess we’ll have to keep an eye out for falling giants then.”

The Dwarves left to attend to their new purchase, and Hejinmal finally escaped from the snowdrift, falling backwards with a wumph. Not only was he terrible in the air, he seemed to be bad on his feet and incapable of burrowing at any decent speed as well. They were all things that Frost Dragons were naturally capable of – she wondered if he would become the first Frost Dragon to ever drown if he was dumped into the sea. His brother glanced at the backs of the Dwarves heading off towards the mountain fissure, then back to the bag strapped onto Ilyshn’ish.

“Wow,” Hejinmal marveled at her. “Getting paid for killing a random stranger that you came across – you’re just like an Adventurer.”

Ilyshn’ish shuddered at his comparison.

“Don’t ever call your own dear sister such a dreadful thing,” she told him. “I have a day off in E-Rantel coming up, and I’m not going into the city like some impoverished whelp.”

“That’s right, isn’t it?” He said, “I hope you’ll see to what I asked about, dear sister.”

“Of course, dear brother.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 14

Chapter 14

With the aid of Ilyshn’ish’s spellsongs, the trip to E-Rantel from the Dwarven cities was drastically faster than their first one together weeks ago. She was mainly concerned that their flight time would cut into her day off, and hopeful that arriving early would add to it. Between throwing all the useful enchantments she thought would help onto Hejinmal, and the gains – or losses, rather – he had made over the long weeks he had spent working, they arrived over E-Rantel eleven hours after their departure from Feoh Raizo.

Dawn was approaching and, though the sun was visible from the heights at which they soared, it had not yet crested the horizon to shed its light against the city walls far below.

“You’re not landing, sister?” Hejinmal looked up at his sister as he slowly descended.

“I’m taking a better look at the city first,” she replied. “I want to at least see the entire layout of this place from above before trying to explore it on the ground.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Hejinmal yawned. “Just don’t fly too low over to the rooftops – a Lich might come up and yell at you. I’ll be going on ahead then…maybe I can finally get a decent nap. ”

His statement held the uncomfortable ring of truth to it. The trading outpost above Feoh Jura was filled with the clamour of its constant traffic, and the office at Feoh Berkana was many times worse. The ramshackle hoardings on the narrow inner wall of E-Rantel at least put some distance between themselves and the city streets. It was much nicer than…

Ilyshn’ish shook her head violently, scowling down at the makeshift shelter. She recalled the small pens and even smaller broom closet that she was forced to live in. It was not nice – she and her kin were being subjected to utterly dismal conditions. She needed to find a way to improve her lot: to get away before her will crumbled away like it had with the others and she settled into a dreary life of acceptance as something treated with no more care than a Golem or Undead minion.

Lowering herself to an altitude that allowed her to take in the features of the city in clear detail, it wasn’t until the glow of the sun washed over the battlements of E-Rantel that she was satisfied that she had seen everything about the layout of the city that she could from above. Making her final approach to the wall, she noted Kilistran near the front desk being prepared for a delivery. Even after weeks of seeing a similar situation with the rest of her siblings and half-siblings, it still grated on her nerves to see an Elder Dragon being reduced to nothing more than a freight hauler.

“Mother,” Ilyshn’ish greeted Kilistran testily as she alighted on the open stretch of wall in front of the hoardings.

“Daughter,” Kilistran replied. “Welcome home.”

Ilyshn’ish splayed her talons and dug them into the stone, but decided not to waste her breath on a retort.

“Have you seen what’s happening up north?” She asked instead.

“Hmm…up until now, I’ve been assigned to deliveries to either Feoh Jura or Feoh Berkana – they seem to alternate. Agricultural produce, mostly, I believe.”

Ilyshn’ish resisted the impulse to sniff at the containers being strapped onto Kilistran. Using such valuable items on Dragons to deliver cheap grain and greens was beyond her comprehension. Surely they had better things to do than torture them with this drudgery. Still, she took it as a good sign that someone else had gained even a slight interest in the world beyond bleakly staring at nothing in particular.

“You’re keeping track of what you’re carrying?” Ilyshn’ish tilted her head to eye her mother.

“Well, if you’re carrying some unknown things for days, you’re bound to become curious as to what it is, no?”

“I suppose. We spend mere minutes on the ground every day,” Ilyshn’ish snorted as she complained to her mother, “I can’t believe how willing they are to run us ragged like this. Hejinmal’s in a state of near-collapse at every stop.”

“It is good for him: he could stand to lose all that excess weight,” Kilistran replied. “I doubt you were ever even slightly winded after weeks of flying back and forth. You’ve become quite strong compared to everyone else, though even I can’t imagine why you learn some of the magic that you do.”

Kilistran’s head slowly tilted downward as she watched her daughter assume the appearance of a Human female with a head of lustrous, frost-white, hair. The magical accessories she wore scaled down to fit her new shape, save for the ring on her tail which somehow ended up on one of her fingers. Her stomach growled – it was the Ring of Sustenance – she considered changing out the Ring of Regeneration for it. Then again, she could see what sort of fare the city offered now that she had some time to herself.

“I thought it would be useful for whenever I left the enclave to see the world,” Ilyshn’ish replied as she fussed over her appearance. “Now my efforts are paying off and I can go explore this Human city. How do I look, mother?”

“Like a Human,” Kilistran said dismissively, “you’ve taken more interest in observing this city and its people than I; I hardly care at all beyond accidentally squashing one of them and getting into trouble.”

“I should’ve frosted up a wall to turn into a mirror,” Ilyshn’ish muttered, combing her fingers through an unfamiliar head of hair. “If anyone asks, let them know I’m in the city: I would rather not have a swarm of these Undead chasing me around like I’m some sort of fugitive.”

“I will let one of the employees know before I head off,” her mother replied. “Be careful out there, dear: I hear there’s a whole nest of Adventurers in the city that are…aggressively searching for better equipment. I don’t want to find out that my most promising child was turned into a pair of boots.”

“I doubt anyone would notice me, mother,” Ilyshn’ish said as she walked away to the edge of the wall and hopped off.

“Oh and if you find anything nice,” Kilistran’s voice followed down after her, “please remember your poor old mother. They took everything away, they did…”

Her mother’s mournful tone triggered a pang of loss over her own belongings: whoever these people were, she had long learned that they certainly had no care for a Dragon’s mental health. The other members of the enclave had been cowed into submission, and they were no longer the proud and lively kindred that she once knew. Most only clung to their sanity through the valuable items that they were equipped with as they listlessly flew from post to post; none had the essential comfort of the personal hoards of treasure that they spent their lives accumulating.

Ilyshn’ish hesitated as she stood in the shadow of the wall, poking her head out cautiously into the morning light to look up and down the street. A large Undead sentry that stood almost half again as tall as herself looked over in her direction, and she scurried away over the cobblestones before it decided to come investigate. Though it had been weeks since she was last in the city, the Demihuman Quarter was still in the initial phases of its construction and sparsely populated.

Within the confines of the city walls, a terraced bowl had been fashioned, and each section of the quarter would meet the needs of different races. The city walls themselves could be considered the upper level of the Demihuman Quarter, reserved for species capable of flight who desired high, safe places to make their homes. The Frost Dragons had been allocated the southern wall that separated the quarter from the central district, but aside from them it seemed no other beings were making use of the battlements yet.

The ground level of the Demihuman Quarter was mostly bare of features beyond its basic layout, and a bare handful of other races could be seen. The bottom of the bowl was occupied by a small lake, and several additional groups of Lizardmen had constructed dwellings along its shore. In the middle of the lake was an island that still appeared to be unoccupied, save for several saplings that someone had recently planted. Goblins and Ogres had set up a camp of some sort in the temperate middle sections, and a few Dwarves could be seen milling about various parts of the earthworks.

Occupying a large area near to the western entrance of the quarter was the only permanent-looking group of buildings so far: though, upon closer inspection, the entire complex that she had noted after her initial arrival to E-Rantel did not appear to be fully completed yet. From here was where those females that the Vampire Brides deferred to came out of, and other tiny figures of indeterminate nature scurried about within making unsettling noises. Ilyshn’ish gave the strange facility a wide berth as she crossed into the common area of the city.

The contrast between one side of the gatehouse and the other was quite stark: the hubbub of city life filled the street and Humans of both genders milled about for reasons Ilyshn’ish could not yet discern. She adroitly wove her way down the street, her Blindsight offering a perfect awareness of the activity in a wide area around her. As she did not need to rely on her vision to navigate her surroundings, her head turned this way and that to take in the sights as she strolled by. Aimlessly meandering through the city, she allowed her senses to lead her wherever she thought she might find something interesting or valuable, traversing both busy streets and dark alleys as she went.

Something seemed off, however. Wherever she went, gazes followed her. Eventually, she stopped in a shadowed alcove to figure out why before Adventurers noticed and harvested her to fashion equipment out of. It was the first time she had assumed a Human guise, but she didn’t think she had committed any major errors. As her mother had said, she had observed the denizens of the city thoroughly, and her current appearance was a result of those careful observations.

Ilyshn’ish had fashioned the appearance of a humanoid female – or at least she assumed it was female: between the Dwarves and the Vampire Brides, she was not sure which was more so. Just in case, she had confirmed it by sneaking near to a few Humans gathered around a produce stand and sniffing them discreetly. After that, she withdrew to a secluded alley to refine her appearance by imitating the ones who seemed to carry themselves with the greatest degree of confidence.

There were no scales showing on her skin, no tail behind her nor horns on her head. She felt her teeth…they seemed to be fine as well. Humans had a terrible sense of smell, so she didn’t think it had anything to do with scent. Her clothing matched what was commonly worn to help her blend in; she even wore shoes and stockings under her long, soft dress. The amount of attention she was receiving was far more than what she had experienced in Feoh Berkana, and the scrutiny did not mesh well with her reclusive Frost Dragon nature in this strange place: her instincts kept her jumpy and defensive.

Ultimately unable to discern what was wrong no matter how much she examined herself, Ilyshn’ish continued on her way, plastering a friendly expression on her face while plagued by the sense that she was sticking out somehow to attract so much attention. The feeling lessened as she made her way into a large, crowded plaza. She noted that Humans seemed to rely primarily on their poor eyesight and dull hearing to register the world beyond their reach, so mingling into large crowds greatly limited their ability to notice her by the same measure. Able to finally relax somewhat, she slipped into the flow of pedestrians and continued to observe her surroundings.

Everywhere she went, it appeared that Humans were exchanging their valuables for items. She supposed it was the ‘trade’ that she had read about, seen glimpses of in Feoh Berkana, and tried imitating outside of Feoh Raizo. Having not experienced Human trade herself, however, she couldn’t be sure. Coins flowed one way, while items flowed back – so good, so far. Sometimes coins flowed back as well. Relying on her treasure sense to measure the value of various exchanges, Ilyshn’ish became greatly confused.

Very little made sense: why was wood or food worth copper? Why was silver being exchanged for cloth? Though she had exchanged her kill in front of Feoh Raizo for some gold coins, the exact reasoning for the values in the exchange were beyond her. There were a few that she thought made more sense, and then there were transactions that offended her outright. Her mouth fell open when she witnessed three gold coins being traded for some sort of cheap glass object and she fought to keep the bile rising in her throat down.

One thing she did come to understand was that, even if she found something that she wanted, she had very few gold coins to exchange and no real sense of what anything was worth to these strange creatures.

The Frost Dragons had been explicitly ordered not to raid or plunder the places of the Sorcerous Kingdom and the Dwarven territories that they flew over, so her entire extended family remained similarly impoverished. Since there were no memories she could refer to in order to discern what Humans considered important, Ilyshn’ish didn’t even have a sense of what mattered to them the most. She pondered her conundrum as she continued to make her way through the bright stalls and crowded pathways until she finally settled on some questions to ask.

Stopping in front of a Human female, who was wiping the sweat off of her brow before a set of crates, Ilyshn’ish cleared her throat several times and tested her voice before raising it to address her.

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 15

Chapter 15

“Excuse me,” Ilyshn’ish said in the most clear and pleasant tone she could muster. “How does one acquire coins?”

The dubious expression on the female’s face, which had formed while Ilyshn’ish was preparing herself to speak, grew even more so after she asked the question. Ilyshn’ish grew uncertain: she didn’t think it was an unreasonable thing to ask. Maybe Humans, Dwarves and Quagoa were more different than she had initially believed.

“You work,” the Human finally replied.

This ‘work’ again. Why was everything described as work? The Frost Dragons sent their Quagoa slaves to do work, but they never went about treating it as anything other than toil for slaves and tribute for Dragons. The Vampire Brides always treated it as something to be proud and happy about, but Ilyshn’ish did not understand why anyone should be proud or happy to be a slave. Now, before her, was a Human who looked very much in the position of slave, going on about work…except now it had something to do with acquiring coins.

“What does this ‘work’ entail?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Uh…labour? You can sell stuff too,” the Human eyed her up and down. “Though, with your looks, I bet you could manage a lot more than that.”

At what she thought was a compliment, Ilyshn’ish puffed out her chest proudly…but then the female frowned. Her voice faltered at the Human’s darkening expression – why did she look so displeased?

“H-how does one acquire this ‘work’?”

“Well, if you have a trade,” the Human answered, “you’ll need to register at the right guild first…”

Ilyshn’ish furrowed her brow. Nothing about that made any sense.

“That’s too complicated for now: what about the ‘work’ that you’ve already acquired?”

The Human looked down at the crates, eyeing them balefully.

“I need to move these to a warehouse in another part of the city by the end of today,” she said, toeing the nearest one lightly.

“So…delivery?”

“I suppose you could call it that…”

“Excellent!” Ilyshn’ish brightened, “This ‘delivery’ is a ‘trade’ that I’ve recently acquired. Where might I find the ‘delivery guild,’ that I may acquire coins–er, ‘work’?”

“There’s no ‘delivery guild’,” the Human scowled. “Are you some rich girl making fun of us poor folk?”

“No,” Ilyshn’ish replied sadly, turning her gaze down to the cobblestones of the plaza, “I’ve become poor myself, recently.”

“Oh. I, er…sorry.”

“How kind of you to say so,” Ilyshn’ish was touched. “I will see what this ‘work’ of yours entails – I’ll understand once I’ve seen it.”

The female glanced over her again. Why did everyone keep doing that?

“I don’t think someone as pretty as you needs to do something like this,” she said. “You’ll ruin your hands, too.”

Ilyshn’ish pondered the Human female’s words. By all appearances, she was pitifully weak in comparison to a Dragon. The idea that Ilyshn’ish could be injured by any of her ‘work’ was laughable indeed.

"Nonsense!" She scoffed, “If you can do it, then so can I. Go about your work: I promise that I’ll pay careful attention.”

“That’s not what I meant – ah whatever, I’m falling behind here. Just please don't get in the way or break anything…”

Ilyshn’ish received one last, suspicious look before the female turned back to the crates. She withdrew a long, ragged cloth: using it to wrap one of her hands. Another cloth followed to bind the other. Slowly working one of the crates from the pile, the Human let out a small grunt as she lifted it up.

Ilyshn’ish stepped from one side to the other, noting every detail.

“Hm, hm. I see,” she said, nodding to herself. “What now?”

“Then…I carry this crate…to the warehouse,” the Human said in a strained voice as she shifted her burden around.

“Just one?”

“Does it look like I can carry more? I’ll return for the others later.”

“They won’t be stolen?”

“Of course not. Thieves’ll get dragged off by the Death Knights to gods knows where.”

"I see,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Very well, Human. Show me more.”

The female shook her head as she shuffled away, muttering something with a meaning Ilyshn’ish was uncertain of. She followed the Human and her crate before arriving at a large, hollow building constructed from thin lengths of wood. A Human male standing near its wide entrance eyed the two as they approached.

“You’re slowing down girl,” he grumbled. “I don’t send you out to chatter with your friends.”

“That’s not–”

“You keep at it like this and I’m docking your pay.”

Ilyshn’ish observed their exchange, noting familiar methods in the male’s manner. It was similar to how Olasird’arc had often dealt with the Quagoa: searching for faults in their bargains in order to renege on his obligations or impose new terms upon standing agreements. The male was much larger than the female, so the female would be hard-pressed to challenge his authority.

The female said nothing, but Ilyshn’ish sensed that she now nursed a grudge for the interaction. Perhaps, in the future, the female would grow larger and kill this male, taking over his warehouse. Then she would be the one with authority, and harry smaller Humans with her demands.

Ilyshn’ish nodded in satisfaction at finally being able to draw a sensible comparison in this bewildering place. The female stomped off, and Ilyshn’ish followed. Back at the pile of crates in the crowded plaza, the Human glared up at her.

“Why are you still following me?” She said in annoyed tones, “I’m already in enough trouble as it is.”

“Because you’re still doing your work, yes?” Ilyshn’ish replied, “I promised you that I would pay careful attention.”

“So you’re going to be following me all day? I don’t understand: just what is so interesting about moving crates around?”

“I don’t think it’s very interesting, actually.”

“Faugh!”

The Human turned away and took several deep breaths as she prepared to pick up the next crate. She leaned over to grasp one, then stopped halfway as Ilyshn’ish spoke again.

“Say,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Must you carry them one at a time?”

“It’s not like I can carry more,” she replied.

Ilyshn’ish looked around, then pointed to a wagon nearby.

“Why not use one of those?” She asked.

The Human unbent herself and turned to look in the direction indicated.

“I don’t own a wagon,” the Human answered. “They’re expensive, and it’s not as if I can pull one by myself. Even hand carts are expensive.”

“Then your ‘work’ is not carrying crates one at a time to that building?”

“No…? I just have to move them over – ugh, why am I wasting my time answering you?”

She turned back to the task at hand, lifting the next crate with the same, strained, expression.

“I do not wish to follow you around doing this for the entire day,” Ilyshn’ish stepped forward, “so allow me to speed things along.”

“Like I said, you’ll ruin your pretty hands if you…”

The female’s voice trailed off as the crate she was struggling to shift around was lifted out of her hands. Her mouth gaped as it disappeared into Ilyshn’ish’s bag, which was slung over her shoulder and rested against her hip. One by one, the entire pile of crates on the ground disappeared as Ilyshn’ish grasped them lightly in one hand to place into the bag held open with the other. When the space on the plaza floor was cleared, she turned to face the Human girl.

“Is that everything?”

“That’s, uh…yes.”

“Good. Let us ‘work’.”

She strode off, and the female trailed after her. When they reached the street leading out of the plaza, Ilyshn’ish took a turn into a lonely, shadowed alley. The girl spoke up in alarm.

“W-wait, that’s not the right way!”

“It is, though?”

“A-are you trying to steal everything?” The Human’s voice rose, “I’ll call for a Death Knight!”

“Don’t be silly,” Ilyshn’ish said over her shoulder. “I do not wish to steal anything, because I have no desire to fight all the things that will chase after me. Your line of thought leads to nowhere sensical.”

The Human’s mouth hung open silently mid-shout and her face screwed up in confusion at Ilyshn’ish’s reply. She picked up her pace, following Ilyshn’ish as she navigated the dark and narrow alleyways. Several minutes later, the warehouse was in clear view.

“I thought you didn’t know where to go,” the female muttered.

“I didn’t,” Ilyshn’ish replied, “that’s why I asked you to show me. After that, I knew where this warehouse you were referring to was, so I knew where to go.”

“Then you’re not new to the city?” The Human asked, “You don’t look like you’re from anywhere I know of.”

“I am new here, actually,” Ilyshn’ish answered. “My family recently arrived from the north.”

“It must be really far north, then. Everything about you makes me think of cold things. You do seem to know your way around, though: I’ve lived here all my life and I didn’t know about that shortcut – not that I’d ever try it by myself.”

“It only took an hour or so to see all the city’s paths on the surface,” Ilyshn’ish said. “This much is natural, no?”

“If you say so…wait, what did you mean by ‘the surface’?”

“There’s more below, yes?”

“I guess…”

“It’s as I’ve thought,” Ilyshn’ish nodded. “All of the cities I’ve visited so far are mostly underground. This is my first day exploring E-Rantel, but I do plan on seeing the rest whenever I have the chance.”

The same male was waiting in front of the warehouse when they arrived. His face set into a deep frown after he looked them over.

“I don’t see anything,” he said. "You quitting?"

“Ehm, we didn’t quit,” the Human female said, “Just one moment…”

The female shot her a look.

“All of them?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Yes, all of them!” She hissed.

Twenty-three crates, neatly organized into a pyramid, occupied the space in front of the warehouse a few moments later. The male had long risen from his seat to inspect them. After a few minutes, he shook his head and disappeared into the building.

“Did we win?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“What?” The girl answered in a puzzled voice.

Before the female could come up with a proper response, the male reappeared. The girl held out her palm, and he deposited one silver coin, followed by four copper ones. Ilyshn’ish looked over her shoulder and frowned down at the meagre quantity.

“Did he ‘dock’ your pay?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“N-no,” the girl answered, “this is what I was offered for the job.”

“If he was willing to reduce your reward for being slow, doesn’t that mean he should increase it for being fast?”

The two of them looked up at the warehouse male. Two more copper coins clinked against the others in the girl’s hand.

“Only because we got the space on the caravan goin out at noon,” he said. “This wasn’t supposed to be a courier job or anything…”

The man turned away, shouting into the warehouse for someone. The girl turned and walked back in the direction they had come from; a happy little smile on her face. Having had nearly all of her possessions stripped away recently, Ilyshn’ish thought she could understand how one could be so pleased with obtaining such a pittance of treasure.

“What will you do now?” Ilyshn’ish asked after she caught up and settled in to walk beside the female.

“I should pay you back for your help – let’s head back to the main plaza.”

They returned using the shortcut Ilyshn’ish had used; the plaza was even more crowded than before.

“It’s about lunchtime,” the female said, looking around the throng of people baking in the sun. “I can treat you to something if you’d like.”

“What do they offer for ‘lunchtime’?”

“Light meals for the people in the market and all the shops around here, usually,” she pointed to a stand where meat was being placed over a fire. “The skewers are fast and good, usually.”

Ilyshn’ish studied the selection from where they stood. The portions were pitifully small – the Frost Dragons were allowed to hunt for their food in Tob Forest and throughout the ranges of the Azerlisia Mountains. She could get far more for little effort.

“I prefer cold food – frozen would be ideal,” she said. “Is there something like that here?”

“Cold? Hm…it’s not really a meal, but they do have ice cream.”

The Human led her through several rows of stands to wait at the end of a long line.

“It’s quite popular,” she said as they settled in to wait, “but expensive. I’ve only had it once myself.”

“What do you do with your coins, then?”

“I’m saving up,” the girl replied. “Mages are in really high demand nowadays. One day I’ll have enough to learn magic…are you a magic caster as well? I haven’t seen a magic item like the one you have.”

“I can use magic, yes,” Ilyshn’ish said. “I believe your people would refer to me as a Bard.”

“Oh!” The female exclaimed, striking a fist in her palm, “It all makes sense now. You’re so beautiful – enough to easily attract attention wherever you go; the way you carry yourself is full of charm, too. Even that miser of a warehouse manager was so easily swayed…I should have known.”

“I don’t think I did anything special…ah, we appear to be next.”

They looked down at the stand. There were five barrels of different colours, each radiating an enchanted chill.

“Welcome – what flavour would you like?” The Human awaiting them said.

“Is there something meaty?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Er, I can’t say that there is,” she replied. “How about Hyueri? It’s got a refreshing flavour.”

“I’ll give it a try.”

After receiving three copper coins from the girl, the female manning the stand handed her some sort of object wrapped in paper. Ilyshn’ish peered at the small, yellowish sphere that rested on top. Doubts arose over the appearance of the ‘ice cream’: being frozen and yellow was a distasteful combination.

“Let’s head over to the fountain,” the girl handed the ice cream over to Ilyshn’ish. “You can enjoy your treat there without anyone bumping into you.”

Ilyshn’ish licked the yellow sphere gingerly, making a face as she rolled the flavour around in her mouth.

“You’re not having this ‘ice cream?’”

“No,” the girl shook her head. “I need to save up as much as I can so I can start learning magic as soon as possible. I don’t want to do this sort of menial labour forever – mages get paid a lot more.”

“What work will you do as a mage?”

“Um…I don’t even know if I can use magic at all, yet, but if I can I suppose I’ll be conjuring spices or paper or something like that to start out with. If I get better at it, I could afford to learn enchanting: that’s where the real coin is. What about you? I can’t actually imagine someone like you being poor – a Bard with your looks would surely earn plenty.”

“I would? What sort of work would this be?”

“You’re a Bard, so you can perform, right?” The girl asked, “You have a pleasant voice, too, so you must be a good singer.”

“I can sing,” Ilyshn’ish admitted, “but I only know Dwarf songs, mostly.”

“Oh, that’s what you meant by ‘up north’,” the girl seemed to think for a moment. “Strange, I didn’t think any Humans lived with the Dwarves. Do you play any instruments?”

“I have a drum…”

“I guess you sing while playing it…well, Dwarves are starting to show up here so maybe there’ll be enough to earn decent coin from soon – most of the ones I’ve seen are merchant types, and they seem to love frequenting the taverns. How about Adventuring? You’re way stronger than you look…”

“A-adventuring?” Ilyshn’ish shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes, they’ve been recruiting like crazy, trying to find talented people,” she pointed at a building not far away. “Their guildhall is that one right there, between the cathedral and the Magician Guild.”

Ilyshn’ish stepped around to the other side of the female, putting the Human between herself and the Adventurer nest.

“Aren’t Adventurers dangerous?” She said in hushed tones.

“Dangerous? If you mean what they do then yes, I suppose so. I just thought that since you’re so strong you’d do well there. They tried getting me to join too – offered to pay for my learning magic and everything – but once you’re in, you’re a government worker with no say over what you’re going to do; most people can’t stomach the danger that comes with adventuring.”

“That is a wise choice,” Ilyshn’ish nodded, “danger should be avoided.”

The food was somewhat pleasing in temperature, but she had no taste for sweet things. There was wild fruit and honey during the brief summers in the mountains, but the food that crossed her palate was from prey which she hunted down herself. As she suspected, a meatier flavour would have been superior.

“This ice cream is interesting,” she said after she finished the crunchy remains of what had held it. “I will investigate other flavours later.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” the Human said. “Um, here’s the rest of your share.”

She fished out a handful of coins from her purse and offered them to Ilyshn’ish. It was an unexpected gesture – valuables should not be so easily relinquished, after all. Ilyshn’ish held out her hand, and eight copper coins were deposited into her palm. Several calculations ran through her mind as she peered at the slightly tarnished pieces of metal.

“What will you do now?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Well, that shipment was supposed to take me all day,” the girl answered. “I’ll see if I can find some other job for the rest of it..”

“More work?”

“Yes, I can’t let the opportunity slip by: the sooner I start learning magic, the sooner I can start earning a decent living.”

“I will come with you,” Ilyshn’ish declared.

“Y-you will? I thought you didn’t find it interesting.”

“I don’t,” Ilyshn’ish agreed, “but you’ll divide your…‘pay’ with me if I come work with you, yes?”

“Well, yes, of course,” the girl replied. “Hmm…if you’re coming along, I should find jobs that are worth our time…”

“It’s possible to work for more?”

“The city is so busy right now that they’re short on wagons for everything – hundreds of Soul Eaters were moved north for something going on in the Dwarf Kingdom, and they took as many wagons along with them. The ones left here have been fully hired out to move things around, but it’s still not enough. The demand isn’t as high as it was during the grand opening of the city, but all the local transport companies are still working on clearing up the backlog.”

With little reference to what she was talking about, the words came out as a meaningless jumble to Ilyshn’ish. She would review their conversation at a later point, after she had learned more about Human society. For the time being, all that she understood was that the shortage created work, which could be exploited for personal gain.

“Show me this work,” she said. “Standing around profits us nothing.”

“Uh, right,” the Human looked around before turning back to speak again. “If you’re ready to go, I guess we should be off.”

She wiped her hand on the cloth apron over her belt and held it out towards Ilyshn’ish

“I'm Pam, by the way. Pleased to meet you.”

Pam? It seemed remarkably short and meaningless, even for a Human. Perhaps using an alias was a common practice amongst their kind, or maybe Humans were just unfortunate and meaningless beings in general.

“Just Pam?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Just Pam,” the girl answered. “I never knew my parents, so that’s all that I have.”

The rationale was absurd. Why did one need parents for a name? Barring her father’s enclave, Frost Dragons were more likely to lay their clutches on a glacier or iceberg somewhere and leave their wyrmlings to fend for themselves than raise them personally. Names were the essence of self – the idea that one wouldn’t naturally know their own identity was preposterous. Though…she supposed that it would be safer to use an alias. Since the people here appeared to do so readily, using one herself should not draw suspicion.

Looking down at Pam’s outstretched hand, she reached out to grasp it lightly before answering.

“You may call me Shiver,” Ilyshn’ish said. “It’s a…pleasure to meet you as well.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Evening fell over E-Rantel, and Pam appeared to be in an incredibly good mood. Her humming as they made their way through the city seemed to be incredibly off-key as well.

“What’s this…tune you are humming, Pam?” Ilyshn’ish asked the girl leading her along.

“Oh, uh…it must sound awful to you.”

“I am unfamiliar with the local music, but it certainly seems so.”

“Geh...that bad huh?” Pam winced, “It’s supposed to be a little hymn, but it’s not surprising that you don’t know it – living with the Dwarves and all.”

“Indeed, I know nothing of these southern gods,” Ilyshn’ish nodded. “The Dwarves primarily worship their earth god – the High Priest even has a place in their ruling council.”

“Their earth god? I wonder if they’re the same…anyways the temples are just the temples here: they got nothing to do with the king. I recently switched over to The Six – that’s where I picked up that hymn from.”

“You switched over?” Ilyshn’ish furrowed her brow, “Won’t the gods you switched from have a problem with that? Surely there must be some sort of penalty for leaving?”

“Er...I haven’t heard of any problems. Besides, The Four are a part of The Six, so there’s a lot of things that are familiar. The staff at the temple treats converts like long lost family…it’s actually really nice, especially for someone like me.”

More importantly than that, it was better to have six than four. Why would anyone settle for less, when they could have more?

They returned to the main plaza of the city, joining a long queue of people. They ranged in all shapes and sizes: from girls like Pam to large and portly males who reminded Ilyshn’ish of Hejinmal. Her mouth watered – if she encountered such Humans in the mountains, where the Frost Dragons were allowed to hunt for food, would she be allowed to snack on a few? During her time delivering things back and forth between the Dwarf cities, she had been instructed not to prey on the lives and property of the Dwarves, but nothing was mentioned about Humans. There were no complaints about killing the Frost Giants, either.

“What are we doing back here?” Ilyshn’ish asked to distract herself from her hunger.

“Just lining up to collect our pay,” Pam fished out a pile of crumpled and dingy papers from her pouch. “These are all the completed orders from our work today. We’ll submit them to the people at the Merchant Guild, who’ll process ‘em and give us our coin.”

“Will it really work that way?” Ilyshn’ish sensed there was nothing special about what was in Pam’s hand, “These are just pieces of parchment with little value.”

“The Dwarves don’t have a Merchant Guild?” The girl asked.

“Based on what you’ve said,” Ilyshn’ish answered, “their Merchant Guild isn’t quite the same and it isn’t what it used to be. Maybe that will change soon, but it was not much of anything when I left.”

“Oh. Well, each page here is an order, signed and sealed by the shops we carried out deliveries for. The paper itself is cheap stuff, but what matters is that it confirms that we did all that work. The guild’ll see everything written here and transfer the coin to us through their member accounts.”

Ilyshn’ish frowned. As often was the case throughout the day, she couldn’t understand any of what the excited girl had said. Reaching out, she took one of the slips of paper and held it out in front of her. There were words and numbers, but such things were as uncertain as the relationship between the powerful and the powerless.

“Are you sure about this?”

“There wouldn’t be this giant line if it didn’t work that way – you’ll see.”

The line shifted forward as the sun disappeared behind the city walls, and the evening crowds appeared. They carried with them an entirely different atmosphere, unlike the orderly feeling that daytime in E-Rantel brought. Pam shivered, and looked around nervously.

“What's wrong?”

“I…don’t like being out at night.”

"Why is that?"

“Just an old story, I guess,” Pam edged closer to her. “Bad things can easily happen to a lone girl at night. Well, I guess with the new King it’s not like that any more, but still…you don’t ever feel like that? I guess not, seeing how strong you are, but all the looks you get from everyone would still make me uncomfortable. Actually what am I talking about? You’re a Bard – of course you’d want everyone’s attention.”

Pam let out a nervous laugh after her rambling thread, and settled into squirming silence. Ilyshn’ish peered at her curiously. Weaker species often banded together for protection, so it seemed odd to have such fears in E-Rantel where many Humans dwelled.

“It’s rare to see Humans on their own,” she told her reassuringly. “I can’t imagine that it’s possible to be alone in a city like this. There’s always dozens more close by.”

Confusion spread over Pam’s face as Ilyshn’ish’s replied.

“That’s, uh…what I meant was, hm…i-is that a Dwarf thing?”

“Perhaps,” Ilyshn’ish pondered her question. “Dwarf cities are far more populous. These surface dwellings are spread out over a large area, but most of them aren’t very tall or sturdy. Dwarves build their cities underground, and a single structure in their capital may be built to span between the floor and ceiling of a cavern and beyond. This results in space for far more people using the same area of land that one of the buildings here might occupy. I haven’t seen anything similar on the surface so far, but surely such construction must exist elsewhere.”

“I can’t imagine that,” Pam replied as they shifted forward again. “The city’s outer wall is the biggest building I’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t seem all that big after seeing those Dragons perched on it. Especially those three huge ones that are almost twice as long as the walls are tall. Then there’s that funny one that looks like a sausage with wings – people were screaming that the wall would collapse when he walked by overhead at first. Most of them went somewhere last month, but you still must’ve seen the ones that come in and out once in a while.”

“I’ve seen them before, yes,” Ilyshn’ish replied absently as she continued to observe the plaza. “They all come from the Azerlisia Mountains north of here. There was once an even bigger one than those three you mentioned, but he’s not around any more.”

Pam’s eyes grew wide at her words.

“That’s amazing! What does a Dragon that big even eat?”

“Hmm...meat?” Ilyshn’ish wasn’t sure what else she thought they would eat, “There are plenty of large things in the mountains to feed on, as well as beings that can defeat the Frost Dragons that you occasionally see flying around here.”

“T-that can’t be true, can it?” Pam frowned, “How big does everything get?”

“Big enough. Even herd animals like Nuk can grow to be as heavy as a new Adult Frost Dragon, and they are quite common. Aside from a few things I’ve only really read about, the most dangerous are actually the Frost Giants.”

Pam swallowed and leaned forward.

“They’re more dangerous than Frost Dragons?” She nearly whispered.

“They can be,” Ilyshn’ish admitted. “They are varied in strength, much like your own people, but they are Giants: mighty in stature and fierce combatants all.”

Murmurs rose in the air around them. A man in bright colours selling snacks and refreshments went around, stopping occasionally to exchange his wares for coin.

“A Dwarf I talked to said that they’re nothing but savages,” a woman called out from the side. “Living in tribes with no craft or magic.”

“The Dwarves live under the mountains,” Ilyshn'ish shrugged, “and they have been refugees since the time of the Demon Gods. It has been all they could do to hold together their traditions and retain what remained of their histories as they struggled for centuries to survive. They have only recently returned to their old holdings through the power of the Sorcerer King, Ainz Ooal Gown. As such, I would not rely on any Dwarf for an accurate telling of what goes on beyond the holes that they have hidden themselves in for so long.”

“But at least the Dwarves are from the Azerlisia Mountains,” a man to the side said, “how would you know more than they?”

Ilyshn’ish turned to the source of the voice, eyeing him coolly. The man’s eyes wavered and he swallowed audibly; the others near him that she faced quieted and shifted silently under her gaze. Beside her, Pam’s lips were parted, her eyes shining with expectation. Perhaps it was a good time to test the girl’s assertion about her potential as a performer. Ilyshn’ish’s mind turned to Hejinmal’s description of Human Bards as well, and her lips turned up in a slight smile as she stepped out from the line and turned gracefully to face her audience.

“Because it is my home,” she told them. “I was born there, and I have traveled its length and breadth – from the verdant foothills of the Great Forest of Tob, to the icy seas of the north far beyond the shores of Re-Estize and Baharuth. Through the high passes and the deepest valleys under towering peaks I have been; over flowing glaciers and bubbling springs. Of the Azerlisia Mountains – of the timeless crown of winter – no one knows more of than I.”

Her arms moved and her body swayed lightly in the soft magical light of the plaza as she drew more and more people in around her with a voice of crystalline purity that carried over the air nearby. In a corner of her mind, her timid Frost Dragon nature demanded that she cringe away from all the attention; to flee and find somewhere safe to hide. She could ignore it, however, for she felt excitement course through her body over the reckless gambit – a test of all of her knowledge and experiences to harness something she had only read of before in old and dusty Dwarven texts.

She felt the threads of power weave their way around her. They were not of arcane sorcery that Dragons wielded innately and mortals struggled to learn, nor did they bear the hallmarks of devout faith. It was the power of a single voice; a single will that could fascinate, inspire and seize the hearts and minds of all who fell prey to the enchantment it wove over them.

It could earn her great renown and, most importantly, it could possibly earn her more than twelve gold coins. Actually, she would count it as a success if she even got one.

“Then what do you know about them?” A man’s coarse voice snapped her out of bargaining herself down even further, “What are these Frost Giants?”

Ilyshn’ish latched onto the question, favouring the participant with a brilliant smile. He blushed, letting out a flustered cough into his hand and Ilyshn’ish settled into a low, but clear voice that compelled those around her to lean forward and listen.

“There is a war that has been fought since ancient times – older than Re-Estize; older than the Demon Gods. Before the Dwarves founded their cities beneath the mountains, this war had raged across the peaks of Azerlisia’s icy ranges; over glacier, moor and vale. In ages past, lost to the veil of time, two mighty races came over the frigid and callous seas to arrive on the northern shores, where the mountains meet the waves.

“First came the great wyrms of old: the ancestors of the Frost Dragons of today. They saw the high peaks and abundant valleys; the vast fields of ice and pristine skies – it was a paradise for their kind, and so they deposited their eggs throughout the mountains and moved on with the hope that their unborn children would eventually hatch and grow and thrive in this new home. And hatch they did: long after their parents had gone, these wyrmlings made their homes, grew and danced in the skies above the mountains.

“This peaceful and happy time was not to last, however, for over that same, icy sea came the dark longships of the Frost Giant clans. At first, the Frost Dragons saw these newcomers as a curiosity, but it was not long until their savage nature was made clear. Once they fortified their holdings, they struck out against the denizens of the Azerlisia Mountains in their lust for violence and conquest. Animals, monsters, all the races that dwelled around them – even the young Dragons were not spared from their atrocities.”

As she launched into her tale, she felt her hold over the crowd solidify. The voices around her stilled as they gave her more of their attention, but she still needed those who would volunteer to ask questions that the people must have: to direct the flow of her words in the ways which piqued their interest. She paused in her tale and, surely enough, a question came into the silence.

“That can’t be right,” the skeptical voice came from a middle-aged merchant who looked like he was doing well for himself. “Only the strongest Adventurers can defeat a Dragon. Even those tales…I’m not so sure about any more. We’ve all seen the Frost Dragons flying over the city: how can anything defeat one, never mind so many?”

“Because like all living things,” Ilyshn’ish replied, “Dragons are born, and must grow. Tell me, good sir: how many years must a Human child experience before you consider them a proper adult?”

“Hmm…for the common folk, fourteen – sixteen, at most,” the merchant replied. “Nobles are different: might be a few years more before they’re considered ready for their responsibilities.”

“And who is the oldest Human you know?”

The merchant furrowed his brow as he thought on her question.

“Around eighty-six? Haven’t seen her around for a while, though. She might have passed on without my knowing.”

“Sixteen,” Ilyshn’ish repeated his words, “and eighty-six; for a Human to become an adult, and to reach the end of one’s years. In the span of time it takes for a Human to be born, grow old and pass away, a Dragon would still be considered a child. It takes a full century for a Dragon to grow to Adulthood; the largest of the Dragons you’ve seen flying over the city have taken nearly four centuries to become what they are today.

“When the Frost Giant onslaught began, they did not strike out against powerful Elder and Ancient Dragons – they enslaved and slaughtered children who were still learning how to hunt and speak; who had yet to love and learn of the wide world beyond their quiet and reclusive lives. For centuries this conflict echoed over the mountains and, by the time the Demon Gods came and went, only a handful of Frost Dragons remained. They are the brood mothers that you see flying in the skies above the Sorcerous Kingdom today: with their age and centuries of living came strength and wisdom enough to band together to resist their enemies. To claim a place to safely raise children of their own.”

“Still though,” someone said, “seems like a young Dragon would be plenty powerful – unless you’re saying they suddenly grow all huge like that.”

“You are correct in this, of course,” Ilyshn’ish admitted with a gentle nod, “but what you are not accounting for is the Frost Giants themselves. Imagine a Human, powerfully built, with skin as pale and blue as the winter skies. Imagine that he is not your size; instead towering above: nearly to the battlements of E-Rantel’s outer walls. In these lowlands, where the most one sees are Giantkin like Trolls and Ogres – perhaps the occasional Hill Giant, one may believe Frost Giants slow and stupid, but they are not. Because they live in tribes, you may believe them to be primitive and unsophisticated, but this is also untrue.

“Frost Giants are as intelligent and wise as Humans and Dwarves; and they can indeed craft and build. Their tribal holdings are not meagre tents and hovels: they are dread citadels of ancient ice and stone, entrenched in the shadows of the towering peaks above and shrouded in icy mists. From these seats of power comes order through raw might: a society of cold laws evolved from ancient and savage traditions, where mighty Jarls are seated over councils filled with powerful champions and priests.

“Unlike Humans and Dwarves, however, the average Frost Giant is more comparable to an Adventurer in vocation. Among their number, cunning and tireless Rangers, leading howling packs of Winter Wolves, Perytons and Giant Eagles – it is even rumoured that several defeated Frost Dragons have become their pets. Every tribe has Priests and Shamans who can bring forth vicious magical assaults, mighty elementals, and lay dreadful curses and other afflictions upon their victims. Worst of all are their terrifying warriors: Berserkers, Weapon Masters and Blackguards clad in grim plates of metal – wielding weapons of wrought ice bound with such powerful enchantments that they can can shatter your city gates with a single blow and turn the very magics that Frost Giants are vulnerable to aside.”

Many of the men and women around them swallowed at her account, faces turned cold and ashen in the warm spring evening. A short woman in colourful silken finery raised another question.

“Many of us merchants have been looking forward to trade with the Dwarves,” she asked. “If these Frost Giants are as powerful as you say, what risks does this pose for our business? Will they attack our caravans?”

“I have little doubt that they will,” Ilyshn’ish answered. “It is their way, so it is merely a matter of when. Already, their scouts have been drawn to the stirrings of the Dwarven realm: watching, waiting, gauging the strength of travellers and planning the best times to strike. The Frost Giants are savage and powerful, but they are not fools – when the time comes, your only warning will be the blare of distant war horns, the thunder of spells and the shuddering quake of giant boots over the passes.”

“Should we hire out Undead bodyguards from the Sorcerous Kingdom, then?”

It was another voice, from another part of the crowd. More and more questions came, as expressions turned calculating to profit and loss.

“The Frost Giants have their own values – their own way of measuring the world around them. They are merciless raiders with hearts of ice, seeking glory and treasure and foes to challenge and boast about to their peers. Placing a Death Knight before a Frost Giant may simply encourage them to attack what they see as a test of strength. Win or lose, your wagons of precious merchandise will most likely not remain intact in the aftermath of such a confrontation.”

“Then…what can we do? If the Sorcerous Kingdom’s forces will not dissuade them, how else can we conduct our trade in safety?”

“Of that, I cannot be certain,” Ilyshn’ish shook her head. “Once, it was the Frost Dragons that kept the Frost Giants in check; with their ancient enemies now subjugated by the Sorcerer King, the Frost Giants of the Azerlisia Mountains will be free to expand and grow. It is not only the mountains that are vulnerable to this threat: eventually they will look to the foothills and lowlands below to raid, and return to their great longships to wreak havoc against the coasts of the northern seas.”

“Should we ask the Sorcerous Kingdom to send the Dragons against them?”

“That would only mean a continuation of the ancient war to no gain,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “Again, I tell you: sending exactly what the Frost Giants seek will only embolden them all the more. Death is no deterrent, for dying in combat to foes most worthy is to each their greatest desire: to prove themselves so that they may join their forefathers in the great hall of their afterlife. They seek conflict, revel in warfare and welcome death in glorious violence.”

“T-that has to be an exaggeration,” another merchant spoke from the crowd. “No race would be so utterly insane. This is merely a Minstrel’s tale.”

“A Minstrel I may be,” Ilyshn’ish smirked, “but what I have shared is also the truth. On your safe roads in the pastoral lowlands, you do not know of the harsh realities of the wide world. You think that the weak monsters and Demihumans of these soft lands are strong – think again. They are as nothing to wise Dragons and mighty Giants; to great leviathans in the deep and the eldritch horrors that lurk in the deep and forgotten places. The world is vast, and these Human nations here are merely a tiny part of it. I would have thought that, with the advent of the Sorcerer King, this truth would have long dawned upon the peoples here.”

A low murmur filled the air around them as the crowd discussed what they had heard. Ilyshn’ish sensed several individuals muscling through the crowd, so she returned to stand in line with Pam at the top of the stairs. A moment later, a grizzled militia veteran appeared from out of the throng of people, accompanied by his men.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” He said, “Break up this mess: you’re blocking off the stairs to the Merchant Guild.”

Upon finding the space in the centre of the crowd empty, the man’s eyes scanned the spectators until they stopped at Ilyshn’ish.

“Hey, you.”

“Me?” Ilyshn’ish replied innocently.

“Who else could I be talking to?” The man scowled, “Whaddya you think you’re doing, obstructing business?”

“Well, we’re a part of this queue, why else would we be here?”

Pam held up her fistful of delivery orders, and the sour-faced Human eyed the pair suspiciously. Before he could utter another word, the line advanced again, and they disappeared into the doors of the Merchant Guild.

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Seated in the darkness of a small room in the Great Tomb of Nazarick, a figure worked without pause before a small desk.

“This form goes here…this field is from this table…”

A pale hand stretched out and withdrew a thick binder from a row arrayed at the edge of the workspace. The binder was opened to the appropriate page, and a finger traced the table laid upon it. Crimson eyes narrowed in concentration as a pen twirled absently in the free hand.

“F-3…C-5…”

The hand reached out again for another binder. The activity continued, the silence of the pitch black room interrupted occasionally by soft muttering, the rustling of crisp parchment, and the scratching of the pen. Without the sound of breath or even a heartbeat within, one might have mistaken it for a crypt where a Lich conducted its studies but, if light were shed on the scene, the opinion of the observer would take a complete turn.

Rather than an old stone office filled with dry tomes coated by the dust of ages, it was a room that a Human in the surrounding nations might have thought belonged to the daughter or a count or a wealthy baron. Creamy pastel wallpaper covered the walls, and a rich carpet was laid over the cold stone floor. The room was furnished with tall wardrobes, the small desk and a modestly-sized four-poster bed. Within the translucent veil of the bed’s canopy, upon the scented silk sheets and the fluffy pillows lay the Supreme Overlord of Nazarick, Ainz Ooal Gown.

Well, a plush version of him, anyways. It had cost her much to have Albedo make one. Frowning down at her piles of paperwork, Shalltear Bloodfallen made a tired noise. The Undead did not suffer from physical exhaustion, but stress and mental strain would still add up. The work was something she could have delegated to her Vampire Brides, but she had imposed a portion of it on herself in order to become intimately familiar with the transportation network she had been charged with creating.

She looked at the pile of completed documents on the right corner of the desk: the product of twelve hours of work. Ainz-sama would surely appreciate her efforts. Her master had also instructed all of the Guardians to take regular breaks, so she rose from her seat. She stretched her arms above her head, feeling her crimson silk camisole slide over her skin as she went over to her bed. Throwing herself onto its luxurious covers, she reached out to lovingly pull the plush figure to her breast.

“Ah, Ainz-sama~ Lend me some of your magnificent energy…”

She turned her head down to press her lips to the doll’s head, but a familiar scent rose to meet her gentle kiss.

Shalltear looked back up with an annoyed look, even as she squeezed the doll tightly to herself. As much as it had cost her, she had been surprised that Albedo was willing to make it for her at all. The request was initially for a body pillow, but the Guardian Overseer refused in no uncertain terms. Obtaining the doll had taken weeks, and it was only after she had returned happily to her bedroom to partake of her new acquisition that she understood what the Guardian Overseer had done.

No matter how many times she had washed it, Albedo’s scent remained infused in the doll. Shalltear was being mocked – it was as if Albedo was declaring to Shalltear that Ainz-sama was already marked as hers. She hated that the doll carried Albedo's scent, but she refused to let go of Ainz-sama, so she was caught between the two feelings whenever she embraced her beloved.

Shalltear wriggled under her covers, pressing the doll to her under the sheets. It was the best compromise she could come up with, but, in the end, her bedsheets would end up being laced with Albedo’s scent and her attendants would have to do something about it.

I’ll get that bitch back for this someday.

She consoled herself as she closed her eyes and settled down to rest after a long week of work – Undead did not need to sleep, but rest was rest. With so many of her Vampire Brides otherwise occupied, it was a simple alternative for quickly relieving mental fatigue: a few hours was much more effective than meditation – not that she had the patience for that – or slowly recovering while performing less arduous tasks.

Shalltear sighed as she snuggled with her Ainz-sama doll, conjuring pleasant thoughts to accompany her.

『Shalltear』

This timing…is she using something to scry me?

It wasn’t possible, of course. Nazarick had been warded tightly against such magic within an hour of its appearance in this strange new world.

『Yes, what is it–arinsu?』

『We’re convening for an emergency meeting – be in the throne room once you’ve made yourself decent.』

『Emergency? Did someone declare war on us?』

『If only it were so simple. The available information will be disclosed once everyone has assembled.』

The message cut off abruptly, in absence of any pleasantries. Really, she was a gorilla through and through.

Giving the doll one last, affectionate squeeze, she threw back her covers and swung her legs off of the edge of the bed. Outside of her room, a Vampire Bride greeted her as the door opened. She bowed low as she greeted Shalltear, and her full breasts strained against the diaphanous fabrics of her alabaster dress.

“Thank you for your hard work, Shalltear-sama.”

Shalltear’s lips turned up at the enticing sight, and her hand stretched out to trace the line of Vampire Bride’s jaw.

“There’s to be a meeting in the throne room,” Shalltear told her as she tipped her attendant’s chin up to face her. “Make the appropriate preparations.”

“Yes, Shalltear-sama.”

The Vampire Bride straightened herself and hurried away, steps whispering over the stones. Shalltear made her way through the rooms of the Adipocere Chamber, brushing aside the chiffon veils draped from the ceiling. Upon reaching its central area, she found three Vampire Brides awaiting her.

“Shall we draw a bath, Shalltear-sama?”

“No, we’ve only a few minutes.”

The Vampire Brides immediately moved to attend to her, falling into the routines and habits instilled into them. They were her handmaidens, her soldiers, and her concubines…though she hadn’t had the time to play with them recently. Most of them were away, taking turns working at and around the various posts of the new aerial transportation network, while others functioned as administrators who coordinated and compiled all of the information coming in to create a comprehensive overview of the logistical needs of the Sorcerous Kingdom, as well as that of the territories using their services. Even the three who were now fussing over her appearance had experience in assisting her with her paperwork.

As much as she would have liked to, she couldn’t toy with them as she did before. They were pop mobs that would respawn after a short period of time if they died as a result of her tender attentions, but they would not remember anything that they had learned. In her zeal to serve Ainz-sama, she had thrown all of her resources into getting the transportation network up and running, so she had to restrain her urges for the time being. Once she felt that things had stabilized and were well on their way, she could set aside a few for her personal use and return to her customary pleasures.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, Shalltear-sama?”

She turned her attention from her thoughts to the Vampire Bride holding a body-length mirror before her. Bathed in the sultry light of the chamber, her reflection looked back at her, adorned in her black ballroom gown. She took a turn, inspecting every detail closely.

“It should be sufficient, given the nature of this meeting,” Shalltear nodded.

She made her way towards the exit of the chamber. One of her attendants walked ahead to hold the door open for her. Shalltear stopped, her foot hovering over the threshold. Was her appearance actually appropriate? What was the nature of this meeting, exactly?

A slight frown marred her face. Emergency meeting. Throne room. Several irregularities stood out to her already. Most of Albedo’s meetings were now held in E-Rantel, as the lion’s share of their work now revolved around administrating matters involving the Sorcerous Kingdom. If the meeting was in the throne room, it should be some business regarding Nazarick – either that, or it was something the ‘Prime Minister’ wished to discuss behind closed doors, so to speak.

Then there was the possibility that Ainz-sama would be there. Many matters concerning the governance of the realm obviously did not require the Supreme One’s direct attention, and so he did not grace the vast majority of their sessions with his presence. Albedo could have very well requested that Ainz-sama attend, as it was an ‘emergency meeting’. Was her appearance suitable for an audience with Ainz-sama? No, nothing could be good enough for her beloved. Maybe she should take that bath, also a manicure…was her hair really okay? Her hesitation grew as she fell deeper into her grave thoughts.

No, wait…this was a trap. If she took the time to make suitable preparations, she would be berated for being late to an emergency meeting regardless of whether Ainz-sama was there or not. If she came as she was, her appearance would be drastically inferior to Albedo’s, who had foreknowledge of the meeting and would have made the appropriate preparations.

“Shalltear-sama?”

“Hold on, I’m thinking!”

She was already caught in Albedo’s schemes. Was there some other way to save face? Since it was an emergency meeting, she could go in fully armed and equipped – shifting the focus to an image of readiness. No, that wouldn’t work. The content of the message conveyed the idea that there were no immediate threats, so joining the meeting in such an appearance would indicate that she was incapable of gauging the situation. Albedo had sealed away her only avenue of escape as well. There was no choice but to advance into whatever traps were laid out for her.

Stepping across the threshold, she crossed the bridge into the catacombs and turned up the corridor towards the nearest teleportation gate. Usually a trap when Nazarick was under threat of intrusion, it was reconfigured by Aureole Omega to serve as a way for Shalltear and her vassals to easily access the inner portions of Nazarick from her home far closer to the surface. She stepped onto the tile, and the dark catacombs of the upper floor were replaced by the antechamber of the throne room.

The great doors were open; she noted that the vassals of several of the other floor guardians were waiting to the side of the entryway. She waved her own attendants away to join them, making her way past the towering doors and into the highest Hall of the Supreme Beings. Shalltear lowered her head respectfully as she crossed under the forty banners along the way. At the base of the stairs leading up to the Throne of Kings, a number of figures had already assembled.

Some, she had expected due to their vassals being stationed in the vestibule: Cocytus, Aura and Mare. As Demiurge’s vassals were not present, it was not a surprise that he was absent. In addition to the Floor Guardians gathered, Sebas, Pandora’s Actor, and Narberal Gamma stood in their places amongst them. Unexpectedly, Yuri Alpha and Pestonya were there as well. Shalltear completed her approach to stand in her position as the Floor Guardian of the First, Second and Third Floors, pondering the strange combination of attendees for this ‘emergency’ meeting.

A few moments following her arrival, Albedo stepped forward from where she stood beside the throne and Shalltear inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

Ainz-sama doesn’t appear to be attending…

A large part of her was disappointed that she couldn’t see him, but she did not want to appear before him when she was at such a disadvantage. The Guardian Overseer’s gaze swept over those assembled, and Shalltear thought she saw Albedo smirk as their eyes briefly met.

Everything was on purpose!

An unpleasant scowl grew on Shalltear’s face as the realization dawned upon her. Albedo appeared to be fully groomed and ready to receive Ainz-sama – she was silently declaring her superiority over her, toying with her feelings and lack of control over the entire situation.

Shalltear opened her mouth angrily.

“So…what’s this emergency?” Aura’s voice came loudly from beside her before she could say anything.

The Dark Elf had a frown on her face: one that silently spoke on everyone’s behalf: why had they been called away from the important duties that Ainz-sama had assigned to them?

“An untenable situation has arisen in E-Rantel,” Albedo replied. “One that needs to be resolved as quickly as possible.”

The NPCs stirred at the statement, various expressions painting their faces.

“Is it…rebellion?” Cocytus spoke first, a blast of cold air punctuating his words.

“I have neither heard nor witnessed any signs of such,” Pandora's Actor said.

Shalltear looked back and forth as the others confirmed the Doppelganger’s words.

“T-the Adventurers are focused entirely on training,” Mare said. “They don’t seem unhappy either, even when they die once in a while…”

“The Demihuman Quarter is at peace as well,” Yuri Alpha added, “as far as I could tell from the orphanage. Perhaps Nigredo-sama would be more useful here?”

The Adventurer Guild and the Demihuman Quarter were where the most powerful members of E-Rantel’s citizenry were concentrated, making them potential locations for dissidents to appear.

“Is it the Temples-arinsuka?” Shalltear ventured, “Ainz-sama has instructed us to not interfere in their matters unless they disrupt the peace of the city. The so-called faith of The Four is slowly crumbling away with their impotence in full display – are they finally beginning to flail in desperation?”

Putting down a religion that took such a vehement stance against the Undead was a delicious prospect. Imaginings of the devastation and suffering she would render against them started to fill her mind…

“No, it appears that Ainz-sama’s measures in regards to the Temples are playing out perfectly,” Albedo replied. “The problem the city is experiencing stems from a rumour.”

The NPCs exchanged glances in confusion. Why had an emergency meeting been called over a rumour? The city was at peace, trade had returned and the implementation of Ainz-sama’s mandates were going as smoothly as could be expected. Perhaps the Guardian Overseer was simply imagining nails that needed to be hammered down.

“If it’s a rumour,” Shalltear replied, “then I suppose we should go out and collect some tongues.”

“It’s far too late for that,” Albedo told her, “the problem has become widespread.”

“Rather than having us imagine some vague threat, perhaps you should provide the specific details of this ‘rumour’.”

“That’s right,” Aura agreed with Pandora’s Actor. “Without a target, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be tracking.”

“I concur,” Sebastian added. “Perhaps we have heard it in passing – with some details, we should be able to piece together something between us. The source could be entirely benign.”

It dawned upon Shalltear that all of those present had a significant presence in the city, either through their subordinates or by being there directly. The NPCs awaited the Guardian Overseer’s answer.

“This rumour is one that impacts our future relationship with the Dwarves,” Albedo said. “Something that undermines the citizens’ confidence over whether commercial activity can be conducted safely. Several petitions have filtered to my desk through various avenues about the Frost Giants in the Azerlisia Mountains, and the threat that they represent to our commerce.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Shalltear frowned at the Guardian Overseer’s markedly anticlimactic disclosure. As the Floor Guardian responsible for Ainz-sama’s security detail on his visit to the Dwarves, she was well aware of these ‘Frost Giants’. They were dismissed as a negligible threat: as were all of the denizens of the Azerlisia mountains that their escort had scouted out.

“Frost Giants?” Aura wrinkled her nose, “We saw a few on the trip to the Dwarves, but they didn’t seem like much. A Soul Eater with a Death Cavalier could wipe the floor with a dozen of those things at once.”

Shalltear nodded in agreement. That the merchants of the city were concerned mattered not a whit – it only made it more likely that the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Undead would be leased out for protection. Beyond a handful of early adopters, the marketing of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Undead labour and security was advancing at what could at best be described as a crawl. The display of their usefulness in the Dwarven Kingdom had drummed up some interest in labour, but it was a tiny market compared to their Human neighbors.

“Agreed,” Cocytus said. “Against Soul Eaters: chance of victory seems dubious, at best. Unless…champions have appeared?”

There was a metallic creaking as Cocytus’ claws flexed around the shaft of his halberd. The prospect of worthy adversaries always drew his interest.

“This rumour should work to our advantage anyways, shouldn’t it, arinsu?” Shalltear offered, “If only the services provided by the Sorcerous Kingdom can facilitate trade, then having all of the merchants turn to us would be exactly as Ainz-sama has laid out from the beginning, arinsu.”

Albedo turned a suspicious look to her.

“What?” Shalltear frowned back.

“I can’t help but think that these rumours benefit you directly,” Albedo said. “How has your ‘service’ fared recently between the Dwarf Kingdom and the lands beyond their borders?”

“The majority of the flights are still reserved to assist with the Dwarven Migration,” Shalltear replied. “Outbound flights from E-Rantel to Feoh Berkana are at full capacity already: delivering agricultural produce. Imports from Feoh Berkana to E-Rantel have doubled in the last month to five tons daily – almost entirely iron ore purchased by the city forges. The remainder consists of equipment orders delivered for the Adventurer Guild, arinsu.”

A long silence followed her summary, and Shalltear frowned as she looked around.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Albedo replied, “I just didn’t expect anything so concise coming from you. Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Shalltear shouted, “Of course I’m going to know what’s going on when it comes to my duties, arinsu! My point is that this rumour does not benefit me at all, arinsu: the Frost Dragons are best used for delivering highly valuable goods; having them fly back and forth with vegetables and ore is the last thing they should be used for, arinsu! There are hundreds of Soul Eaters that can deliver bulk freight, at far greater volumes than what a Dragon is capable of delivering over the same timeframe.”

Albedo furrowed her brow as she looked down at her from the top of the stairs. Sensing that she was being belittled again, Shalltear’s mood grew dark.

“Uwah! What was that for, Nee-chan?”

“If you’re going to say something, you better say it quick!”

Mare fidgeted under everyone’s gaze. Aura’s frown slowly deepened until he spoke in panicked tones.

“The Frost Giants can win!”

“Haah?” Aura exclaimed, “Have you gone crazy? There’s no way they can win!”

“A-as long as they don’t die, they win, I think?” Mare’s voice picked up a bit, “If I was at their level, and my goal was to kill the Soul Eaters, I wouldn’t fight them directly. Soul Eaters are strong compared to the Frost Giants that Nee-chan saw, but those Frost Giants can still kill them by using indirect means. Traps – an avalanche, or a landslide…or throwing boulders and knocking them off of cliffs. E-even if they just prevent the delivery of cargo, it’s bad for us, right?”

Thoughtful looks appeared on many of the NPCs’ faces. Pandora’s Actor was the first to speak.

“It appears that Mare has been picking up all sorts of useful knowledge from managing the Adventurer Training Area,” he chuckled. “His point is entirely valid. We Guardians – who were created to fight within the controlled environment of Nazarick – must now consider a much broader range of possibilities when it comes to potential confrontations. Strength alone does not achieve our conditions for success in this case; Ainz-sama has promoted our methods of transportation as safe and secure: it’s our duty to ensure that this is guaranteed to be the case.”

“Their rivals – the Frost Dragons – were subjugated,” Cocytus said. “Should they, too, be brought to heel?”

“This should always be an avenue available to us,” Albedo replied, “but what other ways are there to turn this to Nazarick’s advantage? When the Supreme One went to the Dwarves, he subjugated the Frost Dragons and the Quagoa – in addition to securing beneficial diplomatic relations with the Dwarf nation, unique assets, and trade for the Sorcerous Kingdom. With Ainz-sama’s example in mind, we should seek ways to exploit this situation in the same fashion…though I’m uncertain what more can be gained from this region.”

“Then…what about sending the Adventurers?” Pestonya asked.

“As weak as these Frost Giants are,” Aura answered. “The Adventurers in training aren’t quite there yet. We have maybe one team that can face them down directly.”

“If there have been no orders from Ainz-sama for a violent confrontation,” Pestonya reasoned, “then an Adventurer expedition would satisfy several objectives at once…wan. They’ve been training diligently over the past two months, but they have nothing in the way of field experience. If they are to be explorers and representatives of the Sorcerous Kingdom who first meet new peoples in the future, then this is as good an opportunity as any to establish that foundation. If an agreeable resolution is achieved with the Frost Giants, then all the better, wan.”

Aura did not look convinced. Albedo looked down at the Homunculus Head Maid with a frown.

“The Adventurer Guild is a national institution now,” Albedo told her. “They carry the name and reputation of the Sorcerous Kingdom. If they are committed to an expedition and fail, it will reflect poorly on the nation.”

“Pestonya’s idea does hold merit, however,” Pandora’s Actor said. “I agree with Aura’s assessment that they have insufficient strength to directly confront multiple Frost Giants, but, as Pestonya has stated, the Guild’s field experience with the expedition system is essentially nonexistent. Rather than the stated goal being to establish contact with the Frost Giants and secure their cooperation, we can include this as one of many objectives that may or may not be fulfilled as a part of a greater exercise. The Adventurer Guild and the apparatus that supports it is thus far entirely untested when it comes to their actual purpose, so the main goal would be to establish the proper protocols for future missions.”

“Mare,” Albedo turned to address the Dark Elf Druid, “do you believe that this is a wise course of action? Is the Adventurer Guild ready for this?”

“Mmh…if they’re forced to fight the Frost Giants, they’ll die or at best be made to flee. Everything else, though, I think is correct. We need to do this eventually, and we have enough Gold-ranked teams to start. H-however, we need to do at least one expedition in a safe and controlled environment before that – trying to establish basic procedures in a dangerous place is impractical.”

“An exercise for an exercise?” Aura wrinkled her nose, “Do you have to be such a perfectionist? You keep rebuilding and reshaping the Training Area and fussing over the smallest things too.”

“I-it’s important to Ainz-sama!” Mare cried, “I have to do my best!”

Shalltear felt her back straighten as Mare expressed his conviction. She was not alone, and the nature of their discourse shifted entirely.

“If I may say so,” Yuri Alpha spoke into the silence, “I agree with Mare-sama’s method. Cramming too much into the Adventurers’ curriculum would be counterproductive. Blindly sending them out as they are would be essentially throwing them into a deadly live-fire exercise before they’ve even established what they are supposed to be doing under normal circumstances.”

“I-I didn’t say it wasn’t important!” Aura said, “Just…argh! Alright, what do you want to do, then?”

“Draw up the teams for the expedition and outline the objectives?” Mare replied, “Once we’ve found a suitable location, we’ll see how they do and develop our methods from there.”

Mare’s words were simple enough, but it understated the sheer amount of work involved for both the expedition members and those overseeing them. Shalltear had the feeling that she would be opening a lot of Gates for this exercise.

“Then do you have a location in mind for this exercise?” Albedo asked, “Somewhere in the Great Forest of Tob, perhaps?”

“N-no,” Mare shook his head. “There’s still a lot of interference in the Great Forest. I have another place I’ve been eyeing – an unclaimed forest inside the Sorcerous Kingdom’s borders that should be mostly safe for Gold-ranked Adventurers. There’s someone nearby that should be able to help out with parts of the planning that the Adventurers wouldn’t normally think of as well.”

For all of his outward shyness, Mare actually interacted with quite a few of the citizens: mostly the Adventurers under his management and the landowners in the rural regions that he performed soil management and weather control for. He tended to be received well wherever he went – unless he was dumping vermin on hapless Adventurers in training. Shalltear conjured a map of the Sorcerous Kingdom in her head, and she immediately recognized the location he was referring to and who he had in mind.

“Someone…you don’t mean…”

“Un,” Mare nodded in response to Shalltear’s unfinished sentence. “It’ll be around the summer harvest, so she’ll be nearby overseeing things anyways. Y-you don’t mind if I borrow her, right?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “Just keep in mind that she has her own duties to attend to. Knowing her, though, she will make time for you.”

“Thanks!”

The Guardian Overseer’s gaze went from Shalltear to Mare; then to Pandora’s Actor for some reason. She seemed about to say something before speaking in tones that, for a moment, did not match her placid expression.

“How much time will you be allocating to this exercise,” Albedo asked, “and where will the…real exercise begin?”

“Two weeks should be enough,” Mare replied. “After that, we’ll take a few days to finalize things before we set off from somewhere along the northern border.”

“The northern border?” Albedo tilted her head curiously, “Why not start from one of the Dwarf cities?”

“I wanted to make sure that everything is working as expected by going through the Great Forest of Tob – Nee-chan already has it all mapped out, so we can double-check the expedition’s work as they make their way to the mountains. As for where to start…”

“I suggest the Great Lake.”

Everyone’s attention turned to Shalltear, who had put forward the suggestion more forcefully than she had intended. She cleared her throat before conveying her thoughts in a more reasonable tone.

“The information is still coming in,” she said, “but this is something that I had intended on proposing anyways, given what I’ve put together, arinsu. As a part of my duties in establishing the aerial transportation network, I’ve had to do quite a bit of research on the region’s logistics as a whole. One of the things that stood out to me the most was that, after commerce begins overland with the Dwarves in earnest, the main route for trade is actually east into the Empire, then north along the western Imperial Highway until it reaches the old trade link with the Dwarves which leads to Feoh Jura, which in turn runs to Feoh Berkana, the ruins of Feoh Teiwaz, and then back down the mountains to Re-Estize, arinsu.

“The reason why trade takes such a roundabout route is simple: there are no suitable roads leading in a direct line from E-Rantel to Feoh Berkana, arinsu. What currently exists are winding trails through the mountain valleys that are both lengthy and unsuitable for use by cargo vehicles, arinsu. I propose that we remedy this by constructing a new royal highway that connects E-Rantel to the Great Lake. The highway would then follow the most expedient path to Feoh Raizo; going underground to connect with the subterranean route between Feoh Raizo and Feoh Berkana, as well as the one between Feoh Raizo and Feoh Jura. With this new highway built to our standards, the Soul Eaters will be able to travel at better speeds than what their wagons can handle on the Imperial Highway.”

“Are you really okay?” Albedo said worriedly, “You haven’t been binging on any strange, status-altering consumables?”

The Guardian Overseer went over to the Throne of Kings, and an administration screen popped up before her fingertips.

“How rude!” Shalltear shouted, “I’ve been studying very hard for this proposal, and Undead don’t benefit from food buffs anyways.”

Shalltear sulked as the other NPCs present digested her words.

“This…royal highway,” Cocytus said, “would bring prosperity to the Great Lake. If truly possible, I would lend my full support to this project.”

“I see no apparent downsides to Shalltear’s proposal,” Pandora’s Actor chimed in. “Ainz-sama has impressed his goodwill upon the Dwarves already through his gracious assistance with their migration. Connecting our two realms with this new transport link will serve to cement the relationship that has been forged. The financial boon is clear as well: trade will flow faster, and under our full control. Merchants will not have to pay a series of Imperial tolls for using their highways, reducing the cost of goods for our industries. The benefits are well in our favour.”

“A harmonious relationship with the peoples here is Ainz-sama’s Will for the Sorcerous Kingdom,” Sebas said, and both Pestonya and Yuri nodded in agreement. “This will make great strides to ensuring such beneficial relationships are promoted, and may be used as an example to showcase to prospective allies in the future.”

“I-if Ainz-sama can see how far the Adventurer Guild has come,” Mare added, “then I’m all in.”

“This meeting has dragged on for waaaay too long,” Aura yawned. “What did we come here for again?”

Ah–

They realized just how far they had digressed, and Albedo cleared her throat.

“I don’t see any problems with the Adventurer Guild exercises, but the proposal for a new royal highway is a more weighty matter and should be cross examined at length. As for why everyone was originally called here…no one has any information as to where these Frost Giant rumours are coming from?”

“Several have approached Momon on the matter,” Pandora’s Actor said and looked to Narberal, who also nodded slightly, “and Nabe as well. Dwarf merchants have been arriving for some time now, so I considered them the most likely source of this information as a whole. I don’t consider such rumours overtly belligerent, but it is possible that they are indirectly attempting to improve road security. The two races do not overlap in their spheres of influence otherwise.”

“At least an understandable motive exists if this is the case,” Albedo said. “Has anyone else heard anything about this?”

A long silence hung over the throne room as no one else could come up with anything else. Albedo let out a long breath.

“Very well, then. Everyone is to maintain vigilance in regards to this matter. Pandora’s Actor: use Momon’s influence to smooth out any unrest this might cause.”

“Of course…” Pandora’s Actor replied, “How should we respond if we encounter anyone actively spreading these rumours?”

“Forcefully suppressing widespread gossip will simply lend credence to it,” Albedo said. “If you discover anyone maliciously doing so, however, mark them to be collected by the authorities. We will find out just why they are doing this, and there will be a world of pain awaiting anyone who dares to disturb the order of Ainz-sama’s realm.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 19

Chapter 19

With little else to share or discuss, the Guardian Overseer adjourned the emergency meeting.

Shalltear made her way out of the throne room, maintaining an elegant, measured, pace as she went out through the doors and into the antechamber to use the teleportation gate. As soon as she appeared on the Second Floor, however, she lifted her skirts and set off at a brisk pace, and her Vampire Brides scurried after her. She sped through the corridors of the catacombs and over the tattered rope bridge leading to the Adipocere Chamber. The Vampire Bride waiting at the door barely opened it in time to allow her unobstructed entry.

The entire way, she found herself with a smile on her face. It started as a small, tranquil, smile that she carried out of the throne room with her. After teleporting to the catacombs, however, she could no longer suppress it and it grew into a strange grin. The smile grew wider, and she dashed home so she could relish the sensation in privacy. She slowed her pace and came to a stop in front of the Vampire Bride which awaited her orders inside, until she heard the entrance click shut.

“Yosh!”

Shalltear Bloodfallen made a double fist pump before throwing her hands up in glee. The Vampire Brides attending to her jumped up in surprise and fell over backwards onto the floor. Paying her handmaidens no mind, she continued further into her home with a beaming smile, all feelings of fatigue washed away as she bathed in the twin sensations of pride and accomplishment.

I did it!

She had managed to pull it off.

She found an opportunity to put forward her proposal – the crystallization of weeks of hard work, research and study – for a new royal highway. She was able to make a concise and convincing case for the project, and it was met with an overwhelmingly positive reception from the other NPCs present. It didn’t even matter that Albedo had chosen to deliberate on it; Shalltear was confident that, as time passed and she was able to collect more data, the Guardian Overseer would have no choice but to accede to its benefits.

Even the fact that she had such confidence in her work felt amazing. She could do it. She could come up with her own accomplishments and be even more useful to her beloved. Her crimson eyes glimmered with excitement as she prepared to head out to make her routine checkups at the various posts where her Vampire Brides worked. The first stop would be E-Rantel…

Shalltear turned to look at her bed, where the scented Ainz-sama doll lay. She felt that she was on a roll, so she gently picked it up and added it to her inventory in hopes that she could find a way to exorcise the Demon stink possessing it. After collecting the rest of the things she needed, Shalltear left Nazarick with Hanzo escort in her shadow: using a teleportation gate to reach the surface before opening a Gate to E-Rantel’s central district. She arrived in the gazebo with the mid-morning sun casting its light over the surrounding gardens. Strolling out with a pleasant smile on her face, she organized her thoughts.

Ludmila was in the city. After a series of strange training deaths, the greatly annoyed young noblewoman resolved to correct the issues that were causing them and relevel before she needed to return to her demesne. The summer harvest was fast approaching, and she wouldn’t be able to return to her training for quite some time. As she was nearby, Shalltear decided that she would visit with her first, then drop by the Wagner manor to return some materials she had borrowed. She turned out to follow the street towards her manor, and was surprised to come across Baroness Zahradnik heading in the opposite direction.

“Good morning, Lady Shalltear,” she made a curtsey which looked decidedly odd in her brigandine armour, “I hope the day finds you well.”

Two footmen arrayed in House Zahradnik’s livery – padded suits of forest green and white – bowed together with their mistress’ greeting. One was a freckled youth roughly Ludmila’s height, with sandy blonde hair and grey eyes, while the other was slightly older, with auburn hair and hazel eyes. The second man was also slightly shorter – what were their names again? They tended to always be away on house business, so she rarely saw them.

“Good morning, Lady Zahradnik,” Shalltear replied. “I seem to have caught you just in time.”

“Is there something I can do for you, my lady?”

“There might be, in fact,” she replied. “How long until Mare tries to kill you again?”

Ludmila turned to her footmen and sent them on their way after reviewing their instructions. They made one last, respectful bow before striding off down the street and out of the central district’s front gate.

“I hope Lady Aura isn’t around here somewhere to overhear that,” Ludmila replied after her footmen disappeared from view. “She gives Lord Mare a hard time whenever it happens.”

“I don’t blame her,” Shalltear said lightly. “It always seems to be something utterly strange and unexpected, and it makes it hard for her to keep track of what levels you possibly have, arinsu. Aura says she can’t tell whether it’s a result of your constant experimentation or if Mare has become so comfortable with you that he feels that it’s okay to try out ‘new things’ when you’re in there. Perhaps it’s both: you two just feed off of each other, leaving swathes of devastated Adventurers in your wake with all the ‘improvements’ to the Training Area that result from your antics.”

“I believe it’s to everyone’s benefit that Lord Mare continually improves upon his work. It’s often a painful experience, but the ultimate goal of the Training Area is to produce Adventurers that are unmatched anywhere else. As for my end, I’m continuing in my efforts to figure out why I am experiencing these problems so regularly – this suit of armour I ordered from Mesmit’s forge finally came in, so hopefully it will help in some way.”

“It would be a pleasant change, arinsu. You’re supposed to go up in levels: not revisit them every week.”

Shalltear turned around and made her way in the direction of the Wagner manor, crossing the main promenade to the eastern side of the central district. Ludmila fell in step beside her.

“You’re in quite a good mood today, my lady.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“It’s quite infectious,” Ludmila’s slight smile reflected her good humour. “Did something good happen?”

“Yes, and I plan on running with it-arinsune. Speaking of which…”

She reached into her inventory and withdrew her Ainz-sama doll. Ludmila looked down at it curiously.

“This is…His Majesty?” She said, “It looks a bit like the statue at the Great Lake. Is someone selling these? It’s very cute.”

“No, it’s limited edition, arinsu.”

“Gen…tay…heen?” Ludmila’s mouth slowly formed over the words.

“Er…I suppose you could say that it’s custom-ordered.”

“I see…what about that scent?” Her vassal wrinkled her nose, “It’s not one of yours, and it smells like someone soaked the poor doll in…whatever it is.”

“That bad, huh?” Shalltear sighed.

“I’m…actually not sure, my lady,” Ludmila admitted.

“You’re not sure?” Shalltear frowned, “You detected the odour, did you not, arinsuka?”

“My senses deteriorate and improve as I die and retrain,” Ludmila explained. “It’s been happening so often recently that there’s no time to adjust to the changes, and I’m not too sure what is supposed to be normal any more. The ebb and flow of my strength and capabilities has been compiled into quite a convincing argument for the existence of these levels you’ve described, and how they directly influence the performance of the Adventurer Guild’s members. I assume this odor is something you want removed, my lady?”

“That’s exactly right – do you know of any local methods?”

“Hmm…what have you tried, so far?”

“I’ve had it soaked, washed and aired out a half dozen times. Nothing my attendants try seems to help, arinsu.”

“What about magic? A Clean spell by a local magic caster is easy to access and does not cost much. Actually…since we seem to be heading in that direction anyways, Wagner has a few maids versed in divine magic.”

“She has Clerics as maids? This seems oddly familiar somehow…”

“Ah…I would not go so far as to call them Clerics, my lady,” Ludmila replied. “They are casters of the first tier of divine magic, but, for the most part, they’ve learned what is useful for their occupation. Her maids can conjure basic supplies, provisions and use various forms of utility magic. They also have some healing magic to respond to accidents and such, and are capable of using wands containing divine magic of all sorts.”

“I’ve not heard of noble households in Re-Estize employing magic casters before,” Shalltear said. “Even the ones around here appear to just be mundane servants, arinsu.”

“I hadn’t either,” Ludmila nodded, “until I came to know Wagner. Village priests will attend to the local lord, but generally as a part of their wider duties to the communities that they serve. According to her, the existence of household retainers that cast magic is due to the nobles who have attended the Imperial Magic Academy. After graduation, many of these nobles pursue the traditional paths, filling prestigious positions as higher ranking household staff under more powerful noble houses.

“House Wagner thought that this was, in general, an excellent idea and applied it to promising members of their own common staff. The key difference being that, while graduates of the Imperial Magic Academy are arcane casters, House Wagner’s maids are divine casters who learned from the local Temples. Considering their access to healing magic, I would say that having divine casters in the household is the more practical of the two.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Shalltear said. “Why don’t the other noble houses do this? There appear to be no downsides to the practice.”

“There are probably a few reasons,” Ludmila replied. “The first is that House Wagner is simply far more progressive than the other noble families in Re-Estize. As a merchant house, they have a far more cosmopolitan outlook than even the citizens of E-Rantel, which is itself a centre of trade. Whenever I’m exposed to that side of her, I just feel like some backwards noble from the edge of nowhere – actually I suppose I’m basically that.”

Her vassal offered a self-deprecating smile, but Shalltear knew that she was worth more than what she portrayed herself as. Time and again, she had proven a quick study: adopting new ideas and implementing them effectively. Mare had nothing but good things to say about her as well, even going so far as to choose her to assist with the upcoming expeditionary training. As long as she continued to absorb information and ideas, it wouldn’t be long until she caught up to whatever she was using as an example.

“What were the other reasons-arinsuka?” Shalltear asked.

“Another major reason that comes to mind is that Re-Estize is a secular state by law,” Ludmila answered. “Arcane magic is not promoted like it is in the Empire, so it is seen as not much more than a curiosity or a convenience for daily life. This makes divine casters the only real option, and having a battery of priests in a Household can be construed as an avenue for unlawful influence over the administration for the Temples.”

“I see…is this something you believe as well?”

“What I believe does not matter, my lady,” Ludmila replied, “it is the law. Being a follower of the Six, I am constantly balancing the tenets of my faith with my duties as a noble. I think that things are going well enough so far, but I can easily see how a persistent priest in one’s household could influence decisions that they have no legal right involving themselves in. A fully ordained member of the clergy would face similar dilemmas between duty to faith and duty to secular law. I would only accept the services of such an individual if they had already proven themselves capable of keeping these duties separate.”

“Someone like your lady’s maid, arinsune?”

A surprised look briefly passed over Ludmila’s face.

“That is correct – Aemilia is actually doing just that right now.”

“Your maid is becoming a Cleric?” Shalltear smirked, “Has she finally just decided to go off and join you on your adventures?”

“I don’t know if she’ll become a full-fledged Cleric, my lady,” Ludmila replied, “but she’s spending her free hours at the cathedral learning what she can. Due to much of our menial household labour being performed by the Undead, my maids have had a lot of free time on their hands with as little as goes on in my demesne compared to the other nobles. When Aemilia learned of Wagner’s caster maids, she decided that it was the perfect complement to her position and begged me to let her make the attempt.”

“Hmm…that’s interesting, arinsu. Is anyone else doing this?”

“House Gagnier has been close to House Wagner for generations, so they’ve had them for decades too. Corelyn has sent a few of her most capable and loyal servants to learn from the Temples as well. As for the others…I can’t say that I’ve seen or heard of anything along those lines.”

“Yet the conditions seem simple enough,” Shalltear noted. “Trustworthy retainers and the resources to support their training. There must be something else holding things back.”

“The last major reason why such servants don’t exist in Re-Estize is actually one that would exist in the Empire as well,” Ludmila said, “something to do with what I mentioned previously. Members of the nobility, traditionally, do not learn magic in this region of the world. It is the Imperial Magic Academy that produces nobles learned in magic; those nobles, in turn, go on to occupy their traditional roles as retainers under higher-ranking houses. That is how magic casting household servants in the Empire came to be – Imperial policy and regional noble traditions common to both Re-Estize and Baharuth have combined to manifest in these individuals.

“With no such institution in Re-Estize, similar developments are practically impossible. The nobles who aspire to serve in higher households do not learn magic, and common folk who obtain magic casting ability seek their fortunes elsewhere – mostly becoming tradesmen; sometimes Adventurers. For our part, we’ve simply imitated the concept with the means available to us rather than coming up with it as a matter of course.”

“Yet in your efforts to imitate this concept, you’ve decided that your own product – Divine Maids – are superior to Arcane Maids, arinsu.”

“I’m certain that both carry unique benefits, but, yes, I believe that ‘Divine Maids’ have a more complementary set of advantages when it comes to domestic household duties, my lady.”

“I wonder what Nabe would think of this…” Shalltear said absently.

“Nabe, of Darkness?” Ludmila’s expression turned thoughtful, “I’ve heard some rumours floating around about Momon actually being a noble or even royalty from some distant nation, and Nabe is his attendant…I suppose if she is, it may be worth asking for her opinion.”

“Digging around too much might be considered rude,” Shalltear warned her. “If you do plan on consulting with her, you should be careful with what you ask.”

“Yes, of course, my lady,” Ludmila nodded. “I wouldn’t want to be seen as prying into their lives.”

With the Wagner Manor looming before them with its extended grounds, they made the rest of the way in silence. A pair of footmen stood before the gate. They straightened at their approach and bowed deeply.

“Minister Bloodfallen,” the elder of the two greeted them, “Baroness Zahradnik, Lady Wagner has been expecting you.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The younger footman opened the gate, while the other led them to the main entrance of the manor.

“I don’t recall calling ahead,” Shalltear whispered over to Ludmila.

“Ah, that was me, my lady,” she replied. “I let them know we were on our way while we were walking here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It was the proper thing to do,” Shalltear told her. “You’ve certainly grown accustomed to using your abilities in daily life.”

“They’re quite convenient where they can be prudently used,” Ludmila said. “Though it’s only been a short while, I can’t imagine not having them now.”

The footman opened the tall oak door and Baroness Wagner curtseyed in greeting with a maid at her side.

“Good morning, Minister Bloodfallen, Lady Zahradnik,” she said, “I hope the day finds you well.”

“Good morning, Lady Wagner,” Shalltear smiled. “I hope that I’m not imposing on you.”

“Of course not, my lady,” Liane Wagner rose with a smile. “Please, come in. I’ve had a room prepared for us.”

With a swirl of her shortened pastel skirts, she led them into a drawing room where some light refreshments awaited them. Shalltear seated herself on a firm, yet comfortable, couch, and the two noblewomen followed suit.

“I can’t believe you’re able to sit in that,” Liane eyed Ludmila in her suit of armour. “What war are you going off to fight, anyways?”

“Just Adventurer things,” Ludmila replied. “This armour is quite easy to move around in, too.”

“Uh…if you say so,” the younger noblewoman said dubiously, and turned to Shalltear. “Anyways, Ludmila mentioned that you needed a Clean spell for something, my lady? Rose here can take care of that for you.”

"Yes, that’s right,” Shalltear produced the Ainz-sama doll and placed it on the table between them. “This has been infused with an odour that will simply not go away no matter how many times it’s been washed and aired out, arinsu.”

“This is…His Majesty? It’s pretty cute – where’d you get it from?”

“It’s custom tailored, arinsu.”

“That so? It might sell well…though I guess owning a limited item has a charm of its own.”

“As expected of Baroness Wagner,” Shalltear replied, “you have quite an eye for these things.”

“Hehe, always.” Liane grinned, “Let’s see if we can get rid of this stink for ya.”

Liane waved her maid forward, and Rose lowered her head.

“Pardon the intrusion, Lady Shalltear,” the blonde-haired maid said as she extended her right palm towards the plush doll.

“「Clean」.”

A light swirl of magic infused the doll on the table for a few seconds before dissipating into the air. Shalltear reached out to take the Ainz-sama doll and brought it up to her nose. She inhaled lightly.

The smell was gone.

Just to make sure, she pressed the doll to her face and inhaled deeply. Not a trace of Albedo’s obnoxious musk remained.

“What tier of magic was this-arinsuka?” She asked, and looked up to Rose.

“Clean is a utility spell of the First Tier, my lady,” Rose answered smoothly.

The Guardian Overseer, defeated by a First Tier spell. The day kept getting better and better. Beside her, Ludmila withdrew a small coin purse from her Infinite Haversack.

“How much does this service cost?” She asked.

Even in armour, her vassal had slipped into her role as a lady-in-waiting.

"Uh…cantrips and First Tier spells are the same price, since they use the same amount of mana,” Liane replied. “One copper.”

Ludmila fished a copper coin out of her purse and placed it on the table. Liane looked down at it strangely.

“...is something the matter?” Ludmila asked worriedly.

“House Wagner deals with dozens of merchant companies every day,” Liane said, “moving thousands of platinum coins. Now House Wagner is dealing with the Minister of Transportation of the Sorcerous Kingdom, moving one copper coin.”

A frown slowly formed on Ludmila’s face.

“W-what should I do?" Ludmila said in distraught tones, “I don’t have any Platinum coins on hand – I can fill an invoice if–”

“Woah!” Liane shouted, holding up her hands, “I didn’t mean anything like that. I just thought it was funny – y’know…irony?”

Liane half-rose from her seat, leaning over the marble table in an effort to calm Ludmila down. Liane quickly glanced to Shalltear, who returned a neutral look, then froze.

“M-m-minister Bloodfallen,” she said in a small voice as a horrified look crept onto her face, “I have absolutely no intention of overcharging you for this, just so you know…”

Her voice trailed off as her face turned ashen, Shalltear’s crimson gaze reflected in her ice-blue eyes. The pale blonde hair framing her slender neck shook lightly as she began to visibly tremble. Liane’s reaction was far cuter than what Ludmila could offer in similar circumstances – she bore a bit of a resemblance to another girl around her age that she had enjoyed many months ago.

“Lady Wagner,” Ludmila produced a clean sheet of parchment from her bag, “how much platinum should I put us down for?”

Baroness Wagner wavered on her feet; she looked like she was about to be sick. Shalltear raised a hand to cover the smile on her lips, but a short laugh that escaped gave her away. The strength in Liane’s legs seemed to give way as she fell back onto her seat with a sigh, slouching slovenly on her couch. Out of the corner of her eye, Shalltear saw Ludmila stick out her tongue.

“You–” Liane started, and Shalltear burst out in laughter.

Ludmila started to laugh as well, and with a weak groan, Liane fell over sideways onto the couch cushions and curled up. It wasn’t long, however, before her shoulders started to shake with laughter too.

Yes, this is nice. Shalltear thought to herself as their laughter chimed over the air, this is how it should be. To be able to enjoy the day: with refined, talented and attractive young women to keep me company. All I need to do is get my hands on the other two. Let Albedo play her games of intrigue with that silly Golden Princess. By the time any of her plans come to fruition, I will have long created my own cadre – their quality proven, and loyalty beyond question.

When they finally settled down again, Shalltear withdrew several volumes of records from her inventory and placed them on the table.

“I should thank you for lending me your records,” she told Liane. “These have been quite useful as a reference for logistics and trade in the region.”

“I’m glad that House Wagner was able to be of service,” Liane replied, having returned to her usual form. “If you need anything else, please let me know: it feels good to be at the forefront of progress instead of chasing after it while it happens everywhere else. Rose–”

Liane cut herself off and looked around: Rose was passed out on the floor nearby, skirts spread over the luxurious rug.

“Oh, hmm…” Liane leaned over her armrest, “Rose.”

The maid immediately stirred at the sound of her mistress’ voice. It felt an age ago when Shalltear first met Ludmila and encouraged her to explore and harness the powers of her class. Now, she and her friends were reliably able to do so whenever it was required.

“My lady, we’re…alive?”

“Guess so. Put these things away, will ya?”

The maid rose from the floor and straightened out her uniform before proceeding to take the materials away. Liane fidgeted a bit in the meanwhile before she broke the silence with a question.

“Lady Shalltear, I was wondering…have you heard anything about Frost Giants?”

“It’s strange that you should ask,” Shalltear replied. “I was about to bring them up myself, arinsu.”

“You were? I mean – did you have questions about them, or do you have some sort of official statement on them?”

“Perhaps a bit of both: on matters of transportation and security, I probably have the answers you seek. The Royal Court has several questions that they are trying to find answers for as well, arinsu.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Liane stood up and walked over to a mahogany cabinet along the wall, drawing out a pen and some parchment. “Quite a few petitions from various associates of House Wagner have been presented to the administration, but no one’s received a reply so far.”

Liane reseated herself and looked up to her.

“How would you like to start?” Liane asked.

“Forming a common foundation of knowledge should be the first step,” Ludmila said.

“Yes,” Shalltear agreed. “The Prime Minister only handed off the query to the rest of us at the end of her initial investigations, so what I have so far has the feeling of having been handled halfway, arinsu. We’ve only been able to trace the source of this Frost Giant…issue…in the form of a widespread rumour that has permeated the merchant population.”

“That sounds about right, from where I stand,” Liane nodded. “Starting about four days ago, several of the merchants working for House Wagner all approached me with the same rumours. Over the next few days, even more merchants came to me – a bunch of those didn’t even work for us…they were just associates, even rivals in some fields. Then, my contacts from the Empire started asking about it starting yesterday.”

Ludmila made a sound from the side at Liane’s account.

“Yeah,” Liane said, “rumours fly really fast when profit and risk are involved. Just by keeping track of who is contacting me, and when, I can see how fast this news is rippling out from E-Rantel and spreading all over the Empire. It’s especially annoying since it deals with something entirely unknown to us: the imagination can just blow things completely out of proportion…or just trivialize things, but the real damage is the unfounded speculation causing irrational fluctuations in the markets. It’s a good thing that trade with the Dwarves just started, or it would have some pretty nasty effects on trade.”

“I wonder if we’ll be getting official queries from the Empire soon,” Shalltear mused. “Momon initially attributed these rumours to the Dwarves, since they are from the same area – what are the chances of this being the case?”

“Zilch, pretty much,” Liane said flatly. “It’s easy to use that kinda logic to draw a careless conclusion, but, in reality, it’s often not the case. I’ve had a lot of meetings with Dwarf Merchants, and they’ve never once mentioned Frost Giants. As far as I’ve gathered, their races rarely have any sort of interaction. I sent out about two dozen agents to make sure – checking around the taverns and other gathering places for gossip and such – when I first became aware of this rumour, but the Dwarves appear to have nothing to do with it. Most of the time, it’s the Dwarves picking up the rumour from Humans…and then those Dwarves come asking me.”

“What are these rumours, exactly?” Ludmila asked.

“It’s pretty much divided into two parts,” Liane said. “The first part is some vague history of the area – it’s pretty dubious when you consider how far back it claims to go. The second part is about the Frost Giants: their strength, what they’re like, and how, with their Frost Dragon rivals no longer opposing them in the Azerlisia Mountains, nothing is stopping the Frost Giants from expanding and subjecting others to their belligerent behaviour.”

“Whoever is spreading this rumour is claiming that the Sorcerous Kingdom will be at fault for any Frost Giant incidents?” Shalltear frowned.

“Hmm…not directly, if that matters any,” Liane said. “It’s a nice and juicy rumour but, at its core, it’s more like a story where you have two opposing sides and one suddenly disappears – the rest of it just a predictable enough outcome.”

“Are Frost Giants actually that strong?” Ludmila raised an eyebrow, “It’s hard to imagine anything defeating the Sorcerous Kingdom’s armies in a direct confrontation. What’s to stop them from just being rooted out of the mountains and eliminated as a threat entirely?”

“Oh boy, here comes Surshana’s Chosen,” Liane rolled her eyes, “bringing death to all Demihumans.”

“Ludmila has the gist of it, however,” Shalltear said. “If these Frost Giants cause the Sorcerous Kingdom to lose face through their aggressive actions, the reprisal will be exactly that severe.”

“Okay…maybe I’m in the minority here, but maybe we shouldn’t be going around obliterating entire races for relatively minor incidents? Leaving piles of rubble everywhere nets little in the way of profit for us – it mostly benefits vermin and scavengers.”

“The Prime Minister is only considering it as a last resort,” Shalltear replied. “We’ll be exploring more…diplomatic avenues first.”

“That sort of diplomacy takes time,” Ludmila said. “In the meanwhile, what can they do to inflict harm on the Sorcerous Kingdom and those we’re on friendly terms with? How can it be prevented so diplomacy has the time it needs to work?”

“From what we’ve gathered,” Shalltear replied, “they potentially have prominent members among them that can face off directly against Soul Eaters, but not against the hundreds we have working with the Dwarven migration at the moment. The most damaging actions they can take are indirect – using natural hazards to wipe out merchant caravans and infrastructure. Their ancient rivals, the Frost Dragons, are working with the migration as well, so their constant presence should keep the Frost Giants at bay until the Dwarves finish moving back into their old cities, arinsu.”

“How much time does that buy?” Ludmila asked.

“I suppose that would depend on them; we care little for what they do otherwise. The bulk of the move should be completed within the next two months, but the mountain roads will still see use after that. The Dwarves are short on hands overall, and they still want to restore the ruins of their westernmost city.”

“An opportunity for the Sorcerous Kingdom to market the merits of Undead labour, then,” Liane mused.

“I believe that’s the plan, yes,” Shalltear replied. “A free trial to demonstrate the advantages of our Undead labour, followed by promotional leases and such, arinsu. The reception seems to be favourable so far, arinsu.”

“Hmm…so if you have all that under control,” Liane said, “all you’re looking for is the source of this rumour? To be honest, I’d be tempted to take advantage of it – the more widespread this rumour becomes, the more recognition the Sorcerous Kingdom will earn when a resolution is achieved.”

“The Prime Minister has expressed her desire to control the spread of any new rumours by dealing with the source if it exists as a single person or isolated group,” Shalltear shook her head. “If it is a single source, it has demonstrated the capability to distribute destabilizing information at a disturbing rate, so it’s potential to undermine confidence in the Sorcerous Kingdom is Albedo’s main concern.”

“What about the current rumours surrounding the Frost Giants?” Ludmila asked.

“If it’s as widespread as Liane says,” Shalltear replied, “then there’s no point in trying. Any attempts to do so will only reinforce their credibility or even blow things out of proportion. Flailing around trying to contain this information when it could be all the way out in Karnassus by now will only serve to portray us as incompetent.”

“Gotcha…I’ll let my people know and send word out that the Royal Court is already looking into the problem,” Liane looked up from her notes, “and we’ll continue keeping an eye on this rumour. Was there anything else you wanted to throw on top of this?”

“Not in particular, no,” Shalltear rose from her seat. “Just balancing out the effects of this rumour with our assurances should be fine.”

The two noblewomen stood after she did, and Liane did a sort of half-bow.

“I’ll get to work right away on this, Lady Shalltear,” she said. “Though I’m afraid we’re nowhere near as effective as…”

Liane unbent herself, and a concerned frown appeared.

“What is it-arinsuka?” Shalltear asked.

“I just keep thinking that this rumour is too powerful,” Liane said.

“How do you mean-arinsuka?”

“It’s too effective, and it’s too cohesive – too perfect in the information it delivers,” Liane explained. “Usually, when you’re dealing with rumours, you notice them slowly change the longer they last and the further they travel. This one, no matter how far the report comes from or how many days it’s been out there, is always exactly the same. Maybe it’s because merchants usually have very good information networks, but still…I can’t help but wonder if this rumour is the result of an ability or a spell.”

Shalltear furrowed her brow. In Yggdrasil, there was no such vague, widespread magic capable of producing the results described. Again, this strange new world presented a potential threat which could not be met with direct force.

“Who would the perpetrators be if this was the case?”

“I’ve never heard of anything like this done with a spell,” Liane replied, “though, admittedly, we’re not exactly a high magic society here in ex-Re-Estize. The alternative would be someone with oration abilities.”

“Like a Noble?” Ludmila said.

“Probably not small-time nobles like us,” Liane shook her head. “Sometimes you hear stories about great nobles galvanizing their people with stirring speeches or fantastic deeds and such, but I don’t think any of us have been going around doing that recently. The other options would be Commanders, preacher types and performers. I can’t say for sure, but it’s probably not the first two since they probably have no stake in planting such a rumour.

“We may just have had a wandering minstrel or something that rolled through the city and spread the tale with no particular intent to ruffle any feathers, as insanely irresponsible as that would be. I’m not sure about the extent of their abilities, however. We’d have crazy information flying all over the place if every Bard could pull this sort of thing off. Maybe one of the Guilds can answer that question.”

Liane and Rose accompanied them back out to the street in front of the Wagner manor, where they parted ways. Far to the north, clouds dark with rain were rolling in over the foothills.

“It looks like Mare went to change the weather before heading to the Adventurer Guild,” Shalltear noted. “Speaking of which, weren’t you supposed to be going there when I came across you, arinsuka?”

“I usually head out an hour or two early to take a look around the markets, my lady,” Ludmila replied. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes…if this individual spreading the rumour is operating with clear, malicious intent against the Sorcerous Kingdom, you can track it, right?”

“That’s, er…” Ludmila lowered her head. “Apologies, my lady, but I lost that ability.”

“When did this happen?”

“Around my first or second death,” there was a hint of annoyance in Ludmila’s voice. “They happened within a day of each other; I was knocked straight back down to Iron rank…at least that’s where they tentatively placed me. I didn’t even realize it was gone until I tried using it some time later.”

“So you lost whatever class level it was that conferred the ability,” Shalltear said. “Have you been able to get it back at any point?”

“I go through a checklist of things every time I finish a session in the training area now, but I haven’t been able to do it since…I’m sorry, my lady.”

“Well, hopefully you find it again soon: that tracking ability seems perfect for this sort of thing.”

“I agree, my lady,” Ludmila nodded. “The Adventurer Guild is starting to become quite thorough at cataloguing their members and their abilities now, but there are still all sorts of issues with isolating Classes and making various associations with them. This tracking ability is unique to me in the guild, which leads me to believe that it’s from some Class that I gained through activities outside of what Adventurers usually deal with.”

“So you won’t get it back just by training with the Adventurer Guild.”

“That should be the case, my lady. It’s possible that I’ll just pick it up again while I’m performing my regular duties. I’ll have to pay close attention to how I get it.”

The sound of a lute drifted over a nearby hedge. When they crossed an opening to a garden nearby, they saw a Bard entertaining a small group of wealthy patrons. Shalltear slowed her steps to listen to the lyrics being sung, but it was just some exaggerated tale about Adventurers hunting some local monsters – a pack of Trolls and some other low-level forest creatures. After moving on past the garden and onto the main street leading out of the district, Ludmila looked at her.

“My lady,” she said, “I think I may have our culprit.”

“That Bard?” Shalltear glanced over her shoulder.

“Not him – but he was singing about local monsters and such. To have such knowledge of the Frost Giants, who live in relative isolation within the Azerlisia Mountains, the source of the rumour should also be from a local of that region, no?”

“Well, traffic from the Dwarf Kingdom is starting to pick up now,” Shalltear said. “So you’re saying this is the work of a Dwarf….Bard, arinsuka?”

“A Frost Dragon Bard,” Ludmila replied. “Wagner mentioned that the rumour started four days ago, and four days ago I saw a Frost Dragon – in the appearance of a Human woman around my age – entertaining the queue as I was coming out of the Merchant Guild.”

“I would think that you’d remember that sort of thing right away-arinsuka,” Shalltear reached into her inventory to pull out a binder.

“I’ve been leaving people alone if they’re not doing anything suspicious looking, my lady,” Ludmila replied, “and it’s not uncommon to see someone using a magical disguise once in a while now that trade is flowing freely again. The Frost Dragons are subjects of the Sorcerous Kingdom, and a part of our delivery staff, so I did not immediately suspect that anything was amiss.”

They stopped on the side of the street as Shalltear leafed through the pages of the binder. Each section was a dossier for a Frost Dragon, which included their traits, abilities, and special notes – along with their current schedule. Finding the Dragons currently flying between E-Rantel and Feoh Berkana, she realized that one matched Ludmila’s account perfectly and sighed.

“My lady?”

“I really should have pinned that one to the wall.”

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The Frosty Beard was an inn: recently constructed below the southern wall of E-Rantel’s Demihuman quarter. Situated directly below the hoardings where the Frost Dragons of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s delivery service were housed, the exterior of the stone building was shadowed, damp and often cold enough to coat the surface of the structure in a light frost. Above, it’s namesake – a veil of icy mist – continually seeped down from the buttressed overhang several metres above.

After the orphanage, it was the first permanent establishment to be constructed in the Demihuman Quarter: the influx of Dwarven merchants, tradesmen and travellers resulted in demand for a more homey sort of hospitality desired by their kind. Only the inn’s tavern and it’s associated areas for dining and entertainment were in the two floors above ground, while the inn’s accommodations were situated entirely below – extending ten floors into the earth to provide rooms of solid stone and cozy warmth greatly appreciated by their clientele.

The heavy, iron-bound oak door that served as the entrance to the building opened with the harsh clanging of iron chimes. A figure emerged, silhouetted by the warm light emanating from within. The rowdy cheers and toasts of the Dwarves within accompanied the stocky form of a Dwarf woman out. After another long and dreary week of deliveries back and forth between E-Rantel and Feoh Berkana, the next ‘day off’ finally arrived and Ilyshn’ish had immediately set out to see how she could improve her lot in life.

The week previous, where she had followed the Human female Pam on her deliveries around the city, had netted her two gold coins for hours of toil – significantly less than what she had received for the Frost Giant she had felled in mere minutes outside of Feoh Raizo. The brief summary of lore that she had offered while waiting to get into the Merchant Guild had gained her nothing, due to the sudden appearance of the militia and their subsequent need to escape.

Though disappointing, Pam insisted that Ilyshn’ish was an excellent Bard and could make far more as a performer than she could with the simple delivery work they had completed.

Ilyshn’ish spent what remained of her free time that day strolling around the city to what she could see. She traded some coins for a number of books that she thought might contain useful or interesting things, then headed back to the Frost Dragon pens so she could set Hejinmal to task sifting through the texts. It was on her way back that she noticed the Dwarven establishment nearby under construction. With both Pam’s assessment and her encounters with the various denizens of Feoh Berkana in mind, she approached the site where the proprietor and manager was overseeing the finishing touches on the new business.

After a brief sampling of what she had to offer, he immediately offered her three gold coins per day of work in the tavern. Gaining three coins sitting around doing what she enjoyed anyways was a far cry better than carrying things all over the place for two, so Ilyshn’ish promised to do so the next time she was available. Now, after spending the entire day performing in the tavern of the Frosty Beard, she basked in a sense of satisfaction over the day’s results.

When she arrived in the morning, the manager seemed surprised that she had appeared at such an early hour. Nevertheless, she worked through the morning, afternoon and late into the night. The tavern staff regularly asked how she was doing: was her voice okay? Did she need a drink? Was her seat comfortable and so on. They didn't seem to realize that she was actually a Dragon and thus possessed the endurance to easily weather the conditions that came with her task, but she still enjoyed their pampering.

The patrons of the tavern, too, showered her with an overwhelmingly positive reception. She quickly discovered that, as a resurgent nation, the Dwarves hungered to reclaim their history and culture – to rebuild the pride which had been lost over long centuries of painful decline. As a seemingly bottomless well of their lore, they were in awe of her as she could fulfil any request, regaling them with songs and poems that they had never heard of before. Even so, they still had no doubts over whether her renderings were authentic.

By evening, the tavern was filled to bursting and Ilyshn’ish was the centre of attention. Be they merchants or labourers or even visiting officials, she set their stony hearts aflame and their eyes shone with the visions that she painted for them. At some point, one of the tavern staff had set out a bowl near the edge of the stage upon which she performed, and coins of all denominations clinked into it whenever people came in and out and whenever she fulfilled their many requests. Every time it nearly overflowed, someone would change it out for her, and so she sang to her heart’s content: playing her drum as she performed everything from playful ditties to sweeping epics.

Though the Dwarves of the Azerlisia Mountains existed mostly underground and thus did not pattern their activities on the availability of daylight, the Humans of E-Rantel that they traded with did, so the day eventually ended for Ilyshn’ish as well with the proprietor closing the tavern to the grudging acceptance of its patrons. Rather than make her way directly back up the wall and risk detection in the Demihuman Quarter – which saw more new arrivals as time went on – she made her way through the gatehouse into the common area of E-Rantel.

The city streets at this late hour were absent of crowds and mostly quiet: save for a handful of the city’s denizens returning to their homes and the periodic passage of Undead servitors sent on various errands. Most of the storefronts were closed and shuttered, so Ilyshn’ish wasted no time making her way through the city and into the central district. The powerful Undead guards that manned the gatehouse did not move to stop her as she entered, nor did any of those patrolling within.

There was a marked gap in the affluence displayed between the dense housing outside of the inner wall of the city and the large, well-spaced noble manors within. The Dwarves and Humans had a common saying – something about thin air? Or was it rarefied air? As a Dragon, Ilyshn’ish could personally smell the difference in wealth crossing between different parts of the city. She sensed it every time she flew overhead as well.

Recalling the sight of the district’s dainty gardens and pretentious courtyards, she wondered why the city was arrayed in such a manner. It was as if they had made their treasures particularly vulnerable to predation from above: if not for the many powerful Undead maintaining their constant vigilance over the entire city, a Dragon could swoop down and quickly ransack the place, grabbing a snack or five while along the way. The low density of inhabitants made it safer to do so than if it had been placed near something like the Adventurer Guild.

Ilyshn’ish strode past the stately buildings and carefully tended public spaces to the base of the south wall. She veiled herself with Invisibility before returning to her Dragon self. Quietly scaling up the icy wall, she dispelled her concealment once she finished making her way to the top.

“Where have you been?” The Vampire Bride at the desk asked.

“It’s my day off,” she replied, “why does it matter?”

The Vampire Bride offered her no answer, so Ilyshn’ish walked past the desk and opened the door to the broom closet. Why was she still assigned to this tiny room, anyways? Aside from Hejinmal and herself, there were no other Frost Dragons around – surely she could be afforded more spacious accommodations now. Well, at least it had a door. Closing it behind her, she settled down to count her gains for the day.

The coin purse she withdrew was far more weighty than it had been in the morning, and Ilyshn’ish allowed herself a feeling of accomplishment over being able to substantially increase her personal possessions. It was a pittance compared to Olasird’arc’s old hoard, but she was still ahead of the others now. If only they would react appropriately when she flaunted her personal wealth…

Her brows furrowed as she wondered how to undo the tiny knot on the purse with her claws. She abruptly stopped upon sensing a figure approaching the door and put the purse away again. The door creaked open and, to her horror, Lady Shalltear stood in the corridor.

“I was having such a good week, too,” the Vampire looked into the closet with a displeased expression, tapping a rod of clear crystal over her wrist. “Why is it somehow always you?”

Sensing the powerful Undead female’s poor disposition, Ilyshn’ish crouched defensively and sought an avenue of escape.

“It wasn’t me, though?” She replied innocently, “It must have been some other Frost Dragon.”

“Aside from Hejinmal, you’re the only other one in the city.”

“T-then maybe it was him? Despite appearances, that one is quite cunning…”

“I had one of my Vampire Brides keep him company for the day,” Lady Shalltear said, “he’s been reading books the entire time.”

Lady Shalltear advanced into the doorframe and Ilyshn’ish shifted back. Brooms, mops and pails were tipped over and clattered noisily over the floor as she shifted backwards. Bumping up against the rear of the tiny space, she wondered if she could just put a hole in the wall and fly away.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you as well,” the Vampire continued, and Ilyshn’ish felt panic mounting despite the calm tone of Lady Shalltear’s silvery voice. “I have no doubt that you’re the one we’ve been looking for. After everything I said to the others…are you trying to make a fool out of me?”

“I don’t understand!” Ilyshn’ish whimpered, “What did I even do? No one looked unhappy – this…this is harassment, isn’t it? You’re b-bullying me for some petty reason! I…I demand to speak with your manager!”

Lady Shalltear froze in place, and an incredulous look appeared on her face.

Did it work? Of course it did. Ilyshn’ish learned this powerful technique while working in the Frosty Beard. Whenever a customer appeared to have a grievance over food or service, an impasse could be broken with this spell-like phrase and the employee being confronted would immediately turn conciliatory. She awaited a favourable result.

“There’s no reason for me to bring you to the Guardian Overseer,” Lady Shalltear finally replied. “Are you really that suicidal? This sudden demand to see Albedo, hmm…could this actually have been her plan all along?”

Lady Shalltear continued to mutter to herself, and Ilyshn’ish’s confusion only grew. Guardian Overseer? Albedo? What plan?

“It might be…everything fits together too perfectly,” she made a vexed noise. “I make the tiniest bit of progress, and she immediately makes moves against me – is this how she wants to play?”

The crimson gaze turned on Ilyshn’ish again and she shrunk further into the closet, curling her tail under herself. Never mind being able to answer, she didn’t even know what Lady Shalltear was talking about.

“Now, what shall I do–”

“Wait!” Ilyshn’ish wailed, “I don’t understand – I really don’t! Why are you doing this to me? What did I do?”

“You’ve been spreading rumours on your days off,” Lady Shalltear replied. “Rumours that have unsettled a great many people, undermining confidence in the Sorcerous Kingdom. We have a witness from last week, and I personally confirmed your actions today.”

“Rumours? I’ve done no such thing: I’ve only been working!”

“Working? Working for who?”

Lady Shalltear looked at her sharply, and Ilyshn’ish cringed under the overwhelming waves of malice washing over her.

“Hiiiieeee!”

“Answer me!”

“Myself! I’ve just been working for myself!”

“You already work for me,” Lady Shalltear said.

“You don’t even pay me anything!” Ilyshn’ish whined, “At least these side jobs earn me some coin…”

A long silence grew between them and Ilyshn’ish’s unease mounted. Lady Shalltear smiled slightly before speaking again, and Ilyshn’ish felt her heart sinking as the words left the Vampire’s mouth.

“It appears that you require a great deal of discipline and training,” Lady Shalltear told her. “You have only yourself to blame for any pain that comes your way…”

The skirts of Lady Shalltear’s black gown swept forward across the frosty floor before she even finished speaking, and a pale hand reached out towards Ilyshn’ish. Ilyshn’ish could only think of her mother’s words when she had first arrived in the city.

“No!” She cried, “Get away!”

Desperate to prevent whatever the Vampire was trying to do, she lashed out with her claws, striking with all her might and agility. Razor sharp talons sliced into Lady Shalltear’s tiny torso, lodging themselves at her waist.

Did I get her? Nothing can survive this, right?

Her hopes were crushed as Lady Shalltear’s smile only widened. Neither she nor anything on her person seemed to have suffered any damage. Rather than showing any distress after having an Adult Dragon’s claws tear into her body, her dreadful, crimson eyes brightened in amusement.

“Well, I suppose that this way works as well.”

“Wha–!”

“「Greater Teleportation」.”

The world shifted, and the broom closet vanished from Ilyshn’ish’s senses.

The Bard

In a world shrouded in endless mysteries, where beings channel the might of the divine, delve into the abyss of the arcane and seek to manipulate the soul itself, Bards may be found in every race, culture and nation. Unlike those who seek mastery over the arcane arts, or strive to become exemplars of their faith, what the Bard pursues is art itself.

Commonly perceived as the charming minstrel spinning songs in tavern and court alike, or chroniclers, dancers and playwrights in the employ of noble patrons, true Bards are all this and more: capable of wielding power far beyond what their outward appearance may suggest. In their endless drive to achieve the pinnacle of artistic expression, Bards are found in many forms.

Mighty Giant Skalds who find inspiration for their epic sagas in the thick of pitched battle. Siren Heralds who broadcast information throughout vast aquatic empires. Swindlers who can wring every copper coin from even the most miserly of marks. Adventurers, diplomats, scholars, scoundrels – through their plethora of skills, universal charisma and understanding of lore, customs and people, Bards are well-suited to thrive in every situation that they may find themselves in.

The unifying element of all Bardic classes, regardless of benign or belligerent pursuit, is their ability to transform the mastery of their art into a magic of its own. Spells woven from song, voices that reinforce or subvert the minds of their audience, and deadly dances both beautiful and savage are all renderings of this extraordinary power: feats that influence both ally and enemy alike, altering the disposition of a crowd or shifting the tides of battle.

Yet, more importantly than their individual ability is their place in the world, for their art is the song of the world itself – its peoples, histories, knowledge and spirit – connected through those who travel its length and breadth. Admired by all and loved by all, Bards are welcomed wherever their heart takes them…assuming they are prudent in the use of their many talents.

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 22

Chapter 22

“Thegn.”

“Your bird was pestering me – what’s going on?”

Perched on its mistress’ shoulder, the Giant Eagle ruffled its feathers in affront and glared at him. An insolent grin appeared on Sigurd’s face over the bird’s reaction to his words.

“I sent him to fetch you,” the Huntress’ hand reached up to scratch the bird affectionately. “If it was possible, I would’ve had him carry you here like a tree branch. You took your sweet time.”

“And why not?” Sigurd shrugged. “It’s not as if anything worthwhile is going on. Why did you send for me?”

The Huntress turned to face the passes below before replying, motioning towards the distant figures following the mountain road. Since it was first noted weeks ago, the Jarls had issued a missive to the tribal leaders: ordering them to send Huntress to observe the Dwarven migration.

“Something’s changed,” she said. “They’ve posted sentries on the route. Undead sentries.”

“Undead?” He chuckled, “Don’t tell me they’ve set up those horse things pulling the sleds as guards, too. Horsecarls? Hah!”

Sigurd’s mirth boomed over their surroundings, sending ice and snow tumbling off the nearby trees and cliffs. The Huntress scowled, raising a finger to her lips.

“Hsst! You’re making enough noise to start an avalanche, and your joke was terrible. It’s a different sort of Undead this time. They have the look of warriors, about twice as tall as a Dwarf.”

Sigurd squinted down at the road, his interest in the long weeks of boring movement renewed. He was not an experienced Hunter, however, so he could make little beyond the vague procession of dots over the snowy landscape.

“I can’t see shit from this far,” he started scaling down the escarpment. “Let’s take a closer look.”

His blood stirred at the thought of these new, unknown beings. While younger warriors might have been interested in attacking the Dwarves and their cargo in order to gain wealth and rise through the ranks with proof of their mettle, Sigurd was long past those days: he was already an acclaimed warrior of his clan, and little could increase his standing. Leather creaked as his grip tightened over his greataxe – hopefully they were strong, and worthy of his attention. The Huntress did not miss his shift in attitude.

“Wait,” her voice called out in warning after they reached the bottom and walked a short ways, “we shouldn’t get any closer than this.”

“The last time I was here, you were all much closer,” he replied. “If you were pushed back by these new Undead warriors, then that’s all the more reason for me to have a look at them.”

Sigurd continued down the slope, through the silent stands of conifers crowned in snow. The Huntress followed after him with silent steps.

“We lost one of ours a day after you came by,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t one of those Undead though – they came later – it was a Dragon.”

“Oho…I thought the reports said that the Frost Dragons were in league with the Dwarves now? Whatever happened, they’ve become little more than livestock.”

Sigurd spat into the mat of needles underfoot with a sour expression marring his face. The sudden change over their ancient rivals was both incomprehensible and disgusting. That they had seemingly capitulated to nothing was a stain on the honour of those who had long contested their power and considered them worthy adversaries.

“That’s what we thought,” the Huntress admitted. “Then we found one of our own at the bottom of a gulley. The corpse was fresh – there wasn’t a single scavenger there yet. The marks on her body were almost certainly caused by a Dragon and, by the looks of it, the Huntress couldn’t even put up a fight.”

“Hmm…how experienced was this Huntress?” He asked.

“She’s been ranging for my tribe for nearly a decade,” she answered. “Not exactly new, but she never really distinguished herself in any way.”

“Still, if it was so one-sided, it must have been Olasird’arc, or one of his consorts.”

“If it was one of them, there’d be pieces strewn all over the mountainside."

She had a point: clashes with the older Dragons in the White Dragon Lord’s following were few and far between. Whenever they did happen, it was done in as showy a manner as possible in an overt attempt to demonstrate who truly dominated the area.

“None in their broodlings are strong enough to pull that off,” he noted.

“There is one,” the Huntress said. “It was just her style too.”

Sigurd snorted dismissively.

“She’s real!” The Huntress protested, “I’ve seen her handiwork before – all us out here have.”

“I don’t deny that she exists,” Sigurd looked over his shoulder at her. “I just don’t believe that she’s all that these brats have made her out to be. That nickname they gave her just makes things even more ludicrous – like some story to scare beardless boys with.”

He turned his gaze forward again. Every new generation had their tales and rumours; Sigurd’s was no different. When he was a young, unproven warrior, the threat of the day was Olasird’arc’s move into the old Dwarven capital. The most ardent of his age insisted that, from within their new stronghold, the Dragons would breed out of control and the mountains would be swarming with them in no time.

That never happened, however. Dragons being Dragons, they took a long time to grow and the young were eventually dealt with when they left their new lair to hunt. The handful that reached maturity…well, that was what he was there for – or any other decently strong member of his kind, for that matter. Those inexperienced fools who believed that Dragons could actually grow to become a threat by simply outbreeding their rivals were jumping at the shadows of an already absurd notion.

There was a good reason why that, by the time that the Demon Gods had appeared, only a few Frost Dragons remained. In the span that it took for a generation of Frost Dragons to survive to adulthood, an entire generation of Frost Giants would become veteran warriors, with another generation well on the way. It took centuries for a Frost Dragon to truly become a threat to a small tribe – centuries where they would inevitably expose themselves to risks and commit fatal errors that would bring their lives to an end. He anticipated a day when Olasird’arc himself would stick his neck out too far, and then Sigurd’s blade would finally taste the flesh of an Ancient Dragon.

Frost Giants were simply more populous, grew faster and were far more organized than the Frost Dragons who were possessed of a solitary and prideful nature. Even after forming their enclave, every Frost Dragon still essentially saw to their own individual needs: hunting alone, flying alone and dying alone. Without benefit of the experience and knowledge that came with age, these younger Dragons were doomed to repeat those very same errors. The advent of the Demon Gods and the devastation that they wrought over the range was merely a temporary respite for the Dragons, and the undisputed rule of the Frost Giants over the Azerlisia Mountains simply a matter of time. A fate carved in stone by their very nature.

The sun was abruptly shaded over and Sigurd heard the Huntress steps falter behind him, scraping over the rocks. He looked up, only to find that a cloud had drifted in overhead. Even a veteran warrior like her was jumping at the idea of this other Dragon. Still, he supposed that this particular one seemed to be far more aware of her people’s predicament than the others.

This Dragon, unlike others of her kind, did not seek the strong to assert her dominance, nor did she hunt for treasure or slaves. Ever since she made herself known to them, she constantly oppressed and terrorized the weak, young and inexperienced. Proof of strength was not her objective – she was simply picking off whoever she could with minimal risk.

Like herd animals being slowly culled by a predator, many grew wary of her ghostly movements. Over time, her prospective list of victims expanded as she gained in strength, adding to her reputation amongst the Frost Giants.

“If she’s truly active in the area,” Sigurd told the Huntress, “then it’s a good time to finally be rid of her. We’ll see how well her skinny neck fares against the bite of my Frostreaver.”

“If only it was that simple,” the Huntress huffed. “We’d have successfully set an ambush for her long ago, but she is as cunning and observant as she is ruthless, and acts in ways that are beyond the other Dragons of her generation…it’s as if a champion has risen from their number – albeit a cowardly one.”

Sigurd laughed out loud at the idea. A champion of Dragonkind? If only such a thing were real.

“Dragons are prideful, arrogant and selfish,” he told her. “Frost Dragons are petty, cowardly and feral on top of that. If the Frost Dragons ever gave rise to a ‘champion’, that champion would only champion themselves – any benefit they gain as a whole, simply a coincidence. Because of their natural strength, they are slaves to their nature. They’ll never break free of those chains because when the strength that they depend on finally fails them, their deaths come immediately after.”

“I can hardly gainsay you, Thegn,” the Huntress said. “You’re the dragonslayer here. Hold on – up this way.”

Sigurd turned to see the Huntress scaling up the slope, through the dense forest they had entered upon reaching the lower elevations nearer to the Dwarven road. She stopped at the bottom of a rocky chute and released her pet through a gap in the trees. After several minutes, the bird returned and the Huntress nodded.

“Looks clear,” she motioned upwards. “Let’s go.”

The Huntress went ahead first, navigating a stable route up the powdered ascent. After making their way to the top, they headed to a nearby ridge that overlooked a large bend in the road. From their vantage, only a few hundred metres away, Sigurd was able to make out the new sentries that had been reported.

As was mentioned, they stood roughly as tall as two Dwarves – probably a bit shorter. Sleek black armour adorned in wicked spikes sheathed their forms from head to toe, and they stood in pairs at regular intervals along the route. What looked to be large shields were held before them. He could not see what they were armed with.

“How do you know they’re Undead?” He asked.

The Huntress gave him an annoyed look, and he smirked and turned back to watching the road. The perception of a Hunter became ever sharper as they grew in power; there was little chance that she haphazardly came to her conclusion. She was from a different clan, so he did not know her too well, but, in order to lead a scouting party, one would have had to prove themselves unquestionably worthy of that position.

An empty sled drawn by one of the Undead horses crossed under them, coming from the direction of the ancient Dwarf capital. It went swiftly by, passing between one of the pairs of sentires along the route every few minutes. The goings-on below showed no sign of being aware of the Frost Giants nearby: they were either oblivious, or just didn’t care.

“When did they arrive?”

“A few days ago,” the Huntress replied. “All at once. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen – a whole column of them marching up the road, pairs peeling off where you see them now. They haven’t moved since: snow or shine; day or night.”

“Did any of yours try testing them?”

“Those sentries aren’t the only thing that has changed,” she said. “A day before they arrived, the patterns of travel…shifted. A pair of Dragons now passes overhead every fifteen minutes. The caravans are down to three sleds each, but no stretch of the road isn’t traversed by one for more than five minutes. The Dwarves don’t travel on foot any more. It’s as if a single will precisely reorganized things to present no long spans of time in which a raid might be mounted. A warband might have been able to pull something off before, but not any more.”

Sigurd peered down at another sled – this time travelling in the opposite direction – filled with Dwarves and their cargo. Rather than concentrate their forces to defend against attacks, whoever was coordinating this effort had decided to continually guard the whole route instead. It was an extravagant show of force: deterrence through constant threat to any who would attempt an assault. Spreading them out this way made it difficult to drop the mountain on them all at once, as well.

“Just where in the world did all this come from?” He mused, “Did one of the lowland nations fall to some power from beyond?”

“They posted sentries starting from the Empire side,” the Huntress replied, “and we’ve seen no signs of conquest in that direction. It’s a nation of weakling smallfolk – we used to raid their merchants from time to time on the way towards Feoh Jura. They’re nothing like…whatever these are.”

“Do you have any sense of how strong these sentries are?”

“Roughly? About as strong as I am. That says nothing of their prowess or capabilities, though. The Hunters under me are clearly no match and, considering how they came in, I don’t doubt these sentries will all come running at once if any point along the route is attacked.”

Sigurd’s voice rumbled from under his pale beard as he pondered the developments. Hundreds of Undead horses, reported to be nearly as powerful as Elder Dragons, drawing sleds like beasts of burden. Hundreds more of these sentries, with the strength of renowned veteran warriors. Their numbers diminished to a small enclave, the Frost Dragons would have been presented with annihilation, so it was no wonder that they had submitted with no discernable resistance.

He imagined such a force arrayed for war, and excitement coursed through him over the thought of a field full of worthy challenges and the storied battles that would ensue. To Sigurd, the existence of such adversaries was nothing short of a gift – the promise that even after the last of the Frost Dragons was no more, endless opportunities for death and glory awaited him.

“Being a Thegn is not suited to you.”

The Huntress’ voice drew him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see her slowly appraising him with a pointed gaze.

“Tell that to my wife,” he snorted. “She’s been trying to get me to settle down and take a position deserving of my renown.”

“Yet here you are with us, looking for something new to fight. You don’t seem ready to settle down to me.”

“It’s the best I can do,” he said noncommittally, “the Jarl and his herd of stuffy old Nuks don’t like leaving their comfortable chairs, and I’m more than happy for the excuse to stay away.”

The Huntress shifted closer, bumping up against him.

“In that case,” she said, “why don’t you stay out here with me a bit longer and make this damnably boring watch a bit more interesting?”

“Hmph,” Sigurd grunted and rubbed his jaw. “The last time I came home with the scent of another woman, Gudrun gave me this scar.”

“The last time you came around,” the Huntress purred, “you said that while pointing out a different scar…so what’s one more?”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Winter, 0 BCE

The glow of ten thousand campfires filled the vastness of the valley with their orange hue.

Everywhere, figures moved amongst them, casting shadows that danced in every direction. Shadows that would fuel the nightmares of many, if seen: of bestial heads with wicked teeth; of tails and wings and horns. Shadows of bizzare appendages, twisted even further by the flickering flames in the night. They were the shadows of Demihumans and, in this broad valley, tens of thousands of them filled the starry skies with their raucous clamour.

A scout from the Holy Kingdom in the west might have spotted the smoke of so many fires on the horizon. They might have even made it through the nearby hills without being discovered and hunted down by the dozens of tribes whose territories lay in the way. The scout might have crept to the valley ridge to stare down in abject terror at the army of Demihumans arrayed below. With all haste, the scout would return to the Holy Kingdom to raise the alarm – to prepare for what must be an imminent invasion.

This place, however, was far from the Holy Kingdom; beyond the sight of their great wall and all of their scouts, sentries and patrols. It was nestled in the southeastern edge of the Abelion Hills, well beyond the sight of Human observers. The drums and chanting; battle cries and milling chaos were not in anticipation of war: they were the sounds of celebration. Here, on the eve of the winter solstice, a myriad of peoples from not just the hills, but from the great expanse of the Abelion Wilderness, gathered in honour of a champion – a storied hero who held the common respect and admiration of all.

Qrs, by name – or at least that’s what it sounded like to some.

In this very valley – the Dale of Defiance – Qrs had stood to face the Demon Gods and, with the help of his allies, cast them down. It was an act of legendary might: one that saved them all from the fate that befell the surrounding lands that lacked the strength to resist the Demon Gods’ rampage. What Qrs was, exactly – what race, sex or even their general appearance – was not clear. Many species in the wilderness could lead long lives, and those who held the living memory of that time, two centuries ago, each insisted that ‘he’ was one their own, and the Qrs described by the others merely one of his allies.

Not that it mattered. Over time, Qrs became a legend; an icon: a representation of what all their peoples valued most. A paragon of strength who rose in the darkest of times, bringing the braves of the myriad of tribes together to prevail over the most dire of foes. It was the strength of a pristine land and its peoples who continued to prevail today, against any and all attempts to subdue and tame their home.

Through the tents and pavilions near the centre of the celebration, a broad-shouldered figure made his way through the mixed throng. His name, too, was Qrs: after the same champion of centuries past. He did not shy away from being addressed as such, even in this celebration meant to honour his namesake. It was a good name; a strong name: only allowed by those with the strength to stand as champions themselves.

Qrs took a deep breath through his short snout, testing the air filled the odours of food and drink and the countless scents from all of the different races nearby. A current of air brought with it a sharp, familiar one, and he turned to face its source.

“YOU!” A rolling voice thundered towards him, “I figured you’d be roasting on a spit somewhere by now!”

Before him stood a massive form standing on four legs. Four arms came out from its shoulders, and a ridged head with jaws that looked like they could crush rocks stared down at him intensely. It – the being’s species had four sexes, and whatever it was had no discernible meaning to Qrs’ people – towered head and shoulders above him, a good three metres tall.

Its feet pounded over the ground as it closed the gap between them, and Qrs had to crane his neck to look it in the eye.

“Shouldn’t your hide already be a trophy in someone’s yurt?” He replied.

The towering being glared down at him, but its expression didn’t last long. It let out a hearty guffaw, and its thick, reptilian tail lashed over the ground. Though relaxed, Qrs still eyed his opposite number with an underlying sense or wariness.

“By the looks of it, there’s quite the batch of challengers this year,” Qrs said. “That, or you’ve gotten involved in some insane drunken orgy again.”

“Hey now, that’s proper courtship,” it replied, “and no one invited you to watch. But the way you said it…don’t tell me you’re backing out this year.”

“Of course not,” he grunted. “I’ll at least hold my standing, or some of our feisty neighbors might think it’s a good time to push us out.”

“I think I might just take that personally.”

“Then I think I might just have to put you in your place again.”

Their exchange could possibly be taken as friendly banter but, in truth, they were less friends and more rivals: neighbors who competed for territory and resources. The tribes of the wilderness were rarely friendly with one another, and even those gathered at this celebration would infrequently skirmish between themselves outside of it.

Below its broad torso, a rugged reptilian body stretched nearly five metres from waist to tail. At least a dozen of the scars marking its body were from Qrs: accumulated over time from their occasional confrontations. There was a new wound on that body, a long trail of chipped and broken bone fragments running over the plated ridges of its armoured back.

“You keeping that one?” Qrs gestured to the wound.

“Sure am,” it said proudly. “It’s gonna turn out great.”

Not sharing the same aesthetic sense, Qrs could only make a broad judgement. Evidence of taking wounds in battle were commonly considered proof that one had overcome strong opponents or survived deadly battles. Scars, knots of healed bone and all manner of other trophies marked upon one’s person went into displaying one’s worth as a warrior, leader or mate. This was especially pronounced in races that had superior regenerative qualities – they could get away with some utterly absurd injuries.

Qrs did have his own share of them, but his own kind preferred trophies taken from defeated adversaries. A great number of these adorned his body, accessories of carved bone, braids of hair, and feathers tangling from his armour of layered hides. Most who came to challenge him would turn away at the sight, knowing he was far beyond their right to do so. Qrs might have responded to the idea that he wasn’t participating in the festivities with disinterest, but the truth was that only the strongest could survive him, so true challenges here were rare.

The sound of a crowd in the distance rose and fell. With so many races and tribes represented here, the celebration was also a stage to prove one’s strength. Though the tribes of the wilderness didn’t really get along, they weren’t stupid, either – well, most of them weren’t. Bouts between representatives here would result in cleaner territorial disputes and, though injury and death still occurred, it was generally far preferable to expending a tribe’s strength in a full-on border war and presenting weakness to all of its other neighbors as a result.

“Maybe I should push out those guys to the west,” Qrs muttered. “We could use more space.”

“Ahaha, you’re joking right? That’d put you right on top of the Baafolk.”

Qrs grimaced at the mention.

“You’re right,” he said, “that Buser’s a pest. He always seems more interested in watching your reaction when he wrecks your stuff than actually winning.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t have to worry about that…speaking of which, I heard some Dark Dwarves came in earlier today – you gonna see what they’re offering?”

“If I got nothing better to do,” Qrs replied. “My weapon’s still good, and they’ll always get plenty of slaves from the others. We don’t have any prisoners this year either.”

“Well I do,” it snorted, “we had more than a few louts sticking their necks into our territory this year, so gotta unload ‘em while I can. There’s a bunch of tools that need replacing, too.”

The four-legged being paced away, steps thumping into the night.

Qrs grunted upon parting, and continued through the clusters of camps on his way deeper into the valley. He did not intend to stay for the whole of the festivities: only long enough to demonstrate that his own tribe was not worth challenging for their territory. After that would be the long journey home.

He pondered what he should pursue to obtain what was needed for his tribe. Their numbers had grown, enough that water was becoming scarce. The forest to their west contained several lakes, which was why he thought to push out the neighbors. As mentioned, however, that would put the Baafolk tribes right next to them.

Though most races in the wilderness probably did not match an outsider’s perception of what a ‘Demihuman’ was, the Baafolk were every bit the image of savagery and violence that the word might invoke for ‘civilized’ peoples. They raided for food, slaves and valuables – or just for fun – being a general nuisance to all of their neighbors. Having the Baafolk as neighbors actually served as a form of deterrence against one’s own neighbors, as no one wanted the Baafolk as neighbors themselves.

There were a few dozen races with the same, annoying behaviours, occupying pockets of territory throughout the wilderness. Driving them off of their land was the only way to stop their ceaseless predations, and doing so was easier said than done. Tribes that primarily relied on raiding did not participate in more prudent contests of strength like the ones currently being held, as they had no interest in any sort of hierarchy but their own.

Though their constant tendency towards violence kept their numbers down, they traded their aggressively-won gains to the Dark Dwarves: purchasing fine weapons, armour and magical accessories from them. This was how the tenuous balance between the peoples of the wilderness was kept for as long as anyone could remember, and it was impossible to oust the Dark Dwarves. They supposedly lived in some impenetrable fortress city somewhere, it’s location unknown to anyone but themselves.

Sometimes, Qrs wished that some spectacularly powerful being would come along and conveniently get rid of all of these troublesome races, but that would probably mean everyone else would be in trouble as well.

He thought of his namesake, and wondered if it would have been possible for him to drive off something like the Demon Gods after the more belligerent tribes in the area had been removed. Their other neighbors had braves and champions as well, but did not control much water, so there was no point in taking their land. Qrs had already expanded his tribe’s control over a great deal of territory, and the lands to their west should be next. Maybe they would just have to deal with the Baafolk being their neighbors. That, or send out migrants when they exceeded what their lands could support.

The more he thought about it, the more attractive a westward expansion seemed. If he managed to get rid of Buser, the rest of the Baafolk could be removed at their leisure. Actually, if he killed Buser, all of the nations bordering the Baafolk would probably use the chance to rid themselves of their pesky neighbor once and for all. There would be plenty of room to expand.

Killing Buser was a big if, however: Qrs thought of him as a pest, but the Baafolk Lord was shrewd in addition to being strong. Or maybe he was just a craven individual that just happened to be strong. He boldly led his people, but was also quick to escape possible danger; fighting in a way that sought to measure his opponents before deciding if he could overwhelm them with his favoured attacks.

Qrs reconsidered visiting the Dark Dwarves: his own weapon – a long, iron war club – was not likely to survive Buser’s notorious sundering attacks. He would have to purchase something stronger that would hold up in combat with the Baafolk Lord. An Adamantite rod with some powerful enchantments would be ideal, though he wasn’t sure what such a weapon would cost him. Even a dagger made of the rare metal cost four dozen good slaves. He stopped, deciding he should turn around and check on what the Dark Dwarves had to offer. Maybe there was some bartering that could be done.

As he turned, however, a flash of light blinded him and the earth heaved, knocking him to the ground. There was a wave of blistering heat, and a roar filled the air. He spit out the dirt filling his mouth, trying to blink away the spots dancing across his vision. The sounds of hundreds nearby grew to fill the air – moans of pain, shouts of panic, families calling out to one another in a growing crescendo amidst the ringing in his ears.

Qrs staggered to his feet. His vision was mostly returned, and he shook his head in an attempt to regain his bearings. All around him, the landscape was changed: the tents and other shelters erected nearby were flattened, and dozens of people stood amidst thousands of their fellows who had not survived. In the direction of the blast, fires roared, consuming bodies and belongings alike.

Stumbling forward, he made his way to the area where his tent once stood, stepping over the burnt and broken bodies strewn across his vision.

“Boy!”

He called out for his son as he thought he came nearer to the site of their camp.

“Boy!”

He sifted through the chaotic mess, searching for some sign. The boy wasn’t weak; he should have survived. It was his first time attending, but Qrs only allowed him to come along because he was now strong enough to make a name for himself.

“Boy!” Qrs’ voice boomed out.

“Over here,” his son replied with a cough.

Some distance away, a figure was sitting up from a pile of wreckage. Qrs made his way over. His son stood, brushing off his hide armour. Qrs checked him over and nodded.

“Good,” he grunted. “Good. Anything broken in there?”

The boy worked his arms and legs, checking his range of motion before shaking his head.

“What the hell was that?” His son asked, “You never told me that something like this would happen.”

“I don’t know,” Qrs continued scanning their surroundings. “That’s definitely not a part of the party. Did you see anything at all?”

He shook his head in reply. Qrs looked in the direction of where the blast had seemingly come from.

“Try and see if you can get some stuff together for the trip home,” Qrs told him. “Food. Supplies. Tools. I’m going down there to see what I can find out.”

He left his son behind, following the devastation back to its source. Many others were approaching as well in every direction, and he recognized most of them as the strongest of their respective tribes, most likely coming for a similar reason: what had done this was clearly a threat to all.

Qrs reached the lip of a crater that wasn’t there before. Within, everything had been seared away, and a single figure hovered overhead. He couldn’t tell what it was.

A voice from nearby sounded out.

“You!” A Hobgoblin shouted up at the figure, “What did you see? What did this?”

The figure overhead turned to look in their direction and descended towards them. Attired in cloth of red with orange stripes, it was probably about as tall as Qrs – perhaps a bit shorter. It showed its teeth as it drew near, and it’s spiked tail wove idly in its wake.

“I saw that you were fully enjoying yourselves,” it said in a voice that Qrs thought should be male. “I’m not one so crass as to shout, so I settled on an option that I felt would gain everyone’s attention.”

Qrs looked down at the scorched and blasted crater; around at the devastation beyond. He had done this simply to declare himself?

“What do you want!” Someone else shouted up at him.

“What I want is of no great importance,” he replied. “However, hmm…yes, would you like to join me in my work?”

“Your work? What work? You’re not making any sense.”

“Oh, pardon me,” the figure in red said. “I suppose I’ll have to speak in terms that you’ll understand. I’d like to offer you the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become my slaves.”

The response was immediate. A roar filled the air and, as one, the ring of braves and champions converged on the figure in the crater.

『On your knees.』

Qrs felt the heat of the blasted stones under him. The skin of his knees sizzled, and he gritted his teeth in discomfort. As much as he willed it, his body would not listen. The advancing lines knelt in place as the intruder’s voice washed over them. Still, a few individuals continued their charge.

“Hmm…seven, nine, twelve…” the intruder said. “Well, I suppose some of you don’t even have knees. I should really be more inclusive with my wording: there is such diversity here.”

The first to reach him was an avian Beastman, streaking through the air like a giant dart. It came from behind, and Qrs tensed in anticipation, envisioning it lancing through the intruder’s chest. A split second before impact, however, the spiked tail swatted it out of the air as if it was no more than a sparrow. The explosion of feathers drifted down through the air long after its body slammed into the ground.

The remaining Demihumans paid no heed to the fallen avian but, when they arrived at the intruder’s location, he was too high to reach. They howled their challenges, throwing whatever they could find on hand up at their target. The stones, weapons and various bits of debris appeared to do nothing but bounce off, raining back down on those below. Someone threw a Spriggan, who screeched it’s battle cry as it flew up at him, but the intruder simply floated aside. The Spriggan clawed towards him in futility as it passed before continuing up and over into the distance.

“I’ll admit that I thought you all beneath me,” the intruder cast his gaze down at them, “but now that you’re there, I find it rather distasteful.”

The intruder cast his gaze over at the kneeling Demihumans lining the edge of the crater. His voice washed over them.

『All of you: get up and kill the ones beneath me.』

Qrs involuntarily rose to his feet. He took one step, then another, and soon he was charging down into the crater alongside dozens of the others who were no longer fully in control of their bodies. The champions ahead turned their attention away from the out-of-reach invader to face the oncoming onslaught. A corner of his mind mused over the fact that they could finally see how strong the greatest warriors of the wilderness were, and he got his answer when the first wave of attackers reached them.

Or almost reached them. Their targets struck first, moving almost too quickly for Qrs to register. Of the dozen in the first group that came, only two remained standing. They were both dispatched a split-second later.

Strong!

Qrs could not help but admire just how far above these champions stood over the others. Admiration gave way to anticipation as he fast approached.

“「Invulnerable Fortress」!”

Uncertain that he could react in time to any attack made by the opponent ahead of him, Qrs preemptively used a defensive Martial Art.

His caution paid off – a claw lashed out at him, but was caught by his enhanced parry. Three others leapt upon his opponent, and the melee rapidly devolved into a chaotic brawl. With more and more joining the fray, the champions were eventually overwhelmed. The cost of victory, however, told of just how strong they were. Around each was piled dozens of corpses – each of those a being who could themselves slay thousands of their lessers.

“Much better,” the intruder’s voice flowed down smoothly from above. “Those who cannot heed simple instructions cannot do, after all…”

A wet crunch filled the air as Qrs brought his rod down on the head of the Beastman beside him. The lull in the violence after the champions fell ended as they turned on everyone standing beneath the intruder.

“Oh my – your enthusiasm is to be lauded, but I’d still like some living specimens to work with.”

『Sit.』

As one, those that remained sat down. The invader smiled and nodded.

“Now, where was I…ah, yes, a rousing recruitment offer. For those who lie dying in their imprudent defiance, worry not! I will not hold it against your people. The opportunity to serve in our supremely worthy cause will be extended to all: regardless of their ability, occupation or station.”

“You dare…” Qrs said from where was forced down on his haunches.

“Hm?”

“You dare?” Qrs shouted, “In this sacred place! We are not all that there is. The people of the land will rise up against you, Demon God!”

“Far be it from me to do something so sacrilegious as to claim godhood…Emperor, if you please. Demon Emperor Jaldabaoth.”

Qrs blinked at the sudden introduction but, in his fury, his tongue did not hold itself for long.

“The wilderness will rise up against you, Jaldabaoth! You will be cast back to the hell you came from, just like before! We…”

Qrs’ words trailed off when he realized that Jaldabaoth was no longer paying him any heed. The Demon Emperor was instead looking towards the edge of the crater, and Qrs turned his head to see what had drawn the fiend’s attention. To his horror, what he saw was his son, looking down at the carnage below with an uncomprehending expression painted on his face.

What is he doing here? I told him to get ready to leave!

Jaldabaoth floated past him. Qrs willed himself to get up; to move, but he remained seated amidst the slain. He twisted in place, shouting desperately at Jaldabaoth’s back.

“WAIT!”

Jaldabaoth stopped and looked over his shoulder with a broad smile.

“Ah, what would this world be,” he said lightly, “without family?”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

There was nothing.

Amidst the nothing, she floated.

The nothingness was as a river, it’s gentle current carrying her along.

She sensed others nearby – others that she thought she knew. Echoes of herself, eddies; ripples out of reach and out of view.

They intangibly drifted nearby, but she didn’t pay them any mind.

Why was that? They were important. Or at least she understood that they should be.

But there were other things: more important things…? Yet she didn’t know what they were.

She only knew that she was annoyed. Annoyed for…why? What was it?

She was annoyed for somewhere between an instant and an eternity, and the gentle sensations of the current did little to soothe her.

A tendril of something appeared somewhere to stretch out towards her.

She snatched it impatiently, disregarding all that was left behind…

Her eyes fluttered open. Leaves came into focus. Wind filtered through the canopy, uncaring of the vague sense of annoyance stirring in her heart. Over her body: a cool, damp sensation. She sucked in a breath, and instantly regretted it. A thousand needles gripped her body and squeezed.

“How are you feeling, La–Ludmila?”

She could barely hear Themis’ voice through her ragged coughing. Lifting her arm unsteadily, she rested it on her chest, trying to work the pins and needles away. Under her fingers, she felt something soft where her armour should have been. Someone had removed it, and she was left in her arming doublet. Ludmila turned her head to the side, towards the Cleric seated beside her.

“Di–”

Ludmila’s throat seized, and dry coughs filled the air. She moistened her lips and worked some saliva down before trying again. Even then, the muscles of her jaw protested.

“Did we win?” She asked.

Themis made a sound through her nose.

“You must be the only one that says that sort of thing immediately after returning from Lord Surshana’s domain,” she rolled her eyes. “He must spin you around and push you right back out the moment you pop up.”

“That may be the case,” Ludmila conceded, “but…did we win?”

“Of course we did,” the Cleric smirked. “You’re always the only casualty of your own crazy plans. The rest of those letches wanted to hang around and gawk at you, so I chased them away.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t something she would have worried about half a year ago but, after enjoying a degree of privacy in her home and being subjected to the continued admonishments of Aemilia over what an acceptable appearance was, a small sense of shame had crept into her self awareness.

Laying where she was, she turned her head from side to side to examine her surroundings again. It was a forest – well, it was supposed to be one. The stone columns all around them were made to resemble trunks of trees, while vines covered the magically lit ceiling overhead. Sprigs of moss and brush covered the floor, and the wind…well, she wasn’t sure where it came from, but it was probably just the natural flow of air in the now extensive Adventurer Training Area.

They were several dozen metres away from where she had met her demise: the final confrontation for this particular setting was a Demihuman ambush. The would-be ambushers were detected well in advance and, knowing where the trap was laid, Ludmila decided to simply spring it. The party’s mana was barely touched and their reserves of consumables still in plentiful supply, so a solid defensive line was to meet the ambushers and the rest of the party would overwhelm them.

Except, once again, she had failed to hold her part of the line. Still, looking at the pristine state of Themis’ equipment, it would seem that the rest of the plan had been a clear success.

“So…” Themis said, “What was it like?”

Ludmila frowned at her.

“Being dead, I mean,” Themis clarified quickly. “Do…do you remember anything? From the other side.”

“Nothing at all,” Ludmila shook her head. “Shouldn’t a priestess know more about this sort of thing than a noble?”

“Well, I know what’s been recorded, but I can’t help but ask. The other time I was around, I was a bit preoccupied losing my wits over watching your head get squished.”

“Who raised me? I don’t see anyone else around…”

“It was Lady Pestonya, as usual,” Themis answered. “She left to tend to everyone else after that.”

Ludmila brought herself up on her elbows, and was greeted by the sight of a suit of armour lying near her feet.

“I just had that made…” She muttered.

The suit of Brigandine, fashioned by one of Smith Mesmit’s associates, was folded in on one side at a right angle. Ludmila distinctly remembered being folded right along with it.

So much for upgrading my armour.

To be fair, the suit itself had survived: it was just the person inside that had not. She had seen enough of Kovalev’s work repairing tools, parts and other pieces of metalwork to understand all that needed to be done was to fix or replace the warped plates and the armour would be serviceable again. She had purchased it in hopes that it would help alleviate her ongoing defensive issues, but it was evidently insufficient. What was she going to do now?

“We’ll have to carry that out of here,” Themis said. “I’m sure you’ll be getting quite the reception as well.”

A sigh escaped Ludmila’s lips. That was the worst part about dying. Whenever she did, all of the benefits that she conferred to those under her vanished as well. Everyone felt it, too. The degree varied, from the tenants out in Warden’s Vale having a vague, nearly intangible sense of her absence, to her household instantly realizing what had occurred. It was as if someone conveniently informed her entire demesne that their liege had died, every single time. It was extremely mortifying at best, and produced some worrisome results.

The first time she had died, she returned to the Adventurer guild: only to find her Human retainers in the city gathered in the reception area. Aemilia was brandishing a broom like a poleaxe, threatening to tear the entire building apart if the receptionists didn’t show them directly to their mistress. Ludmila walked into the guildhall with a bemused expression on her face at the scene, and was subsequently buried by sobbing maids. After returning to the manor, she found a pile of panicked messages from Warden’s Vale. Dying appeared to be quite disruptive, so she decided that it should be avoided if possible…and then she died again.

“How many times is this now,” she asked, “five?”

“Something like that.”

She hated dying. It was a strange thing to be thinking, but there it was nonetheless. It wasn’t even the dying part that annoyed her, despite being cut in half once, run through and bludgeoned to death in various ways. No, what annoyed her was the idea that she had lost what she had worked so hard to gain. And regain again. Life could be returned, but not time.

Ludmila died twice in a row on the first weekend back in the Adventurer Guild, then trained hard to restore her lost strength. Then she died again. The process repeated once more until now: where she lay on the cold stone floor, recently dead yet again. The sense that she was behind where she should rightly be kept driving her forward, but something was clearly wrong with what she was doing.

“At this rate,” Ludmila mused, “I wonder if people will just get used to it.”

“This probably isn’t something one would want to ‘get used to’.” Themis gave her a sidelong glance as they started making their way back outside, “If it happens too much, they’re going to start accounting for resurrection failure. Then it’s back to those boring Copper and Iron sessions for you.”

“I guess that’s ample motivation to avoid death,” she said, “but I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”

Themis appeared to have nothing to offer in reply, and they returned together to the surface in silence. Once they were out under the clear evening skies, Ludmila withdrew a mantle from her bag to pull around her shoulders. In doing so, she was reminded that she didn’t actually have to carry all of her equipment in her arms. The damaged armour, along with her weapons and shield went into the Infinite Haversack on her right hip.

“That’s such a convenient item,” Themis noted as she watched everything vanish into the bag. “I wonder if more will start showing up soon.”

Ludmila had two of the magical containers, both taking the form of a large, dark leather belt pouch. One was placed where a quiver would normally rest upon her hip, while the other balanced out her belt on the opposite side. After a fresh death, their combined weight was quite noticeable, though training would gradually lessen the burden again as she regained her strength.

It wasn’t the only thing that she noticed change as she died and trained and died again. Her agility, conditioning and perception differed; as did how well she could hide her presence and all sorts of other things she never really put much thought into until now.

“I’ve asked around,” Ludmila told her. “Apparently they’re out there, but it’s pretty rare to find something like this for sale. It makes sense, considering how convenient they are: they aren’t something someone would resell like other magic items.”

“I see,” Themis said. “Hehe…I’m glad the cathedral is right on the main plaza – I can see all the stands that sell to Adventurers from the entrance.”

“Didn’t Bishop Austine give you an earful for that last week?” Ludmila said, “You ran straight out the door to buy something from the market in your temple vestments.”

“Hmph,” Themis was not dissuaded. “Being an Adventurer was his idea in the first place, and the scriptures do not prohibit shopping!”

They laughed together and returned to E-Rantel in good humour. Along the way, Ludmila scanned the skies to the horizon: when they were heading towards the training area on her first day back to the guild, two Frost Dragons skimmed low over the ground. One looked like it was struggling mightily to stay aloft. Judging by its rotund appearance, it must have been Lady Aura’s new companion, Hejinmal. The second Dragon, a lithe Adult who had gracefully descended to Hejinmal’s altitude, fell into formation beside him.

They were so close to the ground that Ludmila could overhear their conversation as they slowly passed overhead. Eventually, they picked up in speed and altitude, disappearing into the northern skies. It was a novel sight, and she thought that maybe the reports on the Frost Dragons were not wholly accurate. According to the documents provided by Lady Shalltear, the enclave had been forced into existence by a single Ancient Dragon: the White Dragon Lord, Olasird’arc. Without his efforts, they would have not come together, as their kind was solitary by nature; exhibiting the pride, vanity and selfishness attributed by lore to Dragons in general.

The pair that had flown over them, however, seemed more like a pair of siblings – a fretful sister watching over and lecturing her brother. It felt like a reflection of herself, not too long ago, haranguing her own family over their often irresponsible and reckless behaviour. Perhaps they weren’t as strange and unknowable as was claimed.

Entering through the northern gate, they crossed a peddler headed out of the city and Ludmila felt a twinge of envy. Warden’s Vale still needed to complete two or three more villages before merchants would consider her demesne worth the detour, so her tenants still had a while yet to wait before they could enjoy the same variety of goods as the other territories.

They made their way through the city, along the wall that separated the Demihuman Quarter from the common area. Cutting through the central district, they came across Aemilia, who was scanning the main promenade with a worried look on her face. Their eyes met, and her lady’s maid quickly walked over to meet them.

“My lady,” she lowered her head in a curtsey, “just now – did…did you…”

“Die?” Ludmila filled in for her, “Yes, quite thoroughly. You should see what happened to the new set of armour that you fancied me wearing so much.”

Ludmila unfastened the Infinite Haversack on her right hip and produced the damaged Brigandine. Aemilia’s eyes grew alarmingly wide.

“Wha-what are they making you fight?” She said tearfully, “Death Knights? Dragons? T-this is too much, my lady!”

“It was an Ogre, actually.”

Aemilia looked at her incredulously, then back to the armour again.

“An Ogre did this, my lady? But this is plate–”

“Brigandine,” Ludmila corrected her.

“Are Ogres really that strong?” Aemilia asked, “I thought they were something Iron-rank Adventurers frequently hunted as bounties. Did they use magical weapons?”

“It was just a stick,” Ludmila replied. “A hickory staff – just like the haft of my spear. The Ogres we fought are much stronger than the ones you usually find out in the wilderness.”

Thankfully, no one else trained Ogres like the Bloody General did in Carne. The dimwitted Demihumans were usually easy to deal with, but their being proficient in combat made these ones another thing entirely.

Aemilia was silent for several moments, giving the armour a long look.

“How strong are Adventurers, my lady?” She asked, “This was supposed to be the exam for Gold-ranks – how strong are they if they are Adamantite, or even Platinum? If an Ogre can do this…”

Her maid had a sort of blank expression as she spoke, as if doubting everything she thought she understood. Ludmila couldn’t blame her.

The common person was far removed from the world that powerful Adventurers saw. To most, they were simply the focus of fanciful tales and a part of the world that was beyond the realm of common sense: one that they would never experience themselves. How could a city labourer accept that a slip of a girl could bend tempered steel into knots with her bare hands, or a fully-armoured man could leap straight up city walls and hop from tower to tower like some overgrown child at play? Such individuals were exceedingly rare and generally not available to frivolously demonstrate their abilities at a whim to all and sundry.

Even Ludmila, who was born to an Adventurer lineage, did not truly understand the meaning of what ranks beyond Gold entailed until she had directly experienced it herself. No amount of instruction from her family or observing others had prepared her for it. The members of the Adventurer Guild that had recently approached or achieved Gold rank, holding the notion that they had finally qualified for the expedition teams, had their pride beaten out of them in turn. Gold was merely the beginning: the bare minimum of what was required for their work.

"The Adventurer training sessions are matched to the participants,” Ludmila explained to her. “I was supposed to be able to fight that Ogre directly, but I was swatted aside like a down pillow instead. Until I figure out what I’m doing wrong, I won’t be able to advance.”

“I see.” Aemilia turned her gaze down to the cobblestones, then raised it again to look at the damaged armour, “Let me take care of that for you while you conclude your business with the Adventurer Guild, my lady.”

Her Lady’s Maid held out her hands to receive the equipment, but Ludmila returned it to her Infinite Haversack.

“It’s alright, Luzi,” Ludmila told her. “Everything that goes in here doesn’t increase my burdens. I’ll drop by Mesmit’s Forge later.”

Aemilia lowered her arms and frowned, bestowing upon the magical container a glare that one might have reserved for an enemy. Ludmila shifted on her feet, feeling a bit guilty for depriving her of her duties.

“Did we receive any messages from home?” She asked.

“We did, my lady,” Aemilia replied. “It seems that the Linum sisters sent one on behalf of the entire harbour, then we received a number from the farming village.”

“Please let them know right away that everything is fine: we cannot leave them worried like that.”

“Of course, my lady,” her maid curtseyed again. “I will see to it immediately.”

Aemilia paid her respects to Themis before turning away to head back to the manor.

“At least your household didn’t lay siege to the guildhall this time,” Themis said after they reentered the common area.

“Ah…don’t remind me,” Ludmila replied weakly. “I have enough anxiety as it is wondering what they’ll say about the session today.”

“They were pretty dumbfounded the first time,” Themis said, “though I guess some of that might have come from having to deal with your retainers. Guess we’ll find out in a minute…”

Having the words come from a Cleric of the god of death and judgement did not soothe her worries in any way whatsoever.

They entered the guildhall to find Merry waiting for them inside, near the bottom of the stairs. She jerked her head in the direction of the second floor before heading up without a word. Ludmila exchanged glances with Themis, the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach growing even more pronounced. When they reached the top of the stairs, not only were the proctors and the guildmaster awaiting them around the conference table, but Lady Aura, Lord Mare, Momon and Nabe as well.

“Oh Lord,” Themis intoned under her breath. “Watch over your faithful servant in her hour of judgement.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ludmila suppressed the urge to swallow as she stepped forward, folding her hands neatly in front of her as she silently awaited the debriefing by the Adventurer Guild’s senior staff. Her gaze drifted from person to person, wondering who would deliver her verdict.

“We spoke with the Ogre you faced off against,” Momon said, “and we’re now reasonably certain as to what’s going on. Just to be sure, though, could you describe to us how you conducted your defence during the final battle of this session?”

Ludmila must have reviewed the fatal moment two dozen times in her mind while she and Themis made their way back from the Training Area. There was nothing she could think of that she could have improved on without relying on sheer luck to survive. What she did should have worked – it was a standard response to a simple and obvious attack. Unsure just where in the ‘final battle’ they wanted her to start, she described everything from the beginning in case there was some crucial information that she had not considered.

“Our scout detected them well in advance,” she told them. “The Ogres set up an ambush where the forest trail narrowed into a bottleneck with no other way around. Our casters had full mana reserves and we had plenty of consumables to spare, so I decided to use the ambush in our favour by starting the fight in a way that I thought they would roughly expect.”

“So you moved your defensive line forward and kept your offensive line beyond notice,” Momon said, “until the ambushers were positioned for your own ambush.”

“That’s correct,” Ludmila replied.

“I feel that this tactic is used all too often,” Momon mused. “Did no other plans come to mind that could have been carried out in that situation?”

“Several, yes,” Ludmila admitted, “but I was taught that the best plans are both effective and simple. The more complicated your plans are, the easier it is for them to fall apart. Convoluted plans are only to be used when you enjoy a comfortable advantage, and see an opportunity to pursue other objectives. In this case, our would-be ambushers had conveniently contained themselves in a narrow area where we could easily hold them while our offence would be free to operate without hindrance.”

“Except, in this case, the defence did not hold out as easily as you had predicted,” Momon said. “I understand that, if all members of your front line were successful, it would have gone as you said…which leads us to your personal performance, and the reason for your failure.”

Ludmila turned her eyes down, staring at the polished grain of the floorboards at her feet. Her time away from training with the Adventurer Guild was now catching up to her, and it was costing her heavily. Every time it mattered, it seemed that she was dealt with so quickly that she couldn’t even tell what was going on. She looked up when someone cleared her throat, and a quick glance made her realize that they were waiting for her to continue.

“We advanced to take our positions at the ambush point,” she said, “and the Ogres came out of hiding to charge our line as we did so. The one headed in my direction readied itself to make a very obvious, but powerful attack, so I adjusted my stance and weapon to deflect it away. When the predicted strike came, however, it did not turn aside as I expected…it simply went through the haft of my spear and caved in my armour. No matter how I think about it, it makes no sense how the attack could have resulted in that outcome. I understand that Ogres are strong, but I sensed that the one facing me wasn’t that strong.”

“That’s all you have to relate?” Momon asked after several seconds of silence.

"Yes,” Ludmila answered, “those are the events as I remember them. Was it helpful in any way?”

Ainzach, Merry, Moknach and Momon exchanged glances.

“You didn’t try to, uh, use anything?” Merry asked from where she stood near Lady Aura and Lord Mare.

“I didn’t have any items readied, nor was I using any concealed equipment,” Ludmila wasn’t sure what she was asking. “Any healing items or spells would have been too late.”

“And that’s how it is…” Ainzach sighed, and everyone leaned back. “Ridiculous.”

The guildmaster placed his hands on the table and looked down with an incredulous expression on his face. The sight made Ludmila cringe internally – if she had some power to make herself shrivel up and disappear into the cracks between the floorboards, she would have used it right then. She hadn’t felt this way since she broke down in front of Darkness when they first met. Never mind addressing the issue, she seemed to be the only one oblivious as to what it was.

“Eh…maybe you should explain what you mean before she jumps over the railing,” Lady Aura said.

Ainzach, who was brooding over his own statement, looked up towards her.

“Hm? Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean you in particular, Zahradnik. It’s a part of a larger problem with the Adventurer Guild at the moment.”

Ludmila furrowed her brow and shifted uncomfortably at his apology.

“I can’t recall anything that I’ve learned from the members of the Adventurer Guild or our training sessions that would lead to this outcome,” she said. “This should be entirely my responsibility, Guildmaster.”

“What I’m getting at is that it’s something Adventurers have always normally learned over time and through their association with the Guild,” Ainzach told her. “Because you come from an Adventurer lineage, and you appear to excel in many other areas, we made the assumption that your upbringing provided you with everything you needed to know – everything else about you demonstrated your expertise so clearly that we didn’t consider otherwise.”

“Just checking one last time,” Merry said, “but you didn’t use any skills, spells or Martial Arts there, right?”

“I don’t know anything of the sort that could be used in that situation,” Ludmila replied.

“By the gods,” Moknach said. “But how? There’s no way she can’t! Even a brat who has the time to train hard for a while will pick up one or two – someone that’s trained for as long as it looks like she has should have dozens.”

“That was my thinking, as well,” Ainzach said, “but you heard her. I guess it didn’t help any the way she advanced. There was the first run as Copper, where we already expected her entire team to be Iron or better already, then she had to attend to some other business before we could figure out how strong she actually was at that point. When she came back, she breezed through the Silver exam in a pretty unconventional way and, for her Gold exam, she ended up going in headfirst against a bunch of Ogres from the Bloody General’s army. The first Martial Arts user she was put up against was the one that killed her, and it doesn’t help that she’s so damn quiet doing everything.”

Several heads around the table nodded slowly at the guildmaster’s words. It was not the end of what Ainzach had to say, however.

“This is definitely our culprit,” he said. “All of those who joined as Copper-ranks after the formation of the new Adventurer Guild are having the same damn problem – they’re clearly gaining in strength, but they haven’t had time to develop a lot of the things that come with it. I still can’t quite believe it, but Zahradnik’s actually a part of that group.”

“Ehh…d-does that mean I have to rebalance everything?” Lord Mare asked.

“How do you mean?”

“The Demihumans that come to participate in the Gold-rank trials as final encounters are trained before coming here, so they all have Martial Arts,” he explained, “but the summons that we use at this level don’t have much in the way of special skills or abilities. Most have one or two tricks at best.”

“That’s a good point,” Ainzach frowned. “The difficulty of the regular encounters might be too low. Once our members all have the appropriate Martial Arts, Skills and Spells, the performance of the teams should improve accordingly.”

“It appears that nothing can substitute for time when it comes to these things,” Momon said. “Now that we have a good idea of what the problem is, what can we do on the training end to ensure that we have a common standard in our membership from this point onwards, Ainzach?”

“It’s not something that the Adventurer Guild has done before,” Ainzach stroked his moustache, “but it should be simple enough. In the old Guild, pretty much every Adventurer capable of them started picking up basic Martial Arts before Gold rank: mostly around Silver, really. Copper and Iron members never really received much attention as a whole, but Martial Arts have been demonstrated as early as Iron in the past. It’s a rough idea, but, since we’re taking care of all of our members now, we can probably come up with something in addition to our regular Training Area sessions – it should give all of our antsy warrior types something to do while the casters are recovering their mana, too.”

“That sounds like a promising start,” Momon nodded. “How long until you can get started?”

“Well…even if it’s just the Iron-ranks,” Ainzach replied, “we’re going to need a large space to train in. We’re also going to want to make sure that standards are upheld through all the ranks, if possible. We’ve stripped down the first floor of the central district with the thought that we could use it as a training hall, but I never imagined that we would need it so soon. Do you think we could get some help speeding things along there, Momon?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Momon said. “First floor…central district…hmm…”

“What is it?”

“His Majesty has made personal efforts to improve exposure for the Adventurer Guild to help with recruitment,” Momon said. “This seems like the perfect opportunity to build on those efforts by creating a place where the public can observe our members.”

“...what do you have in mind?” Ainzach asked.

“We can convert part of the ground floor into a sparring area that can be viewed from the streets around it,” Momon explained. “It’s not exactly the main plaza, but you should be able to attract an audience all the same. Actually, since traffic through the central district is not severe, it’s even better: collecting spectators around the building won’t cause any issues.”

“What about the students in training?” Moknach asked, “Martial Arts take both focus and discipline to execute. Having an audience will be pretty distracting.”

“All the better, I say,” Momon answered. “Adventurers are supposed to be able to function under pressure anyways. Consider it an aid.”

“Fair enough,” Moknach grunted. “We’re supposed to be a government organization now, though. Are you sure it’s all right for our members to show their stuff in public?”

“Any sort of widespread knowledge shouldn’t be a problem; those sorts of Martial Arts aren’t considered secrets anyways. Even more advanced ones used by higher-ranked Adventurers aren’t really that…” Momon looked up from his musings, “How many unique Martial Arts do we even have right now in the active membership?”

The Adventurers fell deep into thought, but it didn’t take long to arrive at an answer.

“I think the members of Rainbow are the only longtime veterans of the guild that have them,” Moknach finally said. “But we’ve specialized in commissions revolving around Undead, usually in the Katze Plains. I’ve got a couple, Merry has quite a few, actually – seeing that she’s as old as time itself, that shouldn’t be a surprise, I guess.”

“Hey! I’m not that old,” Merry scowled. “Moknach’s right though. In addition to all the usual Ranger stuff, I have a Sensory Art for locating Undead, and both ranged and melee attacks that do all sorts of nasty things to ‘em. It’s the same way in other places: if you’re specializing in whatever the place has to offer, you end up figuring out better ways to do your job. Most unique Martial Arts come about through developing what you need.”

Ludmila’s ears perked at the mention of a Sensory Art. It sounded something like the ability she had gained during her time in Fassett County. She tried using it while they discussed amongst themselves, but, as expected, she couldn’t.

“In that case,” Moknach said, “it could be that the Martial Arts that we consider unique may not actually be. There may be other places in the world like Katze Plains, and the people that fight there independently come up with the same techniques against Undead.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if similar Martial Arts were developed that way,” Merry replied, “but they’re bound to have their differences. Even basic Martial Arts do – though we tend to just lump ‘em together to simplify things. The ones that Demihumans use are effectively variants of what we use, unless it brings something into play that we don’t have: like a tail or wings.”

“I suppose it doesn’t hurt to err on the side of caution with this,” Momon told them. “Ainzach, what’s the earliest you’ve seen someone employ highly advanced Martial Arts?”

“Hmm…Mithril, probably?” The guildmaster replied, “Maybe people start developing their own stuff before then, but I’ve never seen anyone pull one off before that. Not publicly, anyways. Around here, you’re more likely to see people using combinations of basic stuff at that point.”

Ainzach looked to Moknach and Merry, who shook their heads in response.

“Let’s go with that, then,” Ainzach said. “We’re still trying to raise the quantity of Gold-ranked members, so it’ll be clear to use the first floor to practice for a while yet. People that want to develop their own Martial Arts can do so in private at some other place we’ll prepare in the future. For the time being, we’ll be making sure our Iron-ranks learn Martial Arts, or the skills and abilities appropriate to their rank as we determine what they should be. Exams from this point onward will be modified to ensure that our members can use them in a manner appropriate to their ranks, and that should be the end of members slipping by our notice like this.”

“Can changes be implemented on your end to reflect this, Mare?” Momon asked.

“U-un,” Lord Mare nodded. “I’ll ask the Demihumans around the Sorcerous Kingdom to send lower levels to participate on the dungeon teams. I’ll adjust the difficulty of all the summons and things as well.”

“As long as we have what is needed to create the conditions required for our updated exams,” Momon said. “I would say that this is a solid step in the right direction.”

“I-it’s good that we can make fixes.”

Lord Mare’s gaze rested strangely on Ludmila with the last phrase. He jumped up with a cry after Lady Aura jabbed him in the ribs with a finger.

“Anyways,” Ainzach cleared his throat, “we’ll have sessions in the Training Area for Silver-rank and above put on hold until Mare is ready. Meanwhile, we can put our heads together on the details of this supplemental training.”

The guildmaster looked around the table to see if anyone had anything else to add, then his eyes fell on Ludmila.

“Oh, you’re still here,” he said. “Sorry for making you stand through all that.”

“It’s alright, Guildmaster,” she replied with a light smile. “I found the discussion quite informative.”

“I see,” Ainzach said. “Well, since you’ve heard it firsthand, I’m sure you know what’s in store. Head to the reception counter and trade in your Silver plate for Iron: there’s some training in store for you.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The discussion from the second floor suddenly ceased as Ludmila made her way down to the stairs. She paused her steps in confusion, backtracking until the voices came back, then went back down again. It appeared that the meeting on the second floor had countermeasures against eavesdropping.

Rounding the end of the stairs, she glanced at the request board as she made her way to the front desk. Once filled with jobs for Adventurers to fulfill, it was now filled with information about the guild and their new purpose, even going so far as to outline the benefits of membership. There were no prospective applicants awaiting service, however, so Ishpen and Wina awaited with bored expressions.

Ludmila unclasped her Silver tag and placed it on the counter.

“Good receptionist,” she said, “I would like to apply for an Iron plate.”

Ishpen glanced down at the offered article.

“I don’t think I’ve seen an Adventurer demoted before,” the receptionist said, “never mind multiple times. How many is this, now?”

“It’s only the second time.”

Ishpen let out a derisive snort.

“Only.”

She took the Silver plate in hand, turning to disappear into the back hall.

“How do you keep going like that?”

Ludmila looked back from the hallway entrance to Wina, who had voiced the question.

“Like what?”

“You’ve died five times…always at the same point too,” Wina said. “Anyone else would at least take a step back after having it happen in such a short period of time, yet you seem positively unflappable.”

“It’s not that I don’t think anything of it,” Ludmila replied slowly, “the feeling is a bit hard to describe. Have you ever had a long day of work, only to find that you’re actually behind where you should be?”

“…I guess?”

“It’s something like that. You end up burning the midnight oil just to catch up again because you’d trouble others otherwise, and you never know what the next day will bring. Procrastination just makes it worse.”

“Not everyone is like that,” Ishpen said as she returned to the counter. “A lot of people are perfectly happy with turning in for the night and waiting until the next day to deal with it.”

“That’s entirely irresponsible,” Ludmila furrowed her brow. “How could anyone think like that?”

“Because they don’t care?” Ishpen shrugged, “Or at least the problem isn’t big enough to them that they’d go out of their way to fix it. Merchants and tradesmen that have to uphold strict contracts with penalties attached to them might be compelled to behave properly, but a lot of vocations aren’t held to the same standards. Self-interest is the order of the day for plenty of people.”

Ludmila reconsidered Wina’s question.

“Do you mean to say that organizations that offer some leeway are prone to having people that shirk their responsibilities?” She asked, “Is it becoming a problem in the new Adventurer Guild, since their needs are provided for by the government?”

“Uh...what?” Wina frowned.

“The Adventurers have ample motivation to perform,” Ishpen said. “I’m not even sure how you ended up going down that avenue of thought.”

Ludmila glanced back at Wina, who appeared to affirm Ishpen’s assertion. Looking down at the floor, she stepped back and let out a sigh.

“I guess I’ve been in that frame of mind for months now,” Ludmila said. “I’m always fixing something or figuring out how to make things work, so everything feels like a problem to me. I apologize for bringing that attitude into a casual discussion.”

The two receptionists exchanged glances.

“Ever thought about taking it easy for a bit?” Ishpen said as she placed the Iron tag on the counter. “Maybe you’re just wound up too tightly. How about a nice dinner with someone you like or something…”

Ludmila retrieved the Iron tag, slipping it into one of her belt pouches. That was definitely something she didn’t have time for right now.

“I think my current situation is manageable,” she said. “Besides, I don’t have time to ‘take it easy’. Work is still ongoing in my demesne, the summer harvest is coming, I have to keep up with training and I have other important duties. I quite enjoy it all, however – I don’t consider it a burden.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ishpen peered at her suspiciously, “You’re starting to sound like a crazy person.”

“No less crazy than the other nobles,” Ludmila said. “Corelyn, Wagner and Gagnier are even busier than I am.”

“You make it sound as if it’s a good thing.”

“It’s good to be busy.”

“There are limits,” Ishpen rolled her eyes. “Look, just try spending time with someone nice once in a while and see how it works out for you. You might surprise yourself.”

The footsteps abruptly sounded from the staircase to her right. They looked over to find the meeting appeared to have adjourned, its members making their way out of the building. Guildmaster Ainzach came over to the counter, his gaze going between the three women.

“Is everything alright here?” He asked.

“We were just chatting,” Ishpen answered. “How did the meeting go?”

“More things to do,” the guildmaster said. “Maybe it’s good that we didn’t get too many new members right away – there’s quite a bit we’ve left unaddressed. Uh…sorry if I came across a bit heavy-handed back there, Zahradnik.”

“It didn’t feel that way at all, Guildmaster Ainzach,” Ludmila replied. “If anything, I’m relieved that there’s an apparent solution to these ongoing problems.”

“Heh, you got that right,” he said. “Everything’s been moving so fast that the basics are being left behind. Supplementary training is going to have to be an ongoing thing and, even then, we’re going to be hard-pressed to keep up…speaking of which, are you sure you don’t know any Martial Arts?”

“Not that I know of, Guildmaster.”

“That’s really strange,” the guildmaster leaned on the counter, “your parents both had plenty of Martial Arts, and your brothers were picking up the same ones. You’ve clearly been trained by them as well, so it’s a mystery as to why you don’t. How long has it been since you first started learning how to fight?”

“The same time I started schooling,” she replied, “so around five or six.”

He looked up at her reply with an arched eyebrow.

“Wow, you Frontier Nobles don’t screw around,” he said. “If that’s the case, this whole thing is even more puzzling. If you’ve been training for over a decade to fight, you should have a lot of Martial Arts under your belt.”

“If it’s of any help, my parents didn’t teach my brothers any special techniques until they thought they were ready for patrol duties, though they did try once or twice before being found out and told to stop. I just started patrols last autumn, but my father and brothers were busy preparing for the annual skirmish with the Empire.”

“So you never asked your brothers how they did it?” the guildmaster said, “I feel like that’d be quite tempting.”

“Of course not,” Ludmila replied. “Rules exist for a reason.”

He stroked his moustache after her response, and a smile slowly formed.

“I think I get it, now,” he said.

“You do?”

“Yep – well, it’s no guarantee, but I have a strong feeling…I guess you’ll have to see when we get started.”

“Then I will look forward to it, Guildmaster Ainzach,” Ludmila lowered her head slightly.

“Not an ounce of curiosity, eh?”

“I wouldn’t say that I’m not curious at all, but–”

“The rules.” Guildmaster Ainzach shook his head, “I gotcha. You’re truly a daughter of House Zahradnik, you know. Duty and rules and all.”

“Is that so?” Ludmila replied with a slight smile, “I’ve had to chase my father and brothers around quite a bit for not attending properly to their administrative responsibilities.”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me,” he gave her a look. “The Adventurers that you’re teamed up with aren’t going to slowly turn into soldiers or something, are they?”

“No…why would that happen?”

“…no reason,” the guildmaster cleared his throat. “Anyways, I got a lot of work ahead of me, so I’m going to bring back some dinner from the plaza. Oh – since things are basically on hold past Silver-rank while we get things sorted out, you won’t have any training for a while. I figured you’d want to know, since you’re always juggling that schedule of yours around.”

“Thank you, Guildmaster,” Ludmila replied, “I’ll be sure to take advantage of it.”

Guildmaster Ainzach vanished into the back hall, appearing again several seconds later with his coat. He nodded to her as he walked by and rounded the staircase towards the front exit.

“I should get going as well,” Ludmila told the receptionists. “I have a lot of reading waiting for me tonight.”

“Have a good evening,” Wina said.

“Don’t forget,” Ishpen called out after her as Ludmila rounded the stairs, “dinner with someone nice!”

Ludmila smiled to herself at Ishpen’s stubborn insistence, placing her hand on the sturdy wooden door of the guildhall.

Outside, the plaza was already brightly lit under its enchanted streetlamps, and the evening crowds thronged in the lanes between the colourful rows of stands. The air was filled with the aroma of food and woodsmoke, tempting her growing appetite. She absently scanned her surroundings out of habit, and was in turn made keenly aware that her senses were not as sharp as they were before. The absurd reality of the ‘levels’ that Lady Shalltear had mentioned to her months ago was again demonstrating itself to her firsthand.

A part of her felt that it was entirely natural and right and expected, yet defining it in concrete terms had turned this natural thing distinctly odd. The trick she had learned to conceal her presence was no longer as effective either – dozens of people turned to glance in her direction, despite her not actively doing anything to draw it. An odd-eyed gaze drew her own attention as she left the front of the Adventurer Guild to make her way towards the central district.

“Lord Mare,” Ludmila lowered her head as he approached her from the tree he was standing under, “Were you waiting for me? My apologies if so – I wasn’t aware of it.”

Lord Mare clutched his staff as he looked up at her, the sheen of his golden hair catching the lamplight. He was quite short, standing around the height of her waist, and she was never sure whether it was more rude to keep looking down at him, or kneeling to talk to him as if he were a child. Granted, he was a child, but, at the same time he was a prominent member of the Royal Court.

“It’s alright,” he said. “It wasn’t long. Um…sorry.”

He turned his gaze downwards, poking at a loose cobblestone with the end of his staff.

“If you’re apologizing for what happened, my lord,” Ludmila said, “I don’t feel any differently than any other time. I’m not holding anything against you for it.”

“I-is that so?”

He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh, then looked up at her again.

“Then…there’s something I’d like to ask, if you don’t mind…”

Ludmila looked around them. Lord Mare had a request for her?

“How may I be of service, my lord?” She said, “Actually…if this is something that needs to be discussed at length, would you like to join me for dinner?

“Will that be okay?” He looked up again, “I-I don’t want to be a bother or anything…”

“It’s perfectly fine, my lord,” Ludmila smiled. “In fact, someone recently advised me to have dinner with someone nice. I’ve had fresh ingredients shipped in from Warden’s Vale, so our meal will have the same sort of stew that you had the last time you came to visit my demesne.”

Lord Mare nodded, and they made their way towards the central district.

『Mrs. Ro’eh, Lord Mare will be joining us for dinner this evening.』

Ludmila cast her voice in the direction of the manor, yet, despite having done it on multiple occasions, she was always curious whether it successfully reached its recipient or not. If what she understood of it so far held true, there was no reason why it wouldn’t. Because the ability did not facilitate a reply, however, there were always doubts as to whether it had been received.

“Is Lady Aura present in the city, my lord?” She asked, “Perhaps she would like to join us as well.”

“Big sis went to do her rounds,” Lord Mare answered. “I sent her on her way just before you came out of the Adventurer Guild. She usually orders something later at night.”

“I see…well, I guess it’s just the two of us, then.”

“Un.”

Though carts and wagons still made their way through the streets, most of the city folk gathered in plazas, taverns and homes for their evening meal at this hour. With the lull in the city’s bustling traffic, they found themselves crossing into the central district in short order.

“So, how have you been doing recently, Lord Mare?” She asked as they strolled along at a more relaxed pace.

“M-me?” He seemed surprised that she had asked, “Uh…okay, I guess?”

“You must be quite busy with your duties taking care of the territories, the Demihuman Quarter and the Adventurer Guild.”

“It’s busy, but I like it,” Lord Mare smiled. “It’s good to have something to do.”

“I keep telling people that,” Ludmila smirked, “but they always tell me to relax instead.”

“Really?” He frowned, “Lord Ainz sometimes says that to us. That we should rest properly and take breaks.”

Maybe it was just the difference between a vassal’s mindset and that of everyone else. Duty and responsibility were contingent on recognition and trust; a sign of strengthening ties between liege and vassal. Being able to carry them out in a satisfactory manner was a joy in itself, and treating them frivolously or outright disregarding them was a betrayal of the bonds between a noble and their liege. Perhaps that was why she and her friends couldn’t help but react so vehemently when faced with the scions of House Fassett.

The powerful vassals that came with the Sorcerer King might be strange in many ways, but in this aspect, at least, they appeared to be the same. Still, it was admirable for children like Lady Aura and Lord Mare to show such maturity.

“Maybe His Majesty is concerned for you, my lord,” Ludmila said. “It’s apparent that he depends on you a great deal, but both you and your sister are still growing up…he might be worried about that.”

“M-maybe,” he replied, “but whenever I try saying that to big sis, she still doesn’t let me sleep in…”

“Lady Aura probably has the right of it,” Ludmila smirked. “There is a point where it becomes excessive.”

The two footmen standing at the entrance to the manor yard saluted as they approached. Once Terrence and Rodney were fully used to working with the Undead, she experimented with dividing yard security into two shifts. With one Human and one Death Knight on each shift, the ones not watching the manor would be free to conduct business in the city, see to deliveries from Corelyn Harbour, and take care of the various other tasks that were usually assigned to footmen.

Though she had only tried it a few times so far, pairing them up this way reportedly worked quite well, providing both a Human for interactions with others and making on-the-spot decisions, while the Death Knight had more than enough strength to handle most of the heavy lifting. It was her hope that, one day, the Death Knights would be able to function just as well at the things that Human footmen currently held an advantage in, but their close-mouthed nature made them seem like they preferred things the way they were.

That being said, they got along quite well with the rest of her household, so she still wanted to see if that relationship could be extended to others.

Just inside the gate, Terah stood awaiting them.

“Good evening, Lord Mare. Lady Zahradnik,” the housekeeper lowered her head.

“I take it that you heard me, then, Mrs. Ro’eh?” Ludmila was too curious not to ask.

“Yes, my lady,” Terah replied. “It appears that we don’t even need to consider hiring a page.”

Was she just putting a page out of a job? Considering that the demand for skilled labour was ever increasing, it was probably better that way.

Realizing that she was keeping Lord Mare waiting, she walked ahead and into the door, where Aemilia awaited her.

“P-pardon the intrusion…” Lord Mare said as he stepped across the threshold.

Working off her soiled boots, Ludmila turned her head at the strange set of words.

“Is that a mannerism of some sort, my lord?” She asked.

“Yes,” Mare nodded, then tilted his head. “What did it sound like to you?”

“I heard ‘pardon the intrusion’.”

Lord Mare furrowed his brow.

“Is that not correct, my lord?” Ludmila asked.

“S-sort of?” He answered, “It’s not the whole meaning though…if you use it in a different situation, it means something else.”

“I see,” Ludmila said. “That’s actually quite a common thing to have happen. The meaning of speech is contingent on understanding of language. Those unlearned in the language that’s actually being spoken will only hear the direct meaning, and only if the concept exists in the awareness of the listener.”

Ludmila led Lord Mare through the corridor, pausing when they reached the corridor.

“I believe dinner is still being prepared, my lord,” she glanced to Aemilia, who nodded. “Would you like to wait in the courtyard, or the drawing room?”

“The courtyard is fine…what you said just now, about language: does that mean that no one hears exactly what is being said?”

“If two parties in a conversation speak the same language, they will hear exactly what is being said – down to accents and quirks of speech. If a different language is being spoken and the recipient does not understand it, then it would be as you say: they’ll only understand what is being said, without any nuance or additional meanings.”

“So you can’t actually hear what Shalltear sounds like, because you don’t know our language…”

“That’s correct, my lord,” Ludmila said. “Her speech comes across to me as highly refined and elegant, but I’m unaware of any accent that she might have.”

“That’s interesting…and weird?” Mare frowned.

“Weird, my lord?”

“I-it’s nothing,” he said hurriedly. “I just wondered why the people here – the nobles and merchants especially – receive her so well. I guess I know the reason why, now. Big sis always gets annoyed when Shalltear is seen as a high class lady while she’s treated like a kid. A part of why she likes talking to you is for that reason – because you treat both her and Shalltear the same way.”

“That should be the case for most nobles: as long as they understand who one is, they will act with the appropriate decorum. If proper introductions are made, even non-nobles should have a sense of proper conduct between their relative stations.”

“We only do that on formal presentations to Lord Ainz,” Lord Mare said. “Anywhere else, it sounds uh…”

“Conceited?”

He nodded.

“Someone who did that unnecessarily would be insufferable, I agree,” she nodded in return. “Usually it’s not required, as important meetings are informed in advance, and the people that you regularly interact with already know who you are. Still, it’s safer for both parties to understand who they are dealing with so they can make the appropriate considerations. Rather than a trapping of conceit, it is a courtesy extended: with a simple introduction, you can set the tone for a discussion, saving time and embarrassment. That is, of course, if both sides appreciate the same social graces.”

“Hm…this is complicated…”

“I suppose a simpler way to look at it is how important you feel that what you’re doing is,” Ludmila said. “For instance, if you are on an open errand for His Majesty, then you’d want the other party to know that you are representing His Majesty and not just yourself. Otherwise they might not act appropriately, and unfortunate misunderstandings may arise as a result. Conversely, if it’s just something that you’re doing for your own interests, there’s no need to say so unless the other party is blowing things out of proportion. Sometimes people will ask you, just to be sure.”

“Do all Humans act like this?” Lord Mare asked.

“Nobles surely do, my lord,” Ludmila answered, “as do most merchants and craftsmen who deal with the nobility. It can vary quite a bit beyond that, but the relevance of one’s responsibilities – or who they represent – should be reflected in relevant interactions. From the handful of Dwarf merchants I’ve seen so far, I think that you might be able to extend this thinking to any race with similar social constructs.”

“I-I see…well, thanks for explaining.”

“It is my pleasure to be of assistance, my lord,” Ludmila lowered her head. “Now, I must excuse myself to prepare for dinner. If there’s anything you require, please let Mrs. Ro’eh know.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The door to her solar clicked shut, and Ludmila released a sigh. She removed her mantle, wrinkling her nose slightly as everything she desperately tried to contain within wafted out. Hopefully, no one had noticed…well, there was no chance Lady Aura and Merry wouldn’t have noticed. She went to her dressing mirror, frowning over the sweat and grime that came with the Gold-rank examination, plus one death. At least she didn’t soil herself.

That particular bit of unpleasantness was first encountered when Adventurers started dying in training, much to their postmortem mortification. Following the spread of the discovery, everyone made sure to relieve themselves before training, and keep meals beforehand light. It hadn’t happened to her yet; hopefully it would stay that way.

She stripped off her arming doublet, hopped out of her pants and undid her undergarments. Padding over to the steaming bathtub, she dipped in her toe experimentally before stepping in and lowering herself into the water. There were no aches and pains to soak away, as the resurrection made her former conditions nonexistent, but she enjoyed the pleasant sensation nonetheless.

Aemilia came in behind her with a pail and started rinsing out Ludmila’s hair.

“How was your afternoon at the cathedral?” Ludmila asked.

“To be honest, my lady, I think I fell asleep halfway,” Aemilia answered. “That dusty old crone lecturing the Acolytes is a hundred times drier than Nonna.”

Ludmila tried to imagine what that was like…nope, she couldn’t.

“What was the lecture about?” She asked, “That you can remember.”

“Today was only one part of the lecture, actually,” Aemilia answered. “Part six out of twenty-four, a series exploring the divine mandates of the temple, the tenets of the scriptures, and how they factor into the preeminence of humanity.”

“I think I remember that,” Ludmila said. “Sophia and I had to take turns waking each other up. Maybe this ‘dusty old crone’ is one of Bohdan’s classmates.”

“She couldn’t be older than sixty,” Aemilia replied. “Did you learn any magic at the end of all these lectures?”

“No,” Ludmila let out a short laugh. “It was actually part of the regular education in the village. For those that could stomach it, at least. I think most of my classmates ran off, preferring to help out with their families’ work instead. Sophia became an Acolyte, but no one else did.”

“Uehhh…do they really have to teach this? I mean, I get it, but at the same time I don’t – everything covered in those lectures seems a bit out of step with our lives here.”

“The foundational studies exist for a reason,” Ludmila told her. “By understanding the core principles and tenets of our faith, we can apply them to our current lives. If we rely on second-hand interpretations, time and change will gradually result in blindness and corruption in our system of beliefs. We would be following reflections and shadows cast by the light, believing that they are the light itself.”

“It sounds like you understand this more than I ever will, my lady,” Aemilia said with a pout. “Why is it that you never learned divine magic?”

“My parents actually thought it would be a good idea when I was very young,” Ludmila said, “but I had no potential for magic. Now, I just poke holes in things like the rest of my family did.”

“You’re extraordinarily good at that, my lady,” Aemilia said. “I never get tired of watching you practice – it’s beyond anything that I could have ever imagined.”

“Ogres with sticks beg to differ,” she replied sardonically.

She gingerly felt her side where the staff had struck her. Of course, there was no sense that the injury had ever been there.

“I’m sure you’ll beat them soon, my lady. No stupid Ogre can stop you for long.”

“I certainly hope so,” she replied. “I am of no use if I keep losing all of the progress that I make.”

Ludmila rose from her bath, toweled off and made her way over to the dressing mirror. Two dresses were displayed on mannequins nearby. The first was a comfortable outfit that she favoured for her evening studies; the second, a more formal selection for entertaining important guests. The latter was a new piece, supposedly tailored in a fashion popular down in the Theocracy. Aemilia had it made with the reasoning that, when trade resumed, a follower of the Six Great Gods would have an advantage in dealing with merchants from the south and would thus use garments appropriate to interactions with visitors from the south.

Unfortunately, the few caravans that had trickled in from the Theocracy never stopped in E-Rantel – they went straight through the Sorcerous Kingdom, making as few stops as possible along the way. She eyed the folds of grey satin as they shimmered dimly in the light. It was something she thought more suited to Clara than herself: displaying very little in terms of embellishment and simple in form, so it would take someone like her friend to cut a glamorous figure out of it. When Ludmila had first tried it on, she thought her reflection reminiscent of a stone column draped in an empty banner.

“Let’s go with the more comfortable piece,” she said. “Lord Mare is here on some business that may take much longer than dinner.”

A half hour later, Ludmila came down the stairs and found Lord Mare inspecting the small cluster of shrubs and trees in the courtyard.

“Apologies for my delay, Lord Mare,” Ludmila said as she approached him. “Is there something that has caught your interest?”

“Do you have any of these plants around your home?” He asked.

“Those are all native to the area,” she answered, “so there should be more than a few.”

Lord Mare tilted his head upwards, scanning the roof surrounding the courtyard.

“There’s a Hanzo up there, I think?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Okay.”

Lord Mare looked down at his shadow, and five Hanzos came out of it at his call.

“Um…you four guard the manor,” he motioned with his staff loosely, “and you can check around the other side. Come back here when you’re done.”

The Hanzos split up, and one of them stepped into one of the shrubs. Nothing happened. Lord Mare frowned momentarily.

“Whoops, that’s right – teleportation doesn’t work in this part of the city…hmm. Just run there, I guess?”

The final Hanzo leapt up to the rooftop and streaked away.

“Luzi,” Ludmila looked to her side, “check on how Mrs. Ro’eh is doing. Go ahead and help her out if we’re not ready yet.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Ludmila stepped into the courtyard with Lord Mare, and she addressed him after Aemilia disappeared into the kitchen.

“What was it that you wished to discuss, my lord?”

“There’s something I would like your help with,” he told her. “I want to set up the first training expedition for the Adventurer Guild, but there are some things I don’t know about…Shalltear said you would be able to.”

“Without knowing what the specifics are,” Ludmila replied, “it would be irresponsible for me to give you a definitive answer. I’ll gladly help you in any way I can, if I am in a position to do so.”

“T-then…”

Lord Mare reached into his inventory and pulled out a folder. He tilted his head to read the label before holding it out to her. Ludmila received it and flipped through the contents: it was a brief summary of an expedition to the small forest north of Warden’s Vale, complete with an extraordinary map that she assumed was a creation of Lady Aura.

“You’ve learned Re-Estize script?” Ludmila absently noted as she read over the pages, “Your handwriting is very neat.”

“Most of it,” Mare nodded. “Numbers, too. E-everyone working around the Sorcerous Kingdom knows now.”

“I see…”

It took several minutes for her to skim over the pages and, by the time she finished, Aemilia was approaching them from the dining room. They followed her in to be seated, but Ludmila decided that, rather than sit at the head of the table as the host, she would sit on one side of the table across from Lord Mare so they could discuss his work.

“Luzi, bring in some stationery from the office,” Ludmila said. “Let Mrs. Ro’eh know that we’ll be taking our time with the meal.”

“Yes, my lady.”

They settled themselves onto their seats, and Ludmila spread out the contents of the folder to the side. The format of the expedition system remained unchanged from when Ishpen had explained it to her upon joining. Five six-member parties, similar to those used in the Training Area, with a sixth party in reserve for specialized functions.

“This formation has me listed in the sixth party,” Ludmila noted. “I’m not qualified to attend an expedition, neither will I have the time to participate when this has been scheduled: I’ll be overseeing the harvest in my demesne.”

“I-it’s something that I want to update,” Lord Mare explained. “This is a, uh…domestic expedition, meaning that the sixth team will be seated with local interests. In this exercise, you’d be a noble commissioning a development survey for some nearby land.”

“So the purpose of this exercise is not only to start training the Adventurer Guild for expeditions, but also to demonstrate how they can be used practically by the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

Lord Mare nodded empathically.

“How far would you like for me to carry out this role, my lord?” Ludmila asked.

“Everything you can think of,” Lord Mare answered. “What a noble would want to use the land for, resources that they value, stuff to look out for…”

“Should I involve the Guilds as well?”

“That would be good. We’ll be using this training to come up with procedures for all of the stuff that goes on surrounding the expeditions.”

The sound of steps whispering over the floor announced the arrival of their meal. Rather than being served in courses as other nobles might have done, it was simple fare that arrived as a single one. Unlike some weeks before, however, her household was starting to employ magic items.

Some time after the trip to Fassett County, after she had settled into familiar routines again, Ludmila started shopping around for the same conveniences that House Wagner displayed on their journey. Aemilia laid two large, rectangular containers on the end of the table, while Terah brought in a large pot. All three items were enchanted to preserve their contents, as well as maintain the temperature within.

The pot contained steaming village stew, while the containers held cool, crisp greens and freshly baked bread. It was Ludmila’s preferred meal with her busy schedule, and the items kept everything as if they were just prepared no matter how long she took to get through meals as she worked, or how late she was coming back. A small part of her voiced criticism over the idea that magical items were being used to serve such an unassuming meal, but she paid it little mind.

“Oh, it’s like a mini-buffet,” Lord Mare remarked.

“Nothing so fabulous, I’m afraid,” Ludmila smiled slightly. “It’s quite simple, but there’s always enough to satisfy the appetite.”

Lord Mare tore up a roll of bread, dropping the pieces into the stew that was served to him. He idly munched on his salad while waiting for the bread to fully soak itself. Back when he came to Warden’s Vale to raise the foundations of the first farming village, Ludmila was shocked and somewhat amused to find out that he had his stew the same way that she did.

“Does this training scenario mean that you’ll be opening up the Adventurer Guild to be commissioned by nobles for local surveys?” Ludmila asked.

“I’m not too sure about that, actually,” Lord Mare answered. “Most of the unmanaged lands are in the southwest of the duchy, close to yours. The rest is already claimed…maybe in the future?”

“It might not sit well with the Adventurers if their expeditions are used as groundwork for expansion into foreign lands,” Ludmila said. “I think it’s one of the primary objections that were made when Guildmaster Ainzach presented his proposal. The Adventurers didn’t like the idea that they might be used as a vanguard for hostile expansion.”

“Mister Ainzach says stuff like that too. For now, I’d just like to have everything ready since we have the chance to prepare.”

“I’ll work with that in mind, then. To begin with, we’ll have to figure out the logistics of this, starting from the expeditionary camp. Hm…is that why you asked me about the plants in the courtyard?”

“Un,” Lord Mare nodded. “I sent out that Hanzo to check the location that I wanted for the camp. He should be back before we’re done.”

Ludmila looked over to the side, studying the details of the expedition again. The forest that was its target was slightly smaller than her own demesne, minus the recent extension to accommodate the Krkonoše. Covering an area of roughly 1600 square kilometres, it would take several weeks for the expedition’s scouts to map in detail. Given that it was the first training expedition, and that the activities would also be unfamiliar to all involved, chances were that it would take over a month.

“A full survey for an area like this seems a lengthy process,” Ludmila said. “If you include the study of local inhabitants and any ruins or strange findings, it could run for many months.”

“Is the forest inhabited?”

“No, it shouldn’t be. House Zahradnik removed anything aggressive to Humans in the nearby lands generations ago, and has kept an eye on them ever since. It should only be the local wildlife – if there’s any threat to the surrounding Human lands there, it would have to have moved in recently.”

“What’s the worst you think they’ll find in there?”

“Hm…most of the wildlife is equivalent to a Silver-rank at best, and most will avoid any Humans that they detect. The greatest threats would probably be Forest Worms…or maybe some nests of Hanging Spiders in the deeper areas? They don’t leave the forest, however, and they don’t usually go out of their way to harass travellers. Lone scouts should be able to easily avoid disturbing them, and a full Gold-rank expedition won’t encounter any difficulties overall unless individual teams are overly careless.”

Lord Mare nodded slowly at her words. He finished another mouthful of stew before speaking again.

“That sounds good. There’s a real expedition coming up, so I don’t want to lose anyone on the roster doing something risky. We just need to make sure that everyone knows what they’re doing, and everything supporting the expeditions is working.”

“I hadn’t heard – has this been made public, yet?”

“No,” Lord Mare replied. “It won’t be, either. They’ll be starting from the Great Lake in Tob Forest and heading north into the Azerlisia Mountains. The main objective is to survey a route for a new highway.”

“The one to Feoh Raizo? Won’t Frost Giants be an issue?”

“I-it’s something like a bonus objective? To make contact with them, I mean. According to a few of our sources and that rumour going around, they’re more interested in fighting than talking…”

Ludmila only knew bits and pieces about Giants in general, but the rumours Mare spoke of did match up. Perhaps it was a part of why the rumours circulating through the merchant networks had become so prevalent. Hill Giants, that might occasionally be found in the lowlands, were possessed of poor intelligence and Gold-ranked Adventurer teams could safely single them out to be removed by exploiting their dim-wittedness. Frost Giants, on the other hand, were about as intelligent as Humans, crafted their own equipment and individually required teams of Mithril-ranked Adventurers to handle at the least.

Even if the expedition had the four members of Rainbow amongst their number, she sincerely doubted they could fight Frost Giants. Between the difficult terrain and stated nature of their kind, it was more likely that the Adventurers would be smashed.

“I’m not exactly an expert on Frost Giants, but, as you’ve mentioned, I feel that any ‘contact’ with them will end in disaster. Is there a reason why such a risk is being taken?”

“We decided that it was worth an attempt at diplomacy, first,” Lord Mare said. “If we just wipe them out, we might miss out on something useful.”

That was that, then. Though the Adventurers would almost certainly be crushed if things took a hostile turn, it was considered an acceptable risk by the Royal Court. It would be a devastating loss, save for the fact that the entire expedition could be recovered, resurrected and retrained in short order. Ludmila idly mused over whether this was how any powerful nation with readily available resurrection magic functioned, or if it was something unique to the Sorcerous Kingdom.

Not that she had any real say on the matter. Her own small part was to help lay out how a portion of their protocols would function, so that was exactly what she would do.

“I see,” she said. “In that case, let’s start working out the specifics of this training expedition.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Their work stretched late into the evening, and Lord Mare was yawning widely by the time he and Ludmila made their way out of the manor. Both of her Death Knight footmen manned the gate during the night hours, allowing her Human footmen time to rest. One of them stirred from its post, wordlessly joining Aemilia in escorting them through the central district.

“T-there was a lot more than I thought there would be,” Lord Mare remarked as they walked towards the villa gardens.

“It was what came to mind for the time being, my lord,” Ludmila said. “If I think of anything to add, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“I told the others that it’d only take two weeks for this training expedition,” he said, “so it probably can’t cover everything that we went over. D-do you think Adventurers should be doing all of this?”

“Well, it certainly does sap the ‘adventure’ out of Adventuring,” she admitted. “A survey of this quality would usually only be commissioned by a lord that has wealth to spare and is looking to develop their holdings. A Frontier Noble would probably do this sort of thing themselves. If we’re talking about just this duchy, however, there won’t be much opportunity for it – the regular nobles don’t have the right to independently expand beyond their de jure holdings.”

“But you can, right?” Lord Mare asked, “Shalltear said you just did something like that…”

“I can, yes,” Ludmila nodded in reply, “and I did, my lord. That part of my duties has carried over from Re-Estize law just like the rest.”

They entered the softly-lit gardens, approaching the gazebo. Lord Mare slowed his steps and looked up at her.

“T-then…why don’t you just extend your control over the area around your territory?”

Ludmila furrowed her brow at his words. Technically, she could…

“I suppose I’ve never seriously considered it, my lord.”

“If it was my job,” Lord Mare told her, “I’d be getting as much as I could for Lord Ainz.”

As far as she knew, there was no mandate for expansion set forth by the Royal Court. Everyone was still slowly adopting all of the new systems to their respective fiefs, so most of the administration’s attention was focused inward. The recent expansion of her territory into unmanaged lands was for the sole purpose of accommodating the Krkonoše’s need for an alpine habitat.

“Unless it’s an immediate security concern,” she said, “I just feel that I shouldn’t take any more than I need.”

“T-that’s another reason why I think you should…”

The sound of her boots over the cobblestones ceased, and she looked at Lord Mare curiously. He stepped up onto the floor of the gazebo and turned in place, the panels of his skirt fluttering in the night breeze.

“I-it’s because you understand what you don’t need,” he explained. “If other Humans were given the land, they would turn it into land for more Humans. The forests and meadows would be destroyed: replaced with farms and lumber mills and towns and things. Lord Ainz wants the Sorcerous Kingdom to be a place where everyone can live in happiness, b-but how can we do that if most of the land is turned into space for Humans? Even E-Rantel is like that – the majority of the city is built for Humans. I’m trying to do the best that I can with the new Demihuman Quarter, but the difference in living space is plain for all to see.”

She looked back at Lord Mare, pondering the recent trend in other people’s perception that she was somehow a good candidate for managing other races.

“Forgive me for my confusion, my lord,” she said, “but why is it that members of the Royal Court seem to believe I’m suited for managing Demihumans? Recently, Lord Cocytus, now you…I’ve been raised for all my life to defend against frontier threats – many of whom are Demihuman tribes.”

“That is the reason why?” He tilted his head slightly, “I-it’s just in how you look at it, I guess? Druids and Rangers have a strong understanding of natural balance, as well as empathy for natural things, but Rangers extend that even further into what they specialize in interacting with. Big sis is a Ranger who specializes in magical beasts. It’s not just her being able to track, intimidate and fight them, but also to communicate with, understand and raise them as well. It should be the same for you – that’s just how Rangers are.”

Ludmila furrowed her brow. Was that really the case? The Sorcerous Kingdom’s upper echelons were possessed of a wealth of knowledge that she wasn’t even remotely aware of before they came, and she didn’t believe that Lord Mare had any reason to mislead her. He was generally friendly and helpful in his interactions.

“Mmh…okay, how about this,” Lord Mare said. “Has your family ever f-failed at defending your Area?”

“No, my lord,” her response was immediate.

“What about the other nobles that used to defend the southwest border?”

“They didn’t fall because of intruders, my lord. It was because they couldn’t remain economically viable, and the Provosts sent to E-Rantel apparently had no real interest in supporting us.”

“Uh…really?” A puzzled expression appeared over Lord Mare’s features, “That doesn’t make sense – a-aren’t you supposed to pay maintenance for your defences?”

“That’s how I understand it, my lord. Apparently, they didn’t see things the same way.”

Lord Mare blinked slowly several times at her reply.

“A-anyways, where was I…oh, uh, if your family could have built a giant wall across the frontier, would you have done it?”

“That would be unwise, if I were to put it nicely.”

“Why?”

“It would be a massive drain on resources,” Ludmila explained, “and holding it would be a permanent burden. Building such a monumental structure is tantamount to challenging the wilderness tribes – rather than keeping them out, you’d just be attracting swarms of them. The way we do it, all that would be required are a few outposts so we can maintain territorial boundaries in a more sane manner.”

“Did you know that the Holy Kingdom on the western end of the wilderness built a giant wall across their whole border?”

“If what you say about Rangers is true, my lord, surely an entire Kingdom has many to advise them against this?”

“I’m not sure about what Rangers they have, but their country is run by the nobility and the temples. They get attacked all the time like you say, too. It doesn’t even really help them – the Demihumans could overrun their whole Kingdom if they really wanted to.”

Ludmila pondered the monumentally wasteful move. Could a nation really be so ignorant of their neighbors? Even if someone did step up and inform them at this point, the damage had already been done and no one would believe them.

“Considering that the nobility and the temples govern the nation,” she said after some thought, “I can roughly understand what’s going on. They built the wall thinking that it would ensure the well-being of their nation, under the impression that everyone thinks like they do. What happened instead is that it invited attacks by all of the wilderness tribes in the region, and now they’ve been driven to believe that the wall is their best defence.

“If they had never built that wall, they could have essentially become just another ‘tribe’ – simply considered a part of the greater balance of power in the wilderness and worth no special consideration beyond occasional skirmishes as tests of strength. As long as it was understood that they were not easy prey, things would not advance beyond minor attempts to raid where weakness was perceived. This is essentially what House Zahradnik did – there would still be losses, but nowhere close to what they probably experience now, with far less in the way of maintenance.”

“Do you think that the other nobles in E-Rantel would come up with the same answer?”

“Not unless they were Rangers or Druids, or at least heeded the ones that they had,” Ludmila smirked. “They’d probably be building stupidly expensive walls instead. I will consider your words, my lord. Thank you.”

“It’s something that I think would be for the best as well,” Lord Mare said. “I’ll see you…hm…I guess in about a week, actually?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she replied. “We have an appointment to landscape the next section of the farming strip. I’ll give the training expedition further thought and, if there’s anything you’d like to review, we can speak about it then.”

Lord Mare was silent for a moment, tapping his chin with a finger in thought.

“A-actually,” the finger stopped, “have you changed anything in your schedule, yet?”

“Not yet, my lord,” Ludmila replied. “I’ll need to see how I can reorganize around my time with this sudden change. Was there something in particular you needed me for?”

“No – I mean, yes,” Lord Mare quickly corrected himself. “Mister Ainzach wanted to put the training on hold, but Momon said that we should continue training while he figures things out. That way, everyone will be stronger and have more endurance to learn Martial Arts with.”

“In that case, should I leave things unchanged, my lord?”

“Um…actually, I saw that you’ll be back in your Area–er, fief for a while, so I wanted to make sure you were caught back up before then…”

Lord Mare’s voice trailed off, his gaze turning inwards.

“Six times,” he said.

“Six times, my lord?”

“Un,” he nodded. “Six training sessions per day. Two in the morning, two in the afternoon and two in the evening.”

Each training session took roughly three hours. When would she have the time to do anything else? Also, what would she smell like after all that?

“N-no good?” Lord Mare frowned worriedly, looking up at her with big, watery eyes.

“I was just trying to figure out how to make your proposal work, my lord,” Ludmila said hurriedly. “I still need to work…and eat…and sleep. A bath would be nice too. Three, at least.”

“Oh. Uh…”

Lord Mare reached into his inventory. He withdrew a clutched hand and opened it before her: in his palm were a variety of rings that softly gleamed in the garden’s lighting.

“Pick any one you like,” he told her.

Ludmila examined each in turn: they were bands that looked to be of the same, silvery metal, fashioned in vaguely similar designs.

“Is there any difference between these?” She asked.

“They’re all Rings of Sustenance,” he answered. “When you wear it, you’ll only need about two hours of sleep a week. Food and drink won’t be a problem, either.”

“Are there any downsides?”

“Um…not that I know of…”

Ludmila picked out the most plain-looking band, examining it briefly before placing it on her right middle finger. Aside from the brief, cool sensation of the metal on her skin, she didn’t really feel anything.

“How do I know if it’s working?”

“You won’t get hungry or tired, I guess?”

“I see,” she looked up from her hand. “With this, would it be possible to move the morning sessions to night? Most of the regular business I conduct is before noon.”

“Night sessions, hm…” Lord Mare gazed out in thought for a moment, then nodded, “That sounds like a good idea, actually. We’ve only been training during the day, but there’s time for another two sessions at night…I-I’m not sure if we can get more people on such notice, but we can still try out some stuff together if there aren’t.”

Ludmila suppressed a sigh of relief. Everything was still managing to barely work out somehow. Lord Mare reached into his inventory again.

“Um…this, too.”

She looked down at his hand. There was a large, black collar. The links of a dull, metal chain dangled off of it. Ludmila quickly glanced around at the shadows of the garden before hesitantly reaching out to receive it.

“…do I need to put it on right now?” She asked in a low voice.

“You should only wear it for certain types of training,” Lord Mare told her. “It enhances your rate of growth, but it weakens you when it’s equipped. Maybe try it when you’re doing something safe…like paperwork? W-we can try it during the night sessions as well – I wanted to experiment on how they could work in combat exercises. So far, they’ve only been used safely in drills.”

“I’ll give it a try, my lord,” Ludmila slipped the collar into her Infinite Haversack. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, not really,” he said. “I’m happy that you agreed to do all this, though. You always come up with even more stuff that helps me improve the Training Area. The other Adventurers aren’t as willing to test out my new ideas, either.”

“It’s a pleasure to be of service,” Ludmila lowered her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow after lunch, then?”

“Sounds good,” he nodded. “Bye.”

“Have a good night, my lord.”

Halfway into Ludmila’s curtsey, Lord Mare jumped into one of the pillars of the gazebo.

“D-did he just jump into that pillar?” Aemilia breathed from behind her.

“Lord Mare uses plants to get around,” Ludmila told her. “There are vines creeping up the columns of the gazebo. He brought a potted tree to Warden’s Vale the last time he came by for the same reason – he can just pop in whenever he likes now.”

“I see. I wonder if there’s some handy spell like that I can learn…”

They started making their way back to the manor, with the Death Knight following after them.

“Maybe you should add it to the list of spells you’ve marked for learning so far.”

“I did ask about the ones Lady Shalltear used, actually,” Aemilia replied. “Even the ones that they knew about require an extraordinarily powerful divine caster – adherents of the god of air gain access to a few.”

Though unable to cast anything so far, her lady’s maid had come up with a short list of spells she wanted to learn. There were some spells of healing, but most were not really what one would associate with a divine caster. The Clean spell was at the top of her list, followed by ones that could conjure paper, spices, water and various other useful components of daily life. Other spells that would assist with her duties as a maid followed those, while Message and some additional spells of the second tier were on her list of more distant goals.

“Speaking of which,” Ludmila said, “which of the gods do you favour?”

“Not any one in particular, my lady. Though I suppose that now I’m in the service of a noble, it would be Surshana?”

“There’s no actual rule about that,” Ludmila told her. “I might be an adherent of Surshana, but that doesn’t mean you have to be.”

With judgement and justice as part of the god of death’s portfolio, Surshana was the deity commonly favoured by the nobility who worshipped the Six Great Gods, and House Zahradnik was no exception. Being polytheistic in nature, however, every god was respected for their place in a Human’s journey through life. The nuances of one’s faith were not something to be imposed – it was a deeply personal part of spiritual life.

“The people at the cathedral say that, my lady,” Aemilia said. “That there’s no rush, and it’s something that should come naturally…but, at the same time, I’d like to be useful to you as soon as possible.”

“I was like that too,” Ludmila said. “Well, sort of. I’ll admit that I was probably more excited at the prospect of just being able to cast spells at the time.”

“Okay, that too,” Aemilia blushed slightly. “Maybe I should be more serious about this – just the idea of learning divine magic to become a better maid feels a bit irreverent.”

“I don’t see a problem with it,” she told Aemilia. “The tenets of our faith encourage everyone to pursue their vocations earnestly: you are following the teachings of the gods, so why would you be censured for it?”

That was her interpretation, at least. Being an administrator who could appreciate how her tenants wove the fabric of her demesne together, she saw the tenets of the faith as a practical and grounded set of teachings – a guide on how to conduct one’s life. As they continued making their way back over the cobblestone streets, Ludmila pondered another set of tenets that might be the cause of friction in the future.

The faith of The Six was a Human faith, and thus promoted Human agendas. Not only did it encourage the orderly advancement of their species in domestic matters, but had a decidedly active role in how the faithful generally perceived non-Humans. Lord Mare’s encouragement to expand her borders in order to preserve the natural state of the southern frontier meant that she would also be holding lands ideal for non-Humans and, like with the Lizardmen, more and more of those races would probably come under her charge.

She and Clara both agreed that creating a place in the Sorcerous Kingdom where humanity could thrive was their divine mandate as nobles who worshipped The Six, but Clara had a significantly easier time of it. Corelyn County was entirely populated by Humans, consisting of long-developed territories of Re-Estize. There was a very real risk of friction in her own demesne if her Human subjects were forced to live alongside other races.

At first, Ludmila thought that, as different races had their own ideal habitats, the natural separation between them would keep the peace. The Krkonoše dwelled around lofty peaks and alpine meadows, the Lizardmen lived in the wetlands, while Humans lived in their farming villages and the harbour town. The Demihumans that came to dwell in the wildlands of the frontier could also be left to their own devices, far away from other peoples. There was a place for everyone, and everyone would be able to take their place in her demesne peacefully.

Yet, the more she thought about it, the more this idea presented an ever-increasing pile of troubling flaws. It was the will of the Sorcerer King that all of his subjects would live in security and harmony, and all peoples be able to pursue their own prosperity. Her original plan instead sounded like dumping different people into their respective pens and thinking they could get by in that manner. The powerful Undead forces of the Sorcerous Kingdom would certainly afford them security, but they did not create harmony or prosperity on their own.

While the Krkonoše were more than happy to live their lives intertwined with nature, the same could not be said for everyone under her protection. Humans tended to develop and build until great cities and nations were raised, and she had no idea what a Lizardman’s idea of happiness was. Other Demihumans would probably not be content to simply subsist in undeveloped lands either – the Agrande Confederation was rumoured to be an advanced and powerful nation with a myriad of species living together there. The lands of Karnassus beyond the Baharuth Empire had Humans as only one of the many peoples that made it their home.

Then there was Smith Kovalev’s account of the Empire of the Tiger Beastmen, far beyond the little corner of the world that she lived in. A nation that was so advanced in its craft and artifice that it made Human civilization appear primitive by comparison. Rather than resting safely behind the protection of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s armies, shouldn’t they be instead worried about just how far behind they actually were as a society compared to the rest of the world?

As Liane Wagner often so bluntly put it, Re-Estize was a backwater of a backwater – the furthest from what could be called a prosperous and advanced nation, and the Duchy of E-Rantel was still very much in that condition. If the Sorcerous Kingdom was to be a beacon of prosperity to the rest of the world, they couldn’t very well do so in their shoddy state: viewed as poorly as Humans themselves viewed feral Demihuman tribes…or perhaps worse.

Ludmila needed to piece together a new plan for her demesne, yet she knew too little. How could she nurture her people and provide them with happy lives? What was considered prosperity for the various races that she might end up being responsible for? How could she create harmony between so many different people and with nature itself? Many of the goals she had set for the future dissipated, replaced by new ones catapulted so far out of view that she had no real idea how to go about achieving them.

The Death Knight footman assumed its place at the manor gate, and Ludmila made her way directly to her solar. After dressing down, she seated herself behind her simple, wooden desk and started working through her long backlog of administrative tasks. Aemilia came up from the letter room, placing a small stack of new messages scribed from Warden’s Vale at the bottom of her inbox.

After she was certain that her maid had retired for the night, Ludmila gingerly put on the strange, black collar. Seated at the desk as she was, she didn’t feel debilitated in any tangible way, so, after a moment’s discomfort over the idea of what she was wearing, she started her work.

Several hours later, she reached the bottom of her inbox and furrowed her brow at a line amongst many, underlined in bold.

The first two members of Zurrernorn would be arriving just before the harvest.

Ludmila placed her elbows on the desk, folding her hands together. Her thumbs pressed against her lips as she absently looked down at the notification. With the Ring of Sustenance, it appeared that she could free up a substantial amount of time by reducing how much of it was dedicated to sleep and meals. The world, however, seemed more than happy to take it up.

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Night passed, and the sounds of the morning started to filter quietly into her solar. Ludmila found herself as alert as she had been the previous day, with no real sense of fatigue. Her eyes were getting itchy, however, as she had just spent the last six hours curled up in bed to catch up on her reading. Was there a magical solution for dry eyes, as well?

Aemilia appeared at her usual time, walking in to ask if there was anything Ludmila needed. She then went over to the desk to pick up the night’s work. Her maid stopped and stared at the documents piled high in the outbox.

“I-is that ring really safe, my lady?” She asked, “Something like this can’t be healthy.”

“I am feeling perfectly fine, Aemilia,” Ludmila replied. “Besides, Lord Mare said as much, no?”

“Still, it feels awfully o–”

Ludmila looked up at her maid, who had suddenly ceased speaking. She followed the line of Aemilia’s shocked gaze, and the chain of the collar clinked as her fingers reached up to brush against it. The book in her other hand tilted upwards, blocking her maid’s line of sight.

“I don’t understand why it has to be a collar my lady,” Aemilia both looked and sounded entirely displeased. “It even has a chain! Whoever made that thing surely had deviant tastes.”

“The important part is whether it works, yes?” A note of embarrassment managed to creep into Ludmila’s tone, despite efforts to keep her voice even, “Well, I guess it does feel a bit…”

“Obscene, my lady?”

“O-obscene…”

“Yes – walking out in the middle of the night with a powerful young nobleman, accepting a collar with a chain from him in a lonely garden. And then…well, it’s just the story that certain bored women with far too much time would eat up.”

“This sounds awfully specific coming from you,” Ludmila peered at her maid. “You wouldn’t happen to be a fan of such ‘stories’, would you?”

“Of course not, my lady.”

Ludmila eyed her maid suspiciously for a moment before removing the collar, placing it on the nightstand beside the bed. Then she imagined someone walking in to see it there and snatched it off, hiding the item under the covers.

“I-I mean, if everyone is wearing them, then it would not seem so odd, would it?”

“It would, my lady.”

“I meant–never mind.”

Ludmila sighed, realizing that she shouldn’t be so openly discussing Adventurer Guild business, and Aemilia left with the night’s work. Flipping back her covers, she glowered down at the collar. Aemilia was right – why wasn’t it a necklace or something that wasn’t so…conspicuous? Was it actually a slave collar: designed to keep chattel weak while they toiled and became better at whatever intricate labour they might be used for? None of her dresses could conceal it…maybe a scarf would work – a thick one.

In the end, she decided it wasn’t worth the risk being caught wearing the thing in public and stuffed it into her Infinite Haversack.

Upon completing her preparations for the day, Ludmila left the manor two hours before noon. She made her way to the main plaza, taking in the sight of the market and its people. Browsing around for an hour or so every day had become a sort of ritual to her: what amounted to a sort of indulgence as far as her activities went.

There were still important things to be done while doing so, however. As her demesne continued to be absent of temple staff, she needed to keep an eye out for medical supplies – tinctures, herbal remedies and such – and staying apprised of new products and ideas circulating amongst the city folk and visiting merchants from abroad.

Her thoughts about the public health of her demesne led her into the cathedral as she walked by. She came across a young Acolyte sweeping the stairs on the way in, who looked up at her with wide eyes.

“L-Lady Zahradnik,” she said. “What, uh…”

“I hope the day finds you well, Acolyte,” Ludmila nodded at her with a smile. “Is Bishop Austine available?”

The Acolyte clutched her broom, continuing to stare up at her until she realized that she had been asked a question.

“Blessings of The Six be upon yo–no, wait. I mean yes. To both. Um…he’s in his office – His Excellency, I mean.”

She turned away, cringing on herself as she led Ludmila through the hallway to the Bishop’s office. Ludmila wondered if this Acolyte was an acquaintance of Aemilia’s. The reaction certainly seemed like it was from someone that had their head filled with all sorts of lofty ideas about her. She was let into the office, and the Acolyte scurried away.

The Bishop’s desk was empty, and Ludmila made her way deeper inside, unsure if she should actually be doing so. Stepping forward towards the front desk, a glance down the nearest aisle of shelves found him bent at a strange angle as he appeared to be struggling with a book.

“Your Excellency?”

He jumped at her voice, and embarrassment crept up her neck over startling the Bishop of E-Rantel.

“Lady Zahradnik?” Bishop Austine peered at her, “I’m sorry, I must have missed your coming in…”

“The Acolyte from the front brought me in without saying anything, actually. My apologies for entering unannounced.”

“It’s fine,” he said, “it’s fine…hmm, that one is quite impressionable – I can just imagine how she reacted upon seeing you.”

“Impressionable…I hope Miss Luzi has not been too much trouble.”

“No, not at all,” the Bishop replied with a short laugh. “She manages to stay awake for at least half of those lectures at least. I think I slept through most of them back in the day.”

“She made it sound as if nothing about them has changed since Bohdan’s time,” Ludmila said.

“Some things have changed,” Bishop Austine said, “but a lot of those lessons are from Bohdan’s materials, I think. The man was a visionary: far ahead of his time. If not for his missionary work, we’d probably still be relying on the stuff from the south that he was raised on.”

“Is it really that different in the Theocracy?”

“In a word: yes,” he told her. “It’s different; yet the same, if that makes any sense to you. I’m sure your friend, Countess Corelyn, has told you about it from the pilgrimages that her family made during her childhood.”

“The gist of what I have heard from her is that they are more aggressive in the south.”

“Broadly speaking, that should be the most concise way to put it. This shift towards a more aggressive stance in the south has resulted in some remarkably drastic differences in our views developing in the past two centuries.”

“Do your superiors ever say anything about how we practice the faith here?”

“The Cardinal I report to hasn’t said much of anything beyond some questions here and there,” Bishop Austine said. “Nothing resembling an attempt to influence our direction. The Pontifex and his High Council are not fools: they understand that what we do here is the best way to approach things given our circumstances. The work of the missionaries that came here when the land was settled was derived from how our faith operated back in the days when the Theocracy was not in the favourable position it enjoys now, so it isn’t as if we’re doing anything heretical. If anything, we’re closer to the original form.”

“I see,” Ludmila glanced down at the book in his hands. “Was there something you needed assistance with? You looked to be struggling with something.”

“You mean this?” He looked down at the book as well, “It’s not exactly something I would consider a problem. We’ve been adding more to the archives as we slowly document all the families that have returned to the faith, and the shelves are getting packed. There was a bit of space that I saw here and I thought maybe I could get it in somehow. We’re still going to have to expand the archives soon.”

“That is an encouraging thing to hear,” Ludmila said. “Speaking of families, what are your thoughts on how I handled that matter in my demesne?”

“That matter…ah, you mean the young girl who showed an affinity towards being a Ranger.”

“Yes, Jelena Roscoe. It was so important that I cannot help but worry about whether my response was appropriate or not.”

“You did the right thing,” the Bishop told her. “Not even an ordained priest could have done better with the same resources on hand – you’ve been taught well. When she matures a bit, you’ll need to bring her to a place where she can be examined for any Talents…you know, this whole event strikes me as fitting.”

“Fitting, Your Excellency?”

“Yes, fitting,” he nodded. “You, too, have the so-called ‘tells of the blood’ – the latent potential of your bloodline manifesting within you. Now, you have become a mentor to another one such as yourself.”

“…I was not aware of that.”

“I can probably see why,” he said. “It was identified when you were young, and it was purposely kept from your knowledge. Your parents were always wary of anything that might negatively impact the development of their children, and they also had that same humility of yours that almost feels like a pride of its own.”

“I see…” Ludmila furrowed her brow, “Do ‘tells of the blood’ have anything to do with the blood of the gods passed down through humanity?”

“Sometimes, but with you,” Bishop Austine said with a slight smile. “You’d have been whisked off to the Theocracy immediately if that were the case. There are many bloodlines in the world: the strengths of yours clearly manifested when you were young – younger than Jelena, even. Given your schooling, I’m half-surprised you didn’t recognize it on your own but, then again, it’s usually more easily noticed by others. Also though I say that you’ve manifested bloodline traits, we’re not actually sure which one of your bloodlines did…”

“I am a scion of House Zahradnik, am I not?” Confusion crept into her voice, “That should mean my line is that of Andrei Zahradnik.”

“Well, bloodlines are sometimes mysterious and difficult to trace but, in your case, it is quite simple for at least two of them. The bloodline of Andrei Zahradnik comes from your father, and then there is your mother’s bloodline. Come to think of it, she manifested hers as well.”

“If I recall correctly,” Ludmila’s confusion grew, “my mother was a Gold-rank Adventurer. That is quite average for a professional Adventurer, as far as I understand.”

“She was registered as a Gold-rank Adventurer, yes,” Bishop Austine told her. “She was clearly far more powerful than that, but that’s all she really cared to let on. Her priorities lay in defending her home and raising her family…you are actually just like her, in that regard: the spark of adventure never had any draw for you, even as a young and impressionable child. My apologies if I come off as insensitive in saying so, but Gold-rank Adventurers stand absolutely no chance against powerful Demihumans from the Abelion Wilderness – like the one she reportedly slew before perishing herself.”

Ludmila went over and seated herself on the chair facing the Bishop’s desk, trying to make sense of her mother’s story. Had she just come up with a misunderstanding on her own? Her parents never spoke much of the past beyond what was relevant to their instruction. There probably wasn’t even a reason for the Bishop to lie about it, was there?

“Then who was she?” She asked, “You say I may have manifested the traits of her bloodline, but I have no clue as to what it is.”

“Like Andrei Zahradnik, your mother was from the south – beyond the Theocracy and the Elven Kingdom. A match made by the Temples for your father.” He smiled slightly, “Knowing how he was, I’m sure you’d agree on how he would have been terrible at finding a wife.”

“I suppose so,” she replied, unable to return his humor. “But why would the Temples match two individuals so distant from one another? I’m actually amazed that word got out that far.”

“Well, let’s just say that she didn’t enjoy the life she had there. Since there was a way to accommodate her desire to distance herself from it, it was an easy-to-answer request. This would also support the idea that she was downplaying her ability as an Adventurer to avoid drawing attention to herself.”

Ludmila frowned down at the Bishop’s desk. It seemed that there was always some crucial information that eluded her when it came to things she considered important in her life. Bishop Austine took a seat on his own chair, setting down the registry in his hand.

“You should understand that your family is not the same general group of peoples as most of those in Re-Estize and Baharuth, yes?”

She nodded. That much she understood, but she always assumed that the people of Warden’s Vale migrated from the period when the Theocracy was seeding the lands devastated by the Demon Gods two centuries previous.

“As I understand it,” he went on, “both Andrei Zahradnik and your mother’s line are both from the same region – the same people, even. A people renowned as soldiers, mercenaries and warriors. If you knew of Gazef Stronoff, King Ramposa’s Warrior Captain, he was actually from the same place. Your mother was from a bloodline of soldiers, and she was quite the captain herself, from what little I could gather.”

“I did not know about any of that, Your Excellency,” Ludmila admitted. “If that is the case, then what should I do? Am I a Ranger of my father’s line, or some sort of soldier, like my mother? If it is both…our tenets say that we should focus on our path, but what is to be done if we have the potential for more than one?”

“The answer would be to find a way to harness both, without deviating from a single path.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“There is,” the Bishop told her. “Sometimes it’s practically impossible when affinities diverge too greatly – such as being caught between becoming a Wizard or a Paladin – at which point one is probably better off choosing a single path and relying on raw potential alone. In your case, both your father and your mother have warrior affinities and are from a warrior people, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable to pursue a path along those lines.

“It should already be something familiar to you, considering that you are a Frontier Noble. To follow in the footsteps of the great captains of old: powerful warrior lords who stood with their men and led them into battle. Though somewhat embellished in their retelling, they were not too much different than your father, mother, or any of your ancestors in their own role. Therein I believe lies your path, but, according to Themis, you are already doing just that. It appears that your intuition has already set you on the correct course.”

“I did not come into this path on my own,” Ludmila told him. “I have been blessed with an excellent new liege who is guiding me in many things. Not only Lady Shalltear, but others from the Sorcerous Kingdom as well.”

“It’s no small wonder,” Bishop Austine said. “A great captain is of benefit to any nation. Considering the power of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s armies, it is a very clear way to distinguish oneself. While they certainly do not need the strength of mortal arms, a Commander who can magnify their existing strength is very much a desirable resource.”

Ludmila did not believe it was something so shallow as being a ‘desirable resource’, but she did not refute him. She was satisfied to be of any use to a liege who had already done so much for her, and being so did not preclude the other aspects of their relationship at any rate.

“Thank you for letting me know about all of this, Your Excellency,” she rose from her seat. “I will continue in my efforts. If humanity here will benefit from my contributions, then it is my duty to the faith to do so. Speaking of our people…has there been any reply from the Theocracy about our need for temple staff?”

“The good news is that our lines of communication are flowing freely once again,” he told her after standing himself. “I’m still negotiating for temple staff, however.”

“Negotiating?” Ludmila furrowed her brow, “I did not know that it was something that required negotiating. The ministry is needed here: sooner or later, something will happen without them. Is there a lack of priests in the Theocracy for some reason?”

“To be honest,” he replied, “I don’t know what the source of their hesitation is. I also do not believe the Theocracy could have a shortage of priests, of all things. Countess Corelyn is in an even more dire situation than you: she has over one hundred villages without a priest, and three temples with next to no staff. From an administrative standpoint, it’s quite absurd – if any disaster or great plague befalls us, we will be in a great deal of trouble.”

“There is an imminent and guaranteed concern before that,” Ludmila told him. “Both Countess Corelyn and I are introducing a basic, standardized education in our fiefs. We have an entire generation about to be schooled not by a scholar from the Theocracy, but an instructor trained by the Sorcerous Kingdom. The longer the Theocracy delays in their decision, the longer we have our children exposed to a foreign education without the benefit of a proper foundation in the faith.”

Bishop Austine frowned slightly as she spoke and, in the end, let out a rueful chuckle.

“Did you collude with Countess Corelyn over this?” He asked.

“No.” Ludmila answered, “I do not believe anything needs to be said between us on this matter. It is what it is, is it not?”

“Indeed,” the Bishop rubbed his lower lip with a finger. “I’m uncertain if the two of you have provided me with additional leverage in our ongoing petitions for temple staff or if you’ve placed me in a quandary. You are two of the most faithful nobles I’ve known, but, at the same time, you are nobles through and through. Your father was never so ambitious as this.”

“It is the reality of the Sorcerous Kingdom, Your Excellency,” Ludmila told him. “Our nation is on the brink of prosperity witnessed nowhere else; prosperity that will create a burgeoning society that will blossom and flourish. All who recognize this are fighting to stay ahead of the great wave that will sweep the things of the past away. Faith without works will find no purchase here: the temples of The Four falter and stagnate. The faith of The Six must rise to the occasion, or we will find ourselves left behind.”

“Leverage, then,” he smiled slightly.

“It would be better to consider it an opportunity. Shrines, chapels and temples stand empty; the people are already our own faithful – awaiting the touch of the ministry. You have the support of the local administration in these same lands: we are quite literally building your temples for free. I am hard-pressed to think of any scenario as welcoming as this.”

“You two are really…” The Bishop looked up at her, “Are you sure you didn’t come up with this together? Even your words are nearly the same.”

“We grew up together,” Ludmila said. “It is not surprising that we would see at least some things the same way.”

“It’s still quite uncanny,” Bishop Austine rose to his feet, “but I agree that there is merit in approaching it from that angle. If they are treating my petitions as something that they have the luxury of time to address, this should be just the thing to dissuade them from that assumption, and persuade them of the sureness of our course.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Upon parting with Bishop Austine and leaving the cathedral, Ludmila noted a small crowd of Adventurers gathered around a nearby stall. Merry, standing on the side closest to her, noticed her approach and waved her over. The group was mostly composed of fellow Rangers and Rogues, all looking down at the wares on display and speaking in low voices between themselves.

“Good morning, Merry,” Ludmila greeted the Orichalcum-rank Ranger as she approached the merchant stand.

“‘Mornin!” Merry replied with a bright voice, “You come for the same thing as well? Or maybe you knew, being a noble and all…”

“I wasn’t aware of anything special in particular being sold today,” Ludmila replied. “What’s all the excitement about?”

“Arrows!” The Elf grinned, “Well, bolts too – some other bits of ammo as well. I’m here for the arrows, though.”

Ludmila squeezed in beside Merry and looked down at the stand. Rather than piles of arrows and other ammunition, each piece on display was contained within a wooden case that had a transparent window in the lid.

“May I?” Ludmila asked the man on the other side of the counter.

“You break it,” he replied, leaning on his stool with his arms crossed, “you buy it.”

Reaching down, she carefully opened the lid of one of the cases. Within was an arrow with a glass head. She picked it up to examine more closely.

“Are you selling just the arrow?”

“Yup, just the arrow,” the man said. “Probably want the alchemists filling ‘em. Make sure you fletch ‘em before that, though.”

Ludmila nodded in response to his recommendations, giving the arrowhead a gentle twist. It unscrewed from the shaft, revealing its hollowed-out interior. The nock sealed the opposite end. She reattached the head and felt the arrow’s weight in her hands, tracing the shaft with her fingers to feel for any irregularities.

“Do you only have them in this variety?” Ludmila asked.

“Got two others,” the merchant replied, “one with shafts that hold twice the volume, and just the heads sold separate.”

“How many do you have in stock?”

“Just got here, so…” The man twisted around to look at the crates behind him, “Twenty thousand of the type you’re holding right now, five thousand of the bigger ones and fifty thousand arrowheads.”

“Price?”

“Two, four and one. Copper, obviously.”

Two copper for the arrow in her hands, plus the price of whatever she filled it with. She returned the arrow to its case and looked back up to find that the other Adventurers were staring at her. Ludmila’s hand went to her neck before she recalled that she had already put the magical collar away.

“...what?” She frowned.

“We kinda want some too,” Merry said. “Don’t clean him out.”

Why in the world would she want so many? It wasn’t as if she was trying to arm her entire demesne with them.

“Then buy some?”

“Well, uh…you know…”

“I’m not going to eat you for buying something ahead of me,” Ludmila felt her brow furrow. “What do you take me for?”

“A noble?”

“Since when do nobles eat people for shopping?” Ludmila rolled her eyes, “If he runs out, then more can be ordered in – isn’t that right?”

“Yes, my lady,” the merchant straightened from his slouch and lowered his head in reply.

Ludmila had the feeling that his response didn’t exactly help her case. The Adventurers resumed their browsing, however, so Ludmila turned to Merry.

“Do you know if the Adventurer Guild will be requisitioning these?” She asked.

“Hmm…” Merry scratched her nose, “Well, as fun of an idea as it might be, I don’t think so. Not for exercises at least. These things can go hella fast in certain situations, and it’s not like you can empty ‘em out and fill them with something else for the next training session.”

“How often would you say you use them?”

“Back when our regular work was in Katze, not much – I’m an Undead specialist, so my Skills and Martial Arts can destroy them easily enough on their own. Even a Death Knight would be in trouble if they didn’t have a way to get at me. If we got a job for a powerful Troll clan or something, I’d be crying over how many of these things I end up using: just shooting a dozen filled with Alchemists’ Fire or Acid costs enough to feed someone for a month. They’re a godsend when you need ‘em, though.”

Ludmila nodded at her words. She had never personally used them before, but someone like Merry would be more than familiar with their benefits and downsides. An Alchemist would probably have a good idea of all the compounds that these arrows could be filled with, but she couldn’t visit one until a later time now that her schedule had been packed full of training.

“Is there a method of storing these?”

“Really carefully?” Merry smirked, “I have a magical quiver that can hold about a thousand arrows – actually, I guess you have something like that too. The contents of items like these aren’t affected by any movement or jostling while we do our thing, so you don’t have to worry about them when they’re in there. People with regular quivers do, though. I’ve seen a few guys that didn’t store them properly basically explode after landing the wrong way or taking a hit and shattering a bunch of these – you could even tell what they had on them by the colour of the explosion.”

Several of the other Adventurers nearby looked up with incredulous expressions, as if trying to figure out whether Merry was joking or not.

“I’m not kidding,” she told them. “Mishandle too many of these and you’re gonna be gettin’ the crappy rez.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t keep them lying around, then,” Ludmila frowned at the mental image before turning back to the merchant, “How long will you be in the city for?”

“A few days, my lady,” he replied. “A full route takes around three months, so I won’t be back until then.”

“I’ll take ten regular arrows for now,” Ludmila told him, “and ten of the arrowheads. I need to see what the alchemists around here have to fill these with before purchasing more.”

“Of course, my lady.”

The merchant lowered his head once again before turning to put together her purchase, and Ludmila frowned at his back. His behaviour had taken a complete turn the moment Merry had made him aware of her position and, despite what she had said to Lord Mare the previous evening, Ludmila couldn’t help but feel that the man’s conduct was disingenuous.

“My bad,” Merry said from the side. “I guess you wanted to do some shopping incognito.”

“It’s alright,” she replied. “Better safe than sorry from his perspective, I suppose. I just thought that after working with the Adventurer Guild for a while, it would sort of…wear away? I thought it was, then…”

“It’ll never happen.”

Merry’s blunt tone caused Ludmila to turn her attention directly to her.

“I’ve lived for a long time,” the Elf told her, “and I can confidently say that it won’t ever happen – not as long as you hold that title of yours. Some of ‘em might get chummy with you, but, no matter how close you feel, it’ll always be there in some form. Thinking that it might not some day is a bit silly, if you don’t mind my saying so. Your title is a part of you – it’s not something you can just put away when you don’t feel like it. What people see in you and how you should carry yourself are one and the same: you’re more than just yourself, and if anything happens to you, those you’re responsible for will be affected. It doesn’t matter if you were adventuring or shopping or in the ‘loo.”

The uncharacteristic lecture from the generally happy-go-lucky Elf Ranger gave Ludmila pause.

“What brought that on?” She asked curiously.

“I’m your proctor most of the time, too,” Merry rubbed her nose, “well, one of them with all that’s changed with how your teams work, anyways. Newbie Adventurers are preoccupied with how good they are in fights and stuff, but how you work with others is important too. Being humble is good and all, but you’re doing it to the extent that you’re ignoring a piece of yourself in some misguided effort to fit in. Adventurers aren’t dumb – most of the time – certainly not when it comes to feeling out their teammates, so acting that way comes across as fake and they won’t be able to trust you. Just be what you are: everyone else can figure out what they care about on their own.”

“I still won’t eat people if they buy things ahead of me,” Ludmila said. “I don’t think I’d act too differently either.”

“I know,” Merry replied. “I’m sure the others will eventually get it too, but it won’t be from anything you told them. Adventurers are people of action: men and women who’ve decided to take destiny into their own hands. What truly matters is what you do when the job is on the line. Sure, some of us like to talk things up when we’re not on the job, but what someone does when they’re workin’ is what determines whether they can be trusted, and whether they’ll fit in.”

“Well, what do you think of me personally, then?” Ludmila asked.

“I wouldn’t be telling you all this if I hated you,” Merry answered. “Adventurers are mean like that.”

Ludmila received the bundle of glass arrows and put them away, glancing at Merry’s enchanted Quiver as they walked towards the Adventurer Guild.

“Where did you find that quiver of yours, by the way?” She asked.

“On a dead guy,” Merry replied.

“It was on someone you killed? Or some corpse you found?”

A voice in the corner of her mind berated her for asking too many questions. Whenever she discovered something of interest, it seemed she couldn’t keep her inquisitiveness at bay.

“Nah, I was never so lucky,” Merry said. “This one’s from a guy that I used to know. He was a Human, though, so I outlived his ass and got a bunch of his stuff.”

“Where did he get it from?”

“He found it from somewhere too. I went for uh…at least two centuries without one of these things. They’re something you hear about but never see, and I searched like hell for ‘em. You must have the luck of the gods to get two at, hmm, how old were you again?”

“Seventeen.”

“So a baby, basically. What the hell? Anyways, they’re really valuable. People will kill you for even the idea that you might have one, so you better get strong quick. I bet there’s a few that’d try to get one even with a Death Knight looking over their shoulder – that’s how crazy people can get over ‘em.”

“I hadn’t really considered it that way before…wait, is it safe to be talking about this sort of thing in the open if that’s the case?”

“It’s not as if people haven’t seen you using those things for weeks,” Merry looked up at the sky. “At any rate, I heard Lord Mare roped you into something crazy, so you better get going.”

“Thanks, Merry.”

“Uh huh.”

Ludmila entered the guildhall, rounding the stairs to find that none of her team had arrived yet. Ishpen looked up from the counter at her.

“Where’s Wina?” Ludmila asked.

“Finding us some lunch,” Ishpen answered. “You know, I suggested that you relax for a bit, but you’ve gone and done the exact opposite.”

“I did follow your advice, though,” Ludmila told her. “Dinner, right?”

The guild receptionist peered at her suspiciously, and her gaze settled on Ludmila’s right hand.

“One dinner,” Ishpen’s said flatly, “and you get a ring? Ainzach was right: you Frontier Nobles really don’t screw around. What did you threaten this poor sod with?”

“Nothing? He just offered me a ring. I received a collar as well.”

“A coll–what?”

“A collar.”

“Who are we talking about, again?”

“Lord Mare.”

Ishpen stared at her dully for several moments.

“Just to be sure…this is for work, right?” She asked.

“What else would it be for?” Ludmila answered, “It was very productive, by the way.”

“I feel like you missed the whole point of my suggestion.”

“I quite enjoyed our time together.”

“Riiight. Then this insanity happens,” Ishpen picked up a sheet from the counter and dangled it between them. “Are you trying to kill yourself? When do you even sleep in this?”

“I don’t.”

“Madness!” The receptionist threw up her hands, “You’re going up to end up dead, or a legend. Probably dead. Multiple times. I’m going to start a betting pool.”

“They’re supposed to be remedial sessions,” Ludmila told her. “I’ve never died from those.”

“During the day, sure,” Ishpen replied. “But you’re going to be playing around at night with Lord Mare, too. The way you two always go at it, I bet you’ll die at least once.”

“That sounds really wrong,” Themis said from behind her. “It’s probably not necessary but, just in case, I should probably remind you that the age of majority for our faith is twenty.”

“It’s perfectly reasonable,” Ludmila protested, “if worded properly.”

“Reasonable,” Ishpen snorted.

The receptionist held up the sheet again, and Themis leaned forward to read the tiny print.

“Isn’t that supposed to be private?” Ludmila frowned.

“She’s kinda like your priestess, isn’t she?” Ishpen said, “Might as well let both of the Surshana sisters know.”

“The Surshana sisters?” Ludmila and Themis said together.

“You’re both adherents of Surshana, aren’t you?” The receptionist shrugged, “One preaches death, the other keeps trying to embrace it. Or maybe Ludmila’s trying to figure out how to become Undead herself? She seems to have the ‘no sleep’ part down already.”

“I don’t ‘preach death’,” Themis huffed, “there’s a lot more to it than that!”

The sound of the door to the Adventurer Guild opening and closing, followed by the sound of several sets of boots ended their discussion.

“Looks like your gauntlet starts now,” Ishpen told Ludmila. “Don’t die, please: Ainzach’s already crying tears of blood over the guild budget.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 9

Chapter 9

As predicted, the remedial sessions, while still consisting of various challenges, did not contain any lethal threats such as Ogres with sticks.

Through the many sessions of the day, Ludmila fought alongside members both new and familiar. Over the course of weeks, she had refined the methods she used to build up a base of trust and confidence in her leadership, so the process by which she brought teams under her has smoothened considerably. As a bonus, thanks to their clean successes, the casters had more than enough mana to cast a Clean spell on her – much to her great relief.

Rather than run back and forth between the Training Area and the city after each session, she was left to wait for her next team to arrive. She pondered Merry’s words about her conduct after parting ways with each group, wondering if the long-lived Elf’s words were just an unavoidable truth.

Lady Shalltear had admonished her several times over her tendency towards humility, saying that, if misplaced, it could bring as much harm as empty pride. Ludmila willingly accepted who she was – a noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom, who lived a life of oaths, duty and obligation – yet, at the same time, the sense of camaraderie between the free-spirited Adventurers was an attractive thing to her.

Was what she was doing with the Adventurers also a form of misplaced humility? If so, it was far more insidious: the desire for companionship blinding her to the consequences of her attempts to have others treat her as less than what she was. The more she thought about it, the more she believed that the veteran Adventurer was right: she needed to be aware of who she was and what was at stake at all times, or trouble would eventually find her and everything she had been charged with.

“Oh~ looks like you’re not dead yet.”

A voice from nearby jarred her from her thoughts. Ludmila turned around to find Lady Aura standing behind her.

“Good evening, Lady Aura,” she lowered her head in greeting. “I was expecting Lord Mare, but it’s always a pleasure to see you as well.”

“Hmm…”

Ludmila looked up, finding that Lady Aura had fixed an appraising stare in her direction.

“My lady?”

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Lady Aura blinked and looked up at her, “Maybe. The proctors are still reviewing the last training session for the evening. I just came in ahead of the others.”

“I see…you mean to say that Lord Mare found others for the night sessions?”

“Not quite,” Lady Aura replied. “It’s Momon, Ainzach, Moknach and Merry. Ainzach says he can prove something with you – something to do with the changes to training.”

“I wasn’t aware of anything like that, my lady.”

“Huh. Welp, guess we’ll find out when we find out.”

The sound of the wind blowing through the grove around the training area filled the air as they silently waited. After some time, Lady Aura spoke again.

“Say…my brother isn’t doing anything weird, is he?”

“Weird, my lady?” Ludmila asked, “I can’t say that he has. Not that I know of, anyways.”

“Hm…well, if you think anything is wrong, just let me know.”

“Of course, my lady,” she replied. “Though, if I may say so, most people consider me a bit out of the ordinary as well. Guildmaster Ainzach surely has the experience to identify anything ‘weird’.”

“Maybe,” Lady Aura’s tone was more than a bit dubious. “Thing is that everyone’s in some kinda big rush to get things done, and they’re all caught up in the excitement. Even this whole problem with training and development that’s cropped up is a result of it – how does that even get by them, anyways? They’re so busy looking up at the sky that they keep falling into holes. Anyways, since you’re working for that dummy, I figure you’re pretty good at dumping cold water on people’s heads.”

“That dummy…” Ludmila frowned.

“Shalltear.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, my lady, if you don’t mind: what is the relationship between you and Lady Shalltear?”

“…I guess you could say that we’re related through our parents.”

They were cousins? It would go far in explaining the interactions between them. Considering that Lady Shalltear was one of the Undead, it was quite heartwarming that they would maintain close familial ties. Most would probably recoil at the realization that one of their relatives had been turned into an Undead being.

“I see,” Ludmila said. “Thank you for the clarification, Lady Aura. As for dumping cold water on people’s heads…I only try to advise Lady Shalltear as best as I can.”

“There’s only been one giant crater so far, so keep it up, I guess? Ah – looks like they’re here.”

From out of a tree nearby appeared the people Lady Aura had mentioned. Ludmila wasn’t sure if they had been serving as proctors for the entire day, but they appeared none the worse for wear if so. Guildmaster Ainzach stepped up to Ludmila, giving her a once over.

“Well, you still look like you’re good to go,” he said. “How does it feel doing six training sessions back to back?”

“No better or worse than when I started, Guildmaster,” she replied. “Overall, I find the training sessions quite relaxing.”

“That’s good to hear,” the guildmaster looked over to Lady Aura. “Any change?”

“If she’s gained any levels,” Lady Aura said, “I can’t tell. What about you, Merry?”

“Mmh…a bit stronger?” Merry peered at Ludmila, “Feels weird, especially since I just saw her this morning.”

“That’s a good sign, then,” Guildmaster Ainzach nodded. “We can probably put any Adventurer into training like this if they get knocked down and we need them back up quickly. If Aura can register a change after all of this after a few days, it’s proof for sure.”

Ludmila was not aware of what the wider effects of her training would be, but she started to understand what Lady Aura was referring to. The guildmaster had a gleam in his eye that spoke of barely-contained excitement, yet her intense training schedule was probably not something everyone could handle for extended periods of time.

“Is this why everyone has gathered?” She asked.

“No,” the guildmaster said, “there’s something else I wanted to prove and, since you’re on this gauntlet of yours, I want to include it as a part of your night training. Let’s head in and get this started – Mare, did you have any place in mind?”

Lord Mare nodded and walked into the entrance of the Training Area. They followed him down several floors, into a passage that led straight to the end of one of the grotto areas. It was usually a route that Adventurers took after completing a session, allowing them swift access to the main nexus of the floor.

They walked out onto the shore of an underground pool, complete with a small waterfall and magical illumination. The air was warm, but the ground where the ‘end boss’ of the session would usually be was dry and swept clear of debris. Ainzach made his way around the floor, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

“Anyways,” he turned to the line of people watching him, “I hope I haven’t dragged you all down here just to embarrass myself. Everyone here knows we’ve run into a bit of a wall with our training regimen. The Training Area’s so good at strengthening our members that they’re outpacing the regular development of what should come with that strength. Mages can’t keep up with the number of spells that they need to learn, people are behind on the abilities they’d have sharpened normally over time, and our warriors are in trouble when it comes to Martial Arts.”

Though it was mentioned in passing the day previous, she hadn’t realized that there were such widespread issues appearing in the new Adventurer Guild. Her general approach of conserving caster mana and use of efficient tactics probably didn’t help with identifying the problems, either.

“Martial Arts usually take a long time to learn,” the guildmaster continued, “but it also usually takes a long time to rank up. In that time, a warrior becomes accustomed to combat – learning its ins and outs. In the old Adventurer Guild, by the time it took the vast majority of warriors to earn their Silver plates, they’d have had a good two or more years of experience under their belts. In the new Adventurer Guild, we got fresh faces coming in and hitting Gold within months, thanks to this Training Area.”

The guildmaster looked around, as if waiting for someone to point out some flaw with his statement. The chamber remained silent, and he continued.

“Now, our members scrape together one; maybe two, Martial Arts by the time they hit Gold. This, in itself, is a testimony to how much combat experience they’re getting, but it’s still no substitute for years of practice on the field. Fortunately for us, Zahradnik offered me a puzzle that I think gave me the answer to our problem.”

Suddenly the subject of everyone’s attention, Ludmila looked questioningly to the guildmaster.

“How do you mean, Guildmaster?”

“Because you reminded me that most people that learn Martial Arts aren’t Adventurers,” he said. “It’s easy to forget because we’re the Adventurer Guild, but most Martial Arts users are professionals of other institutions. Soldiers; mercenaries; gladiators; armsmen in retinues. In other nations, like the Empire, there are nobles who extend the militant traditions of their houses to service in the military, becoming Captains, Generals or even rising to the ranks of the Great Imperial Knights. A Frontier Noble like you is basically that. Grab your spear and come up here.”

Ludmila did as she was asked, walking up to join the guildmaster while she retrieved a spear from her Infinite Haversack.

“Mare,” he said, “summon that, uh, thing we talked about please.”

Lord Mare pointed his staff to the space near them.

“「Summon Monster IV」.”

Out of the air materialized a pale figure, a bit over a metre in height and somewhat resembling an Imp in form. From the waist down, it had a small whirlwind in place of legs.

“What’s that?” Ludmila asked.

“I-it’s an Air Mephit,” Lord Mare answered, “a sort of elemental spirit. It has a little bit of damage reduction, enough that regular people can’t hurt it with physical attacks. Mephits of different types will regenerate quickly as long as they’re exposed to their basic element.”

“This’ll be your target while we do this,” Guildmaster Ainzach said. “Go ahead and take a good poke at it.”

Ludmila set herself in line with the Air Mephit, driving forward with her spear. The weapon glanced off the creature’s skin harmlessly. She tried several more times, to no avail. She tried cutting it with the blade of her weapon, then used several bludgeoning attacks. The Air Mephit continued to benignly float before her, as if nothing had transpired.

“Any damage?” the guildmaster asked.

“None,” Lord Mare shook his head. “I’m not a summoning specialist, so this one should only be a plain Level 15…um, Difficulty Rating 45? Between their difference in level and the damage reduction of the Mephit, she’ll have to hit it a lot harder.”

“Meaning that,” the guildmaster said, “with her current weapon, she’ll have to get a lucky hit in…or use a Martial Art.”

“But I don’t know any Martial Arts,” Ludmila wondered if the guildmaster had forgotten the previous day’s admission.

“You do,” he said. “You just don’t know that you do.”

She struggled to maintain a straight face at his strange assertion, absently feeling the shaft of her weapon as she awaited some sort of explanation.

“Martial Arts are possible once one is accustomed to the use of their body and equipment in combat,” the guildmaster said, “and have gained the strength and discipline to surpass what one might call the limit of mundane martial technique. Everything that we consider a Martial Art follows this premise: Offence and defence are magnified, senses and conditioning are enhanced. At highly advanced stages, Martial Arts achieve what is normally impossible – it’s the warrior’s magic.”

The guildmaster’s gaze ran over the line of faces, stopping when he reached Moknach.

“Moknach,” he said, “do you still remember the first time you learned Martial Arts?”

The Mithril-ranked Fighter crossed his arms, silent in thought.

“I actually remember Merry laughing at me more than anything else while I was trying to figure them out,” he replied, “but I think it was the old guildmaster’s advice. He told me that I needed a way to defend myself against overwhelming attacks, and a way to strike decisively when I needed to.”

“That’s right,” the guildmaster nodded. “He said the same thing to me, and I told up and coming members the same thing, too. Warriors in a position where they are expected to hold the line and anchor their team are advised to learn at least Fortress or Evasion, depending on their combat style. Warriors with any expectation of needing to temporarily hold off opponents should, for that matter. Offensively, we’re told to figure out a move we can use with our own respective weapons. That’s how Adventurers learn Martial Arts: we pick one thing and focus on it because it’s what we need to survive on the job.”

Ludmila listened intently as the guildmaster explained, then frowned upon hearing the method being described: it was nothing like how she was trained.

“From that starting point,” he continued, “we slowly learn what else we think is useful, branching out to develop more and more advanced Arts. It’s the most effective way for Adventurers to learn, given the circumstances that they usually find themselves in. Unfortunately, it comes with a huge problem. Because we tend to start from Copper not knowing a thing about fighting, we have to feel our way through and maybe pick up some pointers if someone’s nice enough to share. We end up being drawn towards certain techniques and rely on what our habits lead us to, and the Martial Arts that we acquire also reflect that.”

The guildmaster looked towards the veterans of the Adventurer Guild, who nodded silently.

“Now what if we had someone that learned differently?” the guildmaster asked them, “Someone like Zahradnik here?”

“I’ll admit that she’s good,” Moknach said, “but, in the end, she still has to learn Martial Arts.”

“You mean to say that her upbringing has provided her with the opportunity to fully develop her expertise before needing to learn Martial Arts.”

“Got it in one, Momon,” the guildmaster grinned. “Though you probably already knew.”

“Well, let’s just say I didn’t want to steal your thunder,” Momon chuckled.

“Well thanks for that,” the guildmaster replied. “Everyone here knows how good she is: you can match any other pair of even-ranked Adventurers out of our membership in a regular fight and the outcome is roughly fifty-fifty. You pit them against Zahradnik, and it’s not even a bet any more. Why is that? In a contest of raw strength against a dedicated frontline warrior – say, arm wrestling – she’ll maybe come out even. She’s actually slower than most of the other Rangers at her rank. It’s not as if she’s particularly tough, either: she folds just like the rest when it comes down to it.”

The guildmaster turned to Ludmila once again, gesturing towards her loosely.

“The difference is that she’s been training in a school of combat for over a decade – one passed down by her family for generations. Most of the time, Copper plates are the handful of hopefuls that pick up a weapon for the first time and grope their way forward: they’re kids who have no hope of inheriting the family farm, or believe that they can lead a more exciting life than that of a civilian. People that grow up on stories of Heroes and Legends and decide that they might be able to make a legend for themselves as well.”

Guildmaster Ainzach rejoined the line of observers, then turned around to address her.

“You told me that you didn’t pick up anything about Martial Arts from your family, right?”

“That’s right,” Ludmila replied, “My brothers and I trained apart from the others until each of us was about old enough to assume patrol duties. Just going by what you’ve said, I guess it was so our training wasn’t hampered by the temptation to start learning Martial Arts as soon as possible. That being the case, however, I never had the opportunity to learn any of my family’s Martial Arts.”

“That is a shame but…Merry?”

“Just a basic Piercing Strike will work,” Merry said.

Ludmila sent a questioning glance in the guildmaster’s direction.

“Your parents might not be around anymore,” he said, “but Merry has been a part of the E-Rantel Adventurer Guild since before your family even came here. She’s known House Zahradnik since there’s been a House Zahradnik.”

“Well, mostly when they were more active doing Adventurer work,” Merry said. “Andrei especially. Did some jobs with him, too…I don’t know every little secret, but I’ve seen at least some of it.”

Setting herself in line with the Air Mephit again, Ludmila swallowed.

“What do I do?”

“Just give it a good, clean stab.”

She stepped forward, driving the point of the spear into the Air Mephit. The blade glanced off, much as it did before.

“When you perform a Martial Art,” the Guildmaster said, “you’re carrying your actions through to the next step in your mastery of combat. You’re drawing out the power through unity of body and mind: the combination of your discipline and conditioning. A Strike Art is visualized in the mind from start to finish, triggered the moment you commit to it.”

The blade of the spear glanced off several more times, and Ludmila was starting to think that the Air Mephit was giving her a smug look.

“I trained to fight conservatively most of the time,” Ludmila said.

“Uh…really?” Merry sounded surprised, “Andrei’d just drop down into a whole Demihuman tribe and do terrifying things with that spear of his. Wouldn’t even take half a minute before the lot of ‘em stopped fighting and started running away screaming instead. Even his kicks would send a Goblin flying a hundred metres…y’know, I’m really starting to remember just how much of a maniac he was.”

Ludmila frowned at Merry’s description of her ancestor. Tales of Andrei Zahradnik’s feats in combat were actually few and far between; only the results of his exploits really seemed to matter in the recountings.

“If it’s at odds with what you’ve learned,” the guildmaster said, “then go with something you’re more comfortable with. What we want is for you to execute your first Martial Art. Once you grasp that, you should be able to apply it to all of the techniques that have been drilled into you.”

The spearhead lowered again, settling into a solid middle guard. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. A quick, powerful strike: one designed to check the advance of her opponent. The blade would jab forward, imparting a great deal of force into her target, and return to its starting position before anyone could exploit the shift in her defence.

She opened her eyes, trying to hold onto the mental image. The spear jabbed forward, bouncing off of the Air Mephit.

“Too hard.”

Ludmila straightened and turned to Moknach.

“Too hard?”

“Too hard,” the guildmaster agreed.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Merry explained. “Remember what Ainzach said: you already know how to do it – you just don’t get that you do. When you fight, you might think about the moves that are available to you, but you’re not thinking about the strike itself when you perform it. It’s a result of your training – something you do without thought. Your mind and body are in accord; all that’s required is the focus and conditioning to carry it out.”

She turned back to face the Air Mephit. Her spear jabbed out, returning to its original position as the elemental spirit was forced back. The hole torn in its side quickly closed itself.

It worked.

“Was that a lucky hit?” The guildmaster said, “Try it again.”

Lucky? The Air Mephit wouldn’t have been knocked back if the attack had failed. Eyeing the summon as it drifted towards her, she was reminded of the Ogre that had come forward to face her before her first death.

The spear flashed out, splitting into three images of itself that hammered into the approaching Air Mephit. It was driven backwards, slamming into the grotto wall and disintegrating into motes of light.

–!

Ludmila went to one knee, dropping her weapon on the ground. She gingerly clutched at her right shoulder, suppressing a cry as the sensation emanating from her arm sent waves of agony through her. The voices of the others could barely be heard.

“What!” Moknach shouted.

“That…that wasn’t a basic Strike Art,” Ainzach said.

“「Middle Cure Wounds」.”

The soothing sensation of healing magic washed over her, and the pain subsided. She raised her head to find Lord Mare looking down worriedly at her.

“A-are you alright?”

Ludmila nodded appreciation, retrieving her weapon from the ground before rising to her feet again.

“Thank you, my lord.”

She returned her attention to the others, finding the guildmaster and Moknach discussing the result animatedly between themselves. Lady Aura was looking at them from the side with a frown, while Momon and Merry were looking in Ludmila’s direction from behind crossed arms.

Momon cleared his throat.

“That was dangerous.”

The voices quieted.

“How much damage was that, Mare?” Momon asked.

“I-it took about a quarter of her health,” Lord Mare answered.

“What happened, exactly?” Ludmila touched her right arm again, “I think the Martial Art worked like it was supposed to, but…”

“You sacrificed your body to perform a Martial Art that was beyond your capability to normally use,” Momon told her. “There’s a certain War Troll in the Sorcerous Kingdom that’s familiar with the concept. The difference is that he can overtax himself and regenerate, but you’ll just end up with a broken arm.”

“I see…” Ludmila mulled over the result, “If the situation is ideal, it can still be used. With a healer or a potion on hand, a critical threat can be eliminated before it can harm the party. The teams that I’ve been leading always end sessions with plenty of mana by the end, so I believe it can be employed to great effect.”

“No.”

She looked over at Merry.

“No?”

“No! Almost no one can do that!” Merry gave her a look divided between disbelief and anger, “You said that you trained to fight conservatively, but you Zahradniks are all the same! You’re all crazy, self-sacrificing idiots, and you’re every bit the maniac that Andrei was!”

“What she means to say is that people normally can’t do that,” Guildmaster Ainzach said in more measured tones. “There’s something that’ll usually limit people from hurting themselves like that – they’re just unable to outside of extraordinary circumstances. To put it nicely, your will surpasses the limits of your body.”

“That doesn’t sound so extraordinary to me,” Ludmila said.

“That you’re saying that says something on its own,” he replied. “Your mind is unhinged from your body; your sense of self preservation is overridden by your will. You can deny reality or ignore it with a straight face…and nearly everyone would call that mad.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Lord Mare squinted at her with a frown for several seconds, then looked back to Guildmaster Ainzach.

“Um…should we call over Miss Pestonya to cure her?”

“It’s not actual insanity,” Guildmaster Ainzach said. “Like Merry said, her entire family is like that. They put too much before themselves, to the point that extraordinary acts of self-sacrifice are normal. It’s in her blood, and it’s probably not something that can be cured. To someone looking in casually without knowing them, it might be considered steadfast or noble, but the reality is that she’ll most likely take various things to extremes that no one else can or will.”

“So I’m not actually crazy?” Ludmila asked carefully.

“Well, no,” Merry said. “I guess you’re more like some kinda of weird mental Berserker.”

Ludmila sighed in relief: she had enough things to take care of as it was without also going crazy.

“It’s getting late, so let’s cover the rest of the assessment,” the guildmaster said. “You performed that Strike Art without any additional Martial Arts – actually I guess you can’t have tacked anything more onto that…probably.”

“I’m not sure what that means, Guildmaster,” Ludmila said.

“Hmm…to put it simply,” he told her, “Martial Arts are divided into four distinct categories: Strikes, Counters, Boosts and Stances. Strike Arts are just as you might imagine: attacks in melee combat or at range. Counter Arts are reactive. They can be divided into purely defensive techniques that protect you or your party, or techniques that allow the user to transition from defence to offence. Boost Arts are a warrior’s way to enhance themselves or their equipment. Stances are pretty much as they sound, but they also include techniques such as a Sensory Arts that allow people to pick up on specific things in range in an almost magical sort of way.

“The reason why I didn’t think you had any additional Martial Arts active is because of our loose understanding of how they progress. The stronger one becomes as a warrior, the greater their capacity for Martial Arts. The greater the capacity for Martial Arts, the more of them you can use at once. Alternatively, you can start developing combination attacks or achieve otherwise physically impossible feats.

“The first Martial Art that you performed was not actually a basic Strike Art,” the guildmaster held up a pair of fingers. “It did two things: deliver magnified damage, and knock back your opponent. If it was a basic Strike, it would only do one thing or the other. This is a case where your decade of training has ingrained a combination attack preemptively, to be transformed into a Martial Art at the appropriate time. Since you didn’t appear to suffer any drastic consequences from using it, it’s an indication that you’re at bare minimum around the upper edge of Silver-rank in raw capability: the earliest point where you start seeing that sort of thing. The one that you got hurt by was far higher than that…what was it that you did?”

“It was a sequential attack, using the first Strike in rapid succession,” Ludmila replied. “It’s also something that was drilled into me…except before the execution of the attack, I understood that the first strike might have knocked the Air Mephit out of range. I somehow made all three attacks happen at once but, now that I think back on it, it doesn’t make sense at all.”

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” the guildmaster smirked. “That’s one of the biggest barriers in learning Martial Arts: should and can drift further and further apart. A regular person has set boundaries for what should be possible defined by their experiences, but a powerful warrior can do the impossible. Learning Martial Arts could be seen as a warrior realigning their perception of reality, based on their ongoing growth.”

“There are still limits, though,” Moknach glowered at the spot where the Air Mephit once floated. “There shouldn’t be any way that a borderline Gold-rank warrior can kill a Difficulty Rating 45 opponent in a single attack. She is using a polearm, and she did basically lose her arm for it, but it’s still almost unheard of without also getting extremely lucky.”

“The different types of Mephits are flimsier than the average summon of the same level,” Lord Mare said. “It’s a tradeoff for their damage reduction and fast regeneration. They’re not very good for fighting something with strong attacks, but their qualities make them useful against opponents with weak offence…”

“…like low-rank Adventurers with no Martial Arts,” the guildmaster finished for him. “They’re ideal for it, actually – that’s why we settled on using them for this demonstration. That attack that Zahradnik pulled off I’d consider about right for the trump card of a Platinum-rank Adventurer. Our framework of how advanced Martial Arts work isn’t so concretely defined that we can pick apart the exact requirements for them, but what I do know is that anything higher than Platinum would have probably killed her outright.”

“Does it mean I’ll be able to perform that attack without breaking my arm at Platinum-rank?” Ludmila asked.

“These measures aren’t an exact thing,” he replied, “but it should be somewhere around there. Also, while you won’t be injuring yourself, increasingly advanced Martial Arts will still strain your mind and body. You’ll become exhausted if you try to use it multiple times in rapid succession.”

“So should I be holding attacks like that in reserve, while primarily relying on basic Martial Arts?”

“That’s actually a debate that’s as old as Martial Arts,” he told her. “Some people like throwing everything they have into an extremely powerful decisive attack, using similar reasoning to your own earlier: that it’s worth the cost to eliminate critical threats quickly. Others go with the notion that they can use a combination of Boost Arts and Stances to sustain high levels of performance at the expense of not being able to use more advanced Strike and Counter Arts. The real answer is probably to be flexible with how you balance your Martial Arts but, as I mentioned earlier, Adventurers tend to start with a narrow focus that ends up limiting their ability to apply themselves more broadly. One can, of course, make lengthy efforts to re-discipline themselves, or search for martial schools that will accept them, but that means you’re not taking jobs.”

“And you say that I learned in a different fashion from Adventurers,” Ludmila said, “so I can learn Martial Arts differently somehow?”

“It’s not ‘somehow’ at this point,” the guildmaster answered, “you’ve already proven this. You have over a decade of training, and now everything you understand from that training is available to be developed into Martial Arts. Your school of combat is highly disciplined and methodical, and now all that’s left is to puzzle out how it translates.”

“I don’t want to be ‘that guy’,” Moknach said, “but didn’t she have trouble grasping a basic Strike Art just now?”

“Now that she understands the gist of it,” Guildmaster Ainzach replied, “it shouldn’t be too hard. Why don’t we try it out?”

“「Summon Monster IV」.”

A new Air Mephit appeared, looking exactly identical to the one before it. The Guildmaster nodded to Ludmila, and she stepped out again in front of the elemental spirit. Her first strike: a simple thrust, clearly damaged it. She went through several different forms, working through various piercing, slashing and crushing attacks, waiting for the summon to regenerate after each successful strike. Her final attack – a kick meant to knock back an opponent who came too close – drove the Air Mephit to the nearby wall.

“Something like that?” Ludmila looked at Merry.

“Was it really just that?” The Elf Ranger frowned, “What a scam – he did it all the damn time. Well, I guess it’s still hella intimidating with the force of an Adamantite Ranger behind it.”

“What did I tell ya?” The guildmaster all but crowed, “My hunch was dead on.”

“The results are impressive,” Momon said, “but is it really necessary to train Adventurers for a decade to achieve the same result? There are various logistical issues that stem from that, as you should understand.”

“You’re right about that, Momon,” the guildmaster said. “It’d be nice to have members coming in with that sort of background, but it’s far from a requirement. When we’re out exploring, the vast majority of what we face won’t merit that degree of mastery. As we’ve all seen, even basic Martial Arts can easily turn the tables on a well-trained warrior without them, so our first priority – as it always has been for Adventurers – will be surviving and getting the job done. The main point here is that the Adventurer Guild is in need of an institution that supplements our work in the Training Area, because our members’ raw growth vastly outpaces their development.”

“Does that mean that everything has to change?” Lord Mare asked, “Do we have to just drop everything and wait for this new branch of the Adventurer Guild?”

“It’ll be a work in progress,” the guildmaster answered. “We can continue moving forward with what we have.”

“So…this is what we came for, then?” Moknach said, “I’ll be sure to keep what we learned here in mind for the Martial Arts training we’ve planned so far, but it requires that we consider our instruction methods. The harder we push towards our members learning essential Martial Arts, the more we ingrain certain habits into their combat styles. Hell, now that we’re thinking about things along these lines, none of us are really qualified – not the same way as an instructor at a martial school is. We’re all basically self-taught.”

“They need those Martial Arts to function at the bare minimum of our expedition standards,” the guildmaster replied, “so it’s just something we’ll have to deal with. At this stage, it’s impossible to have everything that we want right away, so we’ll just have to work out those sorts of issues after the fact. Also, while it’s true that our veterans are self-taught, those essentials are the basics in our line of work, and they won’t change even with our new mandate. What we need to do is take those basics and turn it into the foundation of our own school of combat. The rest – weapon mastery, fighting styles, group tactics and all the theory and discipline that goes behind them – we have the time to explore and formalize, and our members will benefit in the long run.”

He let out a sigh, shaking his head with a rueful look.

“Now that we’re trying to make one, I’m realizing why martial schools always seem to consider the age of their traditions as a point of pride. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“I’ll see what His Majesty has to say about the conclusions made here,” Momon said. “It sounds like we have a long while before we have anything comprehensive to put forward, but I believe you’re correct about it being something that the Adventurer Guild should be establishing to support its members.”

Those assembled started to head back up out of the Training Area, save for Lord Mare and the guildmaster.

“Is there anything else?” Ludmila asked.

“There is, as a matter of fact,” the guildmaster told her. “These night sessions…since it’s unlikely we’ll be getting any other members to join you on such short notice, you should be exploring all of the potential Martial Arts you have access to. Every drill; every technique; how you’ve been taught to fight, think and act: they’re potentially leads to the Martial Arts of your family’s school of combat.”

“Are there really so many Martial Arts?”

The guildmaster stroked his bushy moustache several times over before answering her question.

“I guess the better way to think about Martial Arts is that every warrior learns them on their own, so every Martial Art is a result of their own unique approach. The ones that we commonly come to know are just the way we categorize ones that effectively do the same thing. It also means that you might have a dozen Martial Arts that others see as a single Martial Art, but only you can grasp the nuance in each enough to understand that they’re unique to themselves.”

“I see…also, why do people shout?”

“Shout?”

“Yes,” Ludmila said. “Now that I understand what they represent, I realize that, occasionally, people call out the ‘names’ of their Martial Arts when performing them…but it’s not actually necessary. There’s no reason to tell your opponent what you’re doing, is there?”

“Ah, that. In training, it helps a lot of people focus and visualize. You shouldn’t have any trouble because they’ve been drilled into you for years, but it works as an aid for warriors without that benefit. When your own Martial Arts start presenting challenges, you may end up doing it as well. It can help to solidify what the Martial Art is supposed to be doing, or convey its concept in some meaningful way…then again, I have heard some more frivolous ones – Merry’s got a couple of them.”

“That means there must be a reason outside of training, yes?”

“First one’s the same as before,” the guildmaster told her. “Sometimes you still don’t have it quite down yet, or it’s just so hard that you need the extra oomph to bring it out. Basic Martial Arts aren’t usually called out after a certain point. The more common reason is that you’re communicating with the people around you. When you work closely with a team, you come to learn all of the tools that each member has at their disposal and you figure various tactics involving them. Calling out a Martial Art is a way of notifying your party so that they can decide what to do about what you did.

“This is one of the main reasons why front line warriors tend to play a central role in any party: they’re generally in contact with the greatest threats, and develop a good feel for how a fight is going. The Warrior calls out Fortress – the party knows that the opponent has committed to an attack that merits the Martial Art and acts according to what they themselves have at their disposal. The healer knows that the warrior is probably okay, those in a position to deal damage know that they have an opening to exploit, or are free to dispatch other threats. The same goes with any action that potentially changes the flow of combat: communicating with your party is paramount when adventuring. Most of the things that you fight don’t even care that you just yelled something, and those that do haven’t prepared in advance like your team has. By the time they react, it’s usually too late.”

Ludmila nodded silently several times throughout his explanation. It turned out that it wasn’t as silly as she initially thought.

“Thank you for the explanation, Guildmaster,” she said. “Is there anything further I might need to know?”

“Nothing comes to mind for now,” he said. “Still, this should keep you busy for a good, long while. If I think of anything, I’ll let you know some other day. For the time being, I need to get back – we’ve gone so late that I’m going to really be paying for it in the morning.”

As if to emphasize his point, the Guildmaster covered his mouth and yawned. Turning around, he headed up after the others. While Ludmila started to dwell on how she should start, the Air Mephit vanished. Lord Mare cast another spell and, in the place of the previous summon, four more appeared.

“I’ll leave these guys here for you,” Lord Mare said. “Just in case you kill a few accidentally. Maybe you can try some area attacks as well? As far as I know, warriors should have a few of those – especially the ones that use big weapons.”

“A few do come to mind, yes,” she replied. “You won’t be staying, my lord?”

“I’ll be in other parts of the Training Area fixing up some things while you do stuff here,” he said. “Um…did you have something for fast healing? A potion? That one attack you used broke your arm in three places and dislocated your shoulder.”

“Was it really that bad? I didn’t know that there was any way to tell at a glance like that.”

“Classes capable of healing have skills or spells that can gauge health, mana and identify status ailments. A few others can too. I-it was really shocking: just a whole bunch of things popped up at once.”

Ludmila grimaced at the reminder – she wasn’t keen on experiencing that again.

“It shouldn’t happen,” Ludmila said, “now that I know about it. I wanted to prove that it wasn’t just luck, and I used something that I decided would show that it wasn’t beyond the shadow of a doubt. I wasn’t aware of the consequences of doing so, but now I won’t be trying anything so crazy.”

“I don’t think it was crazy.”

She blinked and stared at Lord Mare for a moment.

“You don’t?”

“I don’t,” Lord Mare replied. “Shalltear says that you’re different from other Humans. That you’re more like us. You have a place to protect, and you’ll do what’s necessary to protect it – even if it kills you. Other people might say that it’s crazy, but, to us, not doing that is what’s crazy. Everything we’ve been given is for that purpose. Without purpose, there’s no meaning to our existence. A-at least that’s what Demiurge says – but we all feel the same way.”

“Thank you, Lord Mare,” Ludmila said quietly. “It’s encouraging to know that I’m not alone in that thinking.”

Lord Mare looked down, scratching his cheek lightly.

“Oh!” He looked up again, “There’s one more thing I wanted to show you.”

Lord Mare turned around and walked to the mottled stone wall behind where the observers had gathered. He gave it a push, revealing a hidden door. Ludmila made her way over, taking a look inside. There was a small chamber, and the edge of what looked to be a large pool of steaming water further in.

“Y-you were worried about a bath, right?” Lord Mare said from beside her, “I went ahead and made one. I hope it’s okay.”

“It’s wonderful, my lord,” Ludmila replied. “Thank you very much.”

The tension built up from training seeped out of her at the prospect of relaxation, and her thoughts turned to review the events of the day.

“L-Ludmila?!”

Through blurred vision, she raised her head at the alarm in Lord Mare’s voice. She brought a hand up to her face, finding her cheek wet with tears.

“W-what’s wrong?” Lord Mare hovered nervously in front of her, “You don’t look injured…”

“Hey Mare, what’s taking you so – AAH! What did you do to her?!”

Lady Aura reappeared from the entrance, expression turning cross.

“Nothing!” Lord Mare shrunk away, “I-I didn’t do anything!”

“Haah? Then why is she–”

“It’s alright, my lady,” Ludmila sniffed. “I was just thinking over what we learned just now.”

“Are you really that happy about it?” Lady Aura looked over at her, “I mean, they’re better than your regular attacks, but even something as weak as a Death Knight will shrug it off.”

“It’s not about the Martial Arts themselves,” Ludmila took a deep breath, “but what led to them. I’ve always appreciated what my parents did for me, even as a child. But, as I take more and more steps through life, I keep finding more to be thankful for – things I had no clue about until I needed them.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then looked over at Lady Aura and Lord Mare.

“The Guildmaster is right: every drill; every technique; how I’ve been taught to fight, think and act – it’s all in there, packed into my upbringing: generations of knowledge subtly passed on to me. The lessons of my house have been carefully crafted with the idea that death can come at any time for a Frontier Noble and, even should that happen, I can still learn after they’re gone. They’ve left me with so much…”

Within her, gratitude, pride and heartache welled up with every word. Another sob wracked her body, and Ludmila lowered herself to the ground, hugging her knees as she wept quietly.

“Big sis…”

“Hsst! Get a clue, already!”

The trickling of the waterfall on the far shore of the grotto was the only sound in the air until Ludmila stood back up again. Lady Aura walked around for a bit before leaning in to take a look inside the bath.

“This is…a secret room?” She asked, “What kinda traps did you put in there? A Mimic? Don’t tell me you hid a Roper in the back…”

“A Roper?” Ludmila wiped her eyes again and looked into the bath – she had no idea what Lady Aura was referring to.

“T-there isn’t anything!” Lord Mare cried in protest, “Geez, big sis, it’s just a place where she can take a bath after training. She doesn’t have the time to go back and forth with this new schedule.”

“…really?”

“R-really!”

“What if someone else finds it?” Lady Aura said, “Everyone is going to start expecting a hot bath at the end of their training.”

“Uuu…maybe I should put a Roper in there, after all…”

“I-I didn’t say that you should!” Lady Aura shuddered, “Can you imagine hiding him in the bath?”

“Eh? But he’s a really nice person!”

What was a Roper? Lady Aura considered it a trap, but what sort of trap could you hide in a bath? Something like a Mimic could potentially be the bath, but her imagination failed her with what a Roper was.

“J-just make sure no one can find it, okay?” Lady Aura told him, “If you start using that kind of trap, half of the Adventurers will quit. How well hidden is this door, anyways?”

Lady Aura reached out to close the stone portal, and it merged seamlessly with the grotto wall. Ludmila leaned forward, trying to find any trace of where she knew it should be with no success.

“Hmm…” Lady Aura joined her in her inspection, “I can see it pretty clearly, but can someone like Solution even find this?”

“P-probably not,” Lord Mare replied.

“Then why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“Wha–! Y-you didn’t ask!”

“Why would I ask?” Lady Aura frowned at him, “This is supposed to be a level 12 floor: why would there be a door that needs a level 80 detector here?”

Lady Aura grabbed Lord Mare’s Arm, dragging him off amidst his protests.

“Anyways,” she said over her shoulder, “we need to get back to work. We’re the only ones that know about that door, so you should be safe to use it. Just tell me if Mare tries to peep – I don’t know what those women have been filling his head with while I’m not around.”

The Dark Elf twins disappeared into the tunnels, with Lady Aura muttering darkly about how her brother was falling into deviancy.

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Kesstris Esess worked up his courage, facing down the mysterious portal that hovered before him.

He glanced to his rear, to the five Hunters who had been chosen to accompany him. They were all proud to have been selected by Lord Cocytus; excited to be sent to a place where their people could build new homes and flourish.

Usually, it was rare for Lizardmen to have any desire to leave their ancestral homes. In the past year, however, the promise of Ainz Ooal Gown to bring prosperity to their people was slowly being fulfilled before their very eyes, so a few had become willing to embark on this great venture. A new tribe of the Lizardman Alliance – one under Kesstris’ leadership as their chief. Now, as he stared at the portal that was said to lead to their destination, he wasn’t so sure if he should be looking forward to it.

It was the land of the Human he had fought some time ago, in a duel to determine the leadership of the new tribe. Recalling the outcome, he suppressed a shudder.

“It would please me if you’d stop gawking at the Gate and enter,” an imperious voice said from the side. “There’s another group headed to E-Rantel coming up, and I have a schedule to keep.”

Kesstris glanced nervously towards the source of the voice: a small, Elf-like figure in a voluminous black dress. She was one of the powerful servants of Ainz Ooal Gown, rumoured to be even more powerful than Lord Cocytus and Lord Mare. There were other rumours surrounding her, too: that she was actually an evil Undead creature, a being that reveled in suffering, death, and wanton destruction. The liege of his new liege – what hell was he being cast into?

He wished he could return to Lord Cocytus’ service, but the Lord of the Great Lake was wroth after witnessing his dismal conduct during the duel as well. Swallowing audibly, Kesstris stepped forward tentatively, hesitating once again at the portal’s threshold before squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his legs to move. Warmth washed over him; the scent of cut timber and damp vegetation filled his nostrils. His eyes popped open, blinking rapidly several times as he squinted through the glare of the midday sun.

Turning in place, he looked about. A flat stretch of coarse gravel and sand. Endless rows of timber piled high. A broad river with cliffs that towered over the opposite shore. The portal that he had just stepped out of. One of the Hunters appeared out of it, colliding into him, and they fell down in a tangled heap.

A pair of boots appeared in his upside-down vision.

“The landing area of a Gate should be cleared of hazards,” a voice said. “That would include yourselves.”

It was her.

Kesstris and the Hunter scrambled to their feet, getting out of the way of the others coming through the portal. They lined up nearby, eyeing everything nervously. When the last of their group joined them, the portal silently closed.

“Welcome to Warden's Vale,” she said in a clear tone that arrested their attention. “I believe we’ve seen one another before, but allow me to introduce myself again. I am Baroness Ludmila Zahradnik, Lord Protector of Warden’s Vale and Defender of the Katze Reach.”

Though the way she spoke was strange, the feeling was eerily familiar. It was the same as when Shasuryu Shasha, head of the Lizardman Alliance, spoke. The head chief’s cool words could quench heated debates on the verge of coming to blows, even between the heads of the warriors and priests. His keen gaze was capable of withering opposition without uttering a single word. Over crowds of men and women on the eve of battle, his voice could still their quavering hearts and raise their spirits.

This, then, was a Human Lord? The Travellers spoke nothing of Human Lords – only that Humans as a whole were a soft-skinned race, living in dry places with alien ways. Shasuryu Shasha was a mighty warrior who could wield druidic magic: could this Human Lord do so as well? Had she been concealing her strength? She felt more powerful now than when they had fought some weeks before.

A feeling of hostility washed over him and he glanced at its source: another Human – the smaller one who had accompanied the Human Lord when they came to the Great Lake – was glaring directly in his direction.

“Kesstris Esess,” he replied hurriedly as he dipped his head. “These Hunters with me have come to scout the place where…where we must live.”

The sense of hostility vanished, but he couldn’t help but silently berate himself after the words came out of his mouth. He was no good at speaking. Lord Cocytus had trained a few who could present themselves eloquently, but he felt the furthest thing from it. Hopefully he didn’t offend – having his tongue pinned to the ground once was one too many times.

The assembled Lizardmen shifted uncomfortably as Baroness Zahradnik’s sharp gaze ran over them. Kesstris cringed slightly when it returned to him.

“It should take some time with your group,” she said, “so you should get started right away.”

“Some time…?”

He looked around again, seeing nothing but the river, its cliffs and the vast stores of timber. The Human Lord turned away, gesturing for them to follow. The others looked to Kesstris, and he led them in her wake, around the great piles of logs along the river. It took them several minutes to make their way, then they found themselves on the shore of a marsh that stretched north to the horizon. The members of the scouting party exchanged glances, gazing out and back between themselves again.

“Will this suffice?” The Human Lord asked.

“This…this,” Kesstris stammered. “All of this?”

“If the geese will let you,” her lip curled up slightly – what did that mean? “They can be quite ornery at times, so you may want to be careful around them. Human villagers forage on the shores as well, and my Rangers will eventually frequent the area.”

“Where do you intend for us to live, exactly?”

“I have received no information as to how many Lord Cocytus intends to send,” she replied. “I assume that it depends on your own findings?”

“Y-yes, that’s right,” Kesstris said. “At a glance, I feel that we could move the entire Lizardman Alliance – there is more space to live here than our home at the Great Lake.”

He looked to the Hunters, who all nodded at his words.

“In that case,” the Human Lord said, “you should at least bring enough to maintain a viable population.”

“A viable population?”

“Large enough to prevent inbreeding?” Her expression changed, “I suppose you could also have people move between other places to find suitable partners…”

“I-I’ll have to include that in my report to Lord Cocytus.”

“I see.” She said, “Well, you may set your camps anywhere that suits you while you survey the area.”

Kesstris looked out at the expanse of dense vegetation, stands of strange trees and flows of water. It was quite different from the marshes in the shallows of the Great Lake.

“Is there anything dangerous here?” Kesstris asked carefully, “A-aside from the geese. Purple Worms, Swamp Sharks or Will-o-Wisps, for instance?”

"There were,” she answered, “once. House Zahradnik has long exterminated any aggressive threats to its people within the borders of Warden’s Vale. There are no Demihuman tribes out on the floodplain, either."

Exterminated.

Kesstris finally pinned down the feeling that remained to haunt him since he had fought this Human Lord. There was a constant pressure that could be felt when fighting her, but, after a certain point, it went from the sense that she saw him as a challenge to her authority, to the impression that he was a pest that she was going to squash.

He suppressed a shudder. Even the female accompanying this Human Lord looked at him like he was nothing more than a stain on cloth. Were all Humans like this?

“If you have any further questions, or if there is anything you require, I will be in my manor for the rest of the day – the building sticking out of the hill with a Death Knight guarding the door.”

With those instructions, she turned away and left them to their own devices.

Kesstris’ gaze followed her part way back to the stony hill in the distance: a fortified position of layered ramparts and fences. Shaking his head, he turned back to his Hunters.

“How should we begin?” Asked a black-scaled female.

“Materials for the camp, first,” he answered. “We should stick to the shore for now. The softskin chief said that there’s nothing really dangerous, yet they live on a fortified hill of stone. Perhaps there are animals like venomous snakes and giant toads lurking in the water.”

The group spread out, looking for a convenient location to stockpile materials and construct shelters. Their heads turned up when a pair of large Undead appeared, carrying a tree trunk between them. He could not tell exactly how strong they were, but they were beyond the power of the Nazarick Old Guarders that were employed to defend the village at the Great Lake. They stomped by without pause, placed the trunk atop one of the piles, and went back the way they came. He motioned for the Hunters to head further north: it was probably best to not be underfoot.

They eventually found themselves at the end of the timber yard, over two kilometres away from where they had started. The marsh still stretched on, but he thought he could see a rise on the far northern end.

They gathered reeds from the shore, weaving them into tight mats. Mud was slathered on them to form panels for their makeshift huts: ones that could be dismantled and moved as they explored this new place. Well into the evening, a cozy ring of shelters had appeared, and a fire crackled in its midst. The scouting party squatted around the fire, sorting out their provisions.

The black-scaled female, Ezsris, spoke as she munched on a smoked carp.

“So far,” she said, “this place shows abundance. Finding enough to build these shelters would have taken days back home. While foraging for materials, I noticed crabs and fish and plenty of useful plants. I thought we would be brought to some meagre place, reluctantly afforded to us, but the marsh here is vast – it is a great surprise that no one lives here.”

She was plainly excited about their prospects. Her eyes shone as she spoke, and the tip of her tail tapped the ground rhythmically.

“Why is it surprising? You heard the softskin chief: Exterminated. Anything they didn’t like, they callously killed off. Now they have this entire valley to themselves. You are letting the bounty of this place blind you, Ezsris. Others have surely paid the price for it in the past.”

The cynical counter came from a male with sand-coloured scales, Usuryus. Kesstris considered his opinion more balanced. This valley was akin to a jealousy guarded treasure, and the way that the Human Lord carried herself did not give off the aura of someone who wallowed in uncontested luxury. After his fight with her, he understood that she was a ruthless, trained killer: someone who probably had the blood of many on her hands.

“We’re her vassals now, aren’t we?” A hint of uncertainty entered Ezsris’ voice, and her tail went limp, “I don’t think Lord Cocytus sent us here to be ex…exterminated.”

“Maybe,” Usuryus said, “maybe not. You heard what Lord Cocytus said: this softskin chief is someone else’s vassal. The rumours about her…we cannot expect Lord Cocytus’ kindness here.”

“He said we would learn fear,” said a female with mottled grey scales on the other side of the fire. “What does that mean? Are these Humans going to eat us? Our people can probably flourish in this place – maybe they intend on having us farmed like fish!”

“I was meaning to ask about that later,” a voice came from somewhere.

The Human Lord suddenly appeared before them, the campfire casting a grim light over her features. Everyone cried out in terror. Half dove into their huts; Kesstris and Ezsris fell over themselves. Yenseus, the grey-scaled female, went stiff-tailed before fainting dead away.

“A-ask about what?” Kesstris asked after he had recovered his wits.

“The fish farms,” the Human Lord’s teeth gleamed in the light of the fire. “Do you believe it possible to cultivate them here?”

Fish Farms? Did she plan on feeding the Lizardmen fish, then feed the Lizardmen to her people? No, that didn’t sound quite right, but still…

“I’m not certain,” he offered a noncommittal response. “The ones that helped build the fish farms are back at the Great Lake – I do not know if any will come here.”

“I suppose I will need to negotiate with Lord Cocytus for their construction,” the Human Lord said. “Do you know how the fish are raised?”

“Ehm…from what I’ve seen, they’re now raised from fries, and the farms are divided by age. Lord Cocytus has grain brought in to feed the fish, but I think there are some other things added.”

The Human stared at him the entire time, causing him to shift uncomfortably.

“I see,” she said. “I should check on their requirements as well…how are things so far? You seem to have made yourselves comfortable here.”

“Y-yes, Chief,” Kesstris said. “Materials that we are accustomed to using are close and plentiful, so it went faster than anticipated. We’ll begin our work in the morning.”

“That is good to hear,” she said. “Can any of you read or write?”

“I-I don’t think so…a few have learned – those most eloquent that Lord Cocytus has selected to be trained – but we are none of that number.”

The Human Lord reached into a pouch at her side, withdrawing a thick roll of parchments. She separated one out and held it out to him.

“Can you understand this, then?”

He took the proffered sheet of paper, carefully unfurling it in his claws. It looked like a map, but of what, he wasn’t sure. He passed it over to Ezsris, who had untangled herself and returned to her feet.

“A map…?” She looked down at it, then at their surroundings. “It’s only for the area near here, though.”

The Human Lord nodded slowly after the Hunter’s response, reaching into the pouch again. Kesstris inexplicably found himself carrying a small pile of maps and blank paper shortly after.

“Since you will be conducting a survey of the floodplain,” she told them, “I will be adding your findings into the demesne archives. Each of these sheets contains a section of the area, and you should be able to cover one of these maps per day. Each day, your chieftain will report your work to me at the manor – for the southern third, at least. I will send someone to you once you’ve made your way too far north to get back and forth quickly.”

He looked down at the maps in confusion. What was the purpose of this? Though Lord Cocytus had spearheaded the subjugation of other tribes in the vicinity of the Great Lake, and now oversaw its development, he usually relied on the existing experience of the locals for knowledge of the land.

“At any rate,” the Human Lord said, “the day must have been a long one for you, so that will be all for this evening. Remember to report to me at my manor tomorrow.”

Saying nothing further, she turned around and disappeared into the night. Kesstris stepped out after her, peering in the direction that she had gone in, but he couldn’t tell where she was. Lizardmen had Darkvision, but she had either gone beyond its range, or was quite stealthy. He looked over his shoulder several times as he returned to fire, unable to free his mind of the idea that there might be a predator stalking nearby.

Back at the fire, he frowned down at the maps in his claws. Wait – he was already supposed to start reporting to her?

The two who had hidden in their huts poked their heads out, while Ezsris was trying to rouse Yenseus, who was still passed out on the gravel.

“She didn’t deny it,” Usuryus’ low voice drifted out from his hut.

“Didn’t deny what?” It took a moment for Kesstris to realize what he was referring to, “Oh. W-well, she only mentioned the fish farms at the Great Lake – maybe Humans hear things differently?”

Usuryus made his way out of his shelter and shivered, quickly padding over to the fire and tucking in his tail. The valley they were in was deep, and shadows fell over the land earlier than usual, making it cooler than they were used to. Icy winds came down from the Azerlisia Mountains at the Great Lake, but the sun also stayed over the horizon longer to lend the cold-blooded Lizardmen its warmth. Having a Human chief aside, those who came to live here would need to make some basic changes to their way of life.

“I cannot say if Humans hear things differently from us,” Usuryus said, “but you’ve seen the way that she moves. That one is a Hunter – she must have seen and heard what was said long before we even realized she was there.”

Kesstris couldn’t refute his words. Hunters had supernaturally sharp senses that grew as they became more powerful – some even had ways to enhance them even further.

“Stop trying to scare everyone!” Ezsris hissed at Usuryus, “We must make the best of what is offered, or she will make less of us than what we are. Her words are those of one who is accustomed to using others, like the chiefs and elders back home. Besides, Lord Cocytus forbids the peoples of the lake from eating one another – why should it be any different here?”

“Naïve!” Usuryus said, “Too naïve!”

“We’re the same age!” Ezsris scowled as she went to throw a blanket of reeds over the still-unconscious Yenseus, “What suddenly makes you so much wiser than I?”

“Remember who she serves! That…that Vampire! A monstrous Undead being that feeds on the living! Who knows how many this Human has sacrificed to slake her mistress’ thirst? Have you not considered that we will be included in that number when our people come to live here? Maybe this chief only appears to be Human – none of us are familiar with how they’re supposed to look or behave. She might be another Undead who considers us a future meal.”

“Enough.” Kesstris told them, “Ezsris is right: we cannot go back to the Great Lake, so we must do our best here. To falter will only make things worse. Our situation is still better than the hard times of years past, when the tribes suffered from wars and seasons of starvation. If we are truly allowed to settle where we wish, our people that come here will quickly grow and thrive with the plenty that is clear to see. We will become a great tribe and, if we create many of the fish farms she is so interested in, perhaps she will not sacrifice too many of us to her bloodthirsty mistress.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“M-my lady, there’s so much blood…”

“I think I have this figured out now, but get another towel, just in case.”

“Aiiieee…I can’t watch this!”

Ludmila watched the crimson trickle run down her forearm, wrist and off of her pinky finger. Aemilia came and left a towel on the desk, pointedly looking away from the scene as she did so, before scurrying off again. She wasn’t sure why her maid was perfectly fine with watching her fight the Lizardman at the Great Lake, yet had become so squeamish with what she was currently doing.

There was a decanter below Ludmila’s hand, slowly filling with her blood. It was a magical container, originally meant for storing drinks that could spoil, enchanted with both a Preservation effect and one that maintained the temperature of its content. If it could keep anything from water to wine to fruit drinks icy and fresh, Ludmila figured it could also store blood and keep it warm. She didn’t know for certain, however. After asking about it in uncomfortably roundabout ways, she finally decided to give it a try.

There were several troubles along the way – such as keeping the cut on her arm open and trying to figure out how to get it to flow into the decanter properly – but things now appeared to be working reasonably well.

“A-are you sure about this, my lady?” Aemilia asked from where she stood at a distance, “I don’t think people are supposed to bleed that much – or at all.”

“I’ve seen people lose far more than this and still be perfectly fine after a bit of rest,” she replied. “Besides, the first time didn’t feel bad at all.”

Blood continued to flow into the decanter. They were able to fill it earlier that morning and, as she had mentioned, there were no apparent ill effects. She quaffed a healing potion just in case, which then resulted in the blood mysteriously disappearing from the decanter. Unable to figure out why that was, she had no choice but to try again. This time, she would just use an ointment that would allow the cut to heal quickly without scarring.

She supposed that the mere fact that she was doing something like this would strike nearly anyone as odd. After receiving special dispensation from the Royal Court that allowed her to create laws in her demesne for species with unique predator/prey relationships, she drew one up for the Krkonoše so that they could continue their ways within the bounds of her territory. After that, she started thinking about whether there were any other potential areas unique laws along those lines might be applied, and that thinking eventually led to Lady Shalltear.

Her liege was a Vampire, after all. When they were together, Lady Shalltear would always eventually draw close to her, lightly touching her from time to time or grasping her arm. When they sat down to work on one thing or another, she would bring her seat near to Ludmila and eventually start leaning in close. At first, she thought that Lady Shalltear was just the warm and affectionate type, much like Clara was. After altering her perspective, Ludmila considered it possible that she was actually thirsty. Maybe it was both.

The idea that she might actually be torturing her Vampire liege through their interactions was not something that had crossed her mind before, and guilt started to pile upon her. And so, resolving that she should at least try to do something about it, she went out and bought the enchanted decanter after some research on how they worked.

Watching her blood slowly drain away, Ludmila organized her thoughts for the upcoming day. After the long days of Adventurer training in E-Rantel, Lord Mare had allowed her to keep both the Ring of Sustenance and the magical collar with the idea that it would help her do more work for the Sorcerous Kingdom. That they seemed so common made Ludmila wonder if her friends could be spared the rings as well. Clara, at least, would greedily snap up such a handy item.

Ludmila used the trip back up the river as an opportunity to sleep, so everything she needed to organize beforehand had been done the night she arrived in Warden’s Vale. The surveyors for the new Lizardman tribe arrived yesterday, and she needed to make sure that they understood what she desired out of them.

Lord Mare would arrive in a few days to reshape the land for the next farming village, so she needed to make some last minute checks there as well. She had yet to hear anything new on the Adventurer Guild’s training expedition, but she would be able to ask about it when he came. The first two members of Zurrernorn would be arriving at some point in the week by way of the river: she would need to ensure that they would comply with the laws of the realm, then preparations for their workshop would have to be discussed.

As for everything else, the borders were secure with no reported disturbances, the Krkonoše were slowly trickling in, and the summer harvest was well underway. The regular operations of her demesne were advancing according to schedule, so all that was left was to study her materials, train, make the occasional patrol, and wait for problems to address between various appointments. Freeing up so much time with the Ring of Sustenance was surely a wonderful thing.

When the volume of blood reached the base of the decanter’s slim neck, Ludmila took a clean cloth from the desk, pressing it to the cut on her forearm. She stoppered the crystal container, and waited for anything strange to happen to its crimson content. After several minutes with no change, she decided that the idea was working so far, and went about dressing her wound.

A rapping sound issued from the door. Aemilia came out to answer, and Ludmila picked up the decanter, heading to the back of the manor to lock it away. She hoped that her idea would be useful to Lady Shalltear – anticipation was already starting to build up over her liege’s reaction.

Returning to the hall, she found the Chief of the Lizardmen awaiting her. She stepped in behind her desk, placing a hand lightly upon its worn wooden surface. Then they stood unmoving across from one another in silence.

Ludmila saw Aemilia out of the corner of her eye: she was trying to glare a hole into the Lizardman. Lady Shalltear said that Lord Cocytus was trying to instill some etiquette into the Lizardmen, but perhaps this one hadn’t taken too well to it. He had not introduced himself before their duel, either. Then again, she wasn’t sure what their regular customs were, nor did she know how to read their expressions.

“Good Morning, Chief Esess,” she said.

“Ah,” he seemed to come to life again, “yes, good morning, Chief. I’ve come as you’ve ordered.”

Chief Esess promptly answered, as if spurred to reply by her words. His tone did not seem to hold any disrespect or ill-will, however – perhaps he was just unpracticed.

“How did you find the conditions overnight?” She asked.

“This valley appears to be at a higher altitude than the Great Lake,” Chief Esess answered, “and its depth limits some of the daylight, so it’s cooler than we are used to at this time of year.”

“Are Lizardmen sensitive to temperature? Will it be a problem for your families?”

“Muu…with shelter, it will not be too bad, I think. If we build good homes over the water, the temperature will be warmer, and more stable,” he appeared to ponder after he spoke. “This place…how cold will it become in winter?”

“Snows will cover the mountains, passes and highlands around the Vale during the winter,” she told him. “The bottom of the valley sometimes sees snow, but it never gets cold enough to stay.”

The Lizardman chief was silent for a while, and Ludmila glanced out the window beside her desk. Outside, there was a smaller, black-scaled Lizardman that appeared far more energetic than the one in the hall with her. Her tail was waving sinuously about as she looked around, and the villagers were doing their best to not get distracted from their work. She turned back to look at Chief Esess, who continued to ponder.

“Will this be an issue?” Ludmila spoke into the silence.

“I’m not sure,” the chief looked down. “At the foot of the Azerlisia Mountains, the Great Lake sees cool winters, but snow is a rare event. Past Travellers have claimed that it becomes warmer the further south one goes, so I thought it may be the case here…”

“This is true,” Ludmila said, “but we are not that far south. Warden’s Vale is roughly 150 Kilometres southeast of the Great Lake.”

“Truly?” He tilted his head, “The Sorcerous Kingdom is a mighty nation, so I thought we would be sent to some distant land.”

Ludmila smiled inwardly. Considering how powerful it was, the Sorcerous Kingdom would certainly be thought of as some vast empire rather than a single duchy by almost anyone. In all of her interactions with the members of the Royal Court, she could never get a sense of where else it might be present beyond E-Rantel.

“Well, in our case,” Ludmila told him, “it only takes about a day and a half to get to E-Rantel by way of the river, and E-Rantel is only about three days by wagon to the Great Lake. You can get there quite easily if you have a need, Chief Esess.”

“I see…” He looked back up at her, “I am curious, however: why do you call me chief? You are our new chief, no?”

“I am serving as your liege, but I am not your ‘Chief’ in that sense. Lord Cocytus chose you to lead the immigrants, yes?”

“But I was defeated by you in a ritual challenge…”

She furrowed her brow over his confusion.

“I suppose I should explain how Human lands work,” she said. “If I understand it correctly, your tribes were brought together under the leadership of Lord Cocytus to live in a single village?”

“That is correct, chief – I mean, er…”

“In Human lands at large, the initial form of address with titled persons is by their title,” she explained, “and ‘my lady’ will suffice for me after that. Warden’s Vale is the name by which my territory has become known, but the title is actually Zahradnik – House Zahradnik is the name of those whose members tamed this land.”

“So…Lady Zahradnik? Then my lady.”

“That’s right,” Ludmila smiled slightly. “Now, how does one address a Lizardman chief?”

“Just ‘Chief’ usually…my lady.”

“Then it is the same as small Human settlements,” she said. “Are there other positions of importance? Those responsible for organizing various portions of your tribes?”

“There are the heads who represent important groups – the High Priestess, the Head Warrior, the Head Hunter – and also the Elders.”

“How large were your tribal villages before Lord Cocytus gathered them together?”

“My own – the Green Claw tribe – had around four hundred, including children.”

“I see…your villages are much larger: around the size of a small Human town. Human villages do not have a need beyond the Chief and a handful of Elders, but Human towns have a mayor and his advisors.”

Ludmila turned to look out of the window, gazing out over the floodplain. If what she saw at the Great Lake was an accurate representation of what could be supported in an area, Warden’s Vale would actually be able to accommodate thousands of Lizardmen in the future.

“Tell me, Chief Esess,” she asked as she glanced around to find the Lizardman that had been wandering around, “if you were to conjure the image of a perfect Lizardman village in your mind, what would it be like?”

“Muuu…” His tail twitched slightly, “A perfect village…a thousand would be considered prosperous. With the new fish farms, there would be no starvation.”

“Anything else?”

“I feel that we would be happy with this,” Chief Esess replied, “as long as our families are safe.”

The Chief seemed to consider little more than security, numbers and food, with no mention of industries, services or trade. Though exposed to the undeniably advanced Sorcerous Kingdom for much longer than the Humans of E-Rantel – nearly a year, if the accounts she heard were correct – the Lizardmen carried the basic outlook of many primitive Demihuman tribes, who were satisfied with subsistence, out in the wilderness. Unless they bred quite rapidly, Chief Esess’ vision of a prosperous ‘village’ was a far off future.

Lord Cocytus’ desires for the Lizardmen appeared to be far more than this. He made attempts at teaching them proper protocol and instilling a warrior code into them. Ludmila wasn’t sure if it was by Lord Cocytus’ request, but Lady Shalltear had purposely included their village at the Great Lake as a link in the aerial transportation network as well. If they were to be integrated fully into the Sorcerous Kingdom, able to make tangible contributions of their own, then Ludmila supposed that her job would be to not only ensure their survival under her rule, but to organize them in some productive and advantageous way.

The first thing she thought would be required was to lay out some sort of groundwork that allowed them to mesh well with her style of governance, as well as figure out ways to qualify their inherent advantages.

“I am certain that a village of a thousand will not be a problem, Chief Esess,” Ludmila told him, “but that number seems quite a ways away, unless your people are naturally fecund.”

“Ehm…yes, my lady,” he paused awkwardly for a moment, “no – I meant our families are not overly large. A thousand would take generations – even the village at the Great Lake barely has that number. The tribes had many more, once, but in the war last year, and in the hard times of the past, hundreds perished.”

“In that case,” she said, “we will ensure that your village is ready to take advantage of what the Sorcerous Kingdom has to offer before then. Lord Cocytus has charged me with your growth and development, so I will be ensuring that the appropriate measures are taken to secure a valued place for your people in our nation.”

“Erh…” The chief’s tail went limp.

“Though your priorities will lie with directing the survey work for now, you will also be learning how the various structures of the Sorcerous Kingdom function, and we can explore the ways that your people may integrate with them.”

“Structures?” He stared at her.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Structures. The government, economy and the many national and private institutions that exist in our nation. As a leader of your people, it will be important to understand how they each affect them.”

“Muu…”

“Muu?”

Chief Esess brought a clawed hand to his nose, scratching it lightly.

“I, er…haven’t sent the Hunters to start their work yet,” he said. “Please allow me to go out and get them started.”

“Of course,” Ludmila smiled. “I will come with you as well. We can begin our work while you oversee your surveyors.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Kesstris Esess wasn’t exactly sure what happened.

After a night curled up in his makeshift shelter, under a pile of half-dried reeds, he awoke to the gloomy chill of the morning. He forced himself out to start a new fire, moving about in the thick mists to warm himself up. The others stirred before he headed off to the Human Lord’s place, and Ezsris tagged along, excited to see what a Human village was like. Kesstris was almost certain the female would get herself in some sort of trouble, but her excitement made it hard to refuse her. It was so cold in the depths of the valley – where did she get all of her energy?

They walked several kilometres, past the timber yards and to the fortress village beyond. Along the way, they stopped and scurried back behind a row of timber, peeking out at a massive feline Beastman who must have been twice his length. It stalked across their way silently, on the heels of several small, wooly creatures less than half of Kesstris’ size. He didn’t focus much on them, however – he was preoccupied looking at the dagger-sized fangs of the Beastman and the wickedly curved claws poking out of its huge paws.

Was the terrifying Beastman tending to its livestock? He wasn’t sure how such a large being could survive on so few of the small creatures. Did they prey on other things in this land? Maybe it might consider the Lizardmen as a decent meal. Against his better judgement, he came out to fearfully ask some questions, but then they flew – making their way over the broad river to the cliffs on the other side. Kesstris and Ezsris could only stare in disbelief as the Beastman and its small herd of livestock floated away to become mere specks over the water.

How did these Humans survive in a place where giant, predatory Beastmen flew? None of the Undead sentries appeared to pay it any mind: this Human Lord must have displayed her dominance over these Beastmen somehow. Kesstris was starting to think he was quite lucky getting away with just having his tongue stabbed.

Shortly after they entered the village, he lost sight of Ezsris, who had probably gotten distracted by something, somewhere. He hoped she wouldn’t end up causing some sort of trouble. Making his way awkwardly up the stairs and ramparts, he wondered if anything had actually ever tried attacking this place. It seemed a difficult thing for his kind, at least. Along the way, Humans would glance at him briefly before returning to their tasks and, partway up the hill, he found the building with the Death Knight that the Human Lord had described.

Upon being let in by the mean-looking Human attendant, he was overwhelmed by the odour of blood. Kesstris looked all about the place nervously as he waited in front of a small desk. His Darkvision allowed him to see the interior, but he couldn’t figure out where the scent was from. The discussion of the previous evening came back to him: maybe the Vampire had just visited, and a grisly sacrifice made.

He did not have long to dwell on the image, however, as the Human Lord came to stand at the desk before him. Then he was buried in a mountain of words, many of which he did not understand. Now, he staggered back out, having made the excuse that he needed to have his Hunters start their work. Kesstris had risen not an hour ago, yet he was already exhausted.

On the way back down, he found Ezsris being dangled high above the ground, a Death Knight holding the hunter up by her tail. Her head was pointed straight down at the grass, and her jaw hung slightly open. She swung back and forth lightly in the wind, but was otherwise very still.

“E-Ezsris?” He managed to stammer out her name at the sight.

The black-scaled female stirred, turning her head to eye Kesstris.

“Oh,” she said, “a handsome chief has come to my rescue? I tried playing dead, but this Undead wishes to keep me.”

“…did you do something?” He asked.

“I went inside this building here,” she pointed to some sort of shed. “Humans were going in and out and the door was open, so I thought to see what it was about. Then there was this little Skeleton inside that became angry at me.”

Lady Zahradnik walked past them, entering the building behind the Undead sentry.

“This is an outrage, my lady!” A miffed voice drifted out, “That thing came inside and started rooting around all over the place! She ignored my protests, so I had no choice but to have the gentleman outside take her away.”

“Was anything stolen?”

“Well, no, but half the warehouse is a mess now,” the voice sighed. “Please tell me we are not going to have random reptiles entering and poking their heads everywhere, my lady.”

“I will have a word with them, Jeeves.”

Lady Zahradnik appeared in the doorframe, walking back out to stand in front of Kesstris and Ezsris. Her eyes went from one of them to the other.

“Hello,” Ezsris smiled.

“Do your people have the habit of going through others’ belongings, Chief Esess?”

“N-no, my lady,” he replied. “This one is simply too curious for her own good.”

“As Chief,” Lady Zahradnik said, “the conduct of your people is your responsibility. If the situation becomes so severe that I am forced to act personally, the result may not be to your liking.”

“Yes, my lady,” he dipped his head. “W-will I need to find a new Hunter? Or…”

The Undead dangling Ezsris over the ground released its hold, and she flopped to the ground. The young Huntress scrambled to her feet, rubbing her tail as they followed Lady Zahradnik down the hill. To Kesstris’ great relief, she made no further attempts to get herself into trouble, and Lady Zahradnik wasted no time in returning to their camp on the shores of the floodplain.

They arrived to the sight of the other four Hunters basking in the sun. The Lizardmen seemed entirely oblivious to their approach, so Kesstris started dragging his feet over the gravel. Lazy eyes slowly opened in their direction, then grew wide when they finally registered their approach. The sound of panicked movements filled the air as they scrambled to stand in a line.

“Do you have any questions about what you’re to do?” Lady Zahradnik asked Kesstris.

His mouth opened, then closed again. He still only had a vague idea of what she wanted, and even less of an idea why. Walking over to his hut, he retrieved the maps she had handed to him.

“You asked if we were learned in writing yesterday,” he said after returning, “why?”

“So you could record the results of the survey work,” she replied. “As it is, you may use whatever means you are familiar with to note the plants, animals and other important features that you come across. You should be making special note of anything particularly rare or useful.”

Kesstris scratched his chin in thought. Was there a reason to be so thorough? What she asked for would take weeks. They still needed time to move in and build their homes as well – winter was still months away, but this place was still cool, even in the summer.

“Would it be enough to collect what grows in the area shown by each map?” He asked, “Of the plants, at least. We have no way to keep animals.”

“That will be fine,” Lady Zahradnik replied. “Just be sure to remember what animals you do find when you deliver your report. Actually…”

The Human Lord turned to look in the direction of the hill, then back to him.

“Rather than risk losing any information,” she said, “Nonna will come and record their findings until your administrative aide arrives. I have much to go over with you before you start moving your people into the Vale.”

“Nonna…?”

“She is the senior administrative official of my demesne. As Nonna and her subordinates will be coordinating with your people in the future, now is as good a time as any to become familiar with one another. You should go ahead and get your people started – I will be waiting at your camp here.”

With that, she walked over to the fire and pulled out some sort of tome. The Human Lord appeared to pay them or their surroundings little mind as she flipped through its pages.

Kesstris made his way down to the muddy shores of the floodplain, motioning for his Hunters to follow. After looking out at the landscape of clumped marsh plants and waterlogged trees, he turned to address them.

“So…are there any questions about what Lady Zahradnik has ordered us to do?”

The Hunters looked to one another, then Ezsris spoke.

“It’s understandable enough,” she said. “We are to identify the things in this place, and she wishes to record as much as possible for future reference.”

“I think she should have been talking to you instead of me.” Kesstris eyed her tail, which was once again starting to swish about energetically, “Just listening to her makes me tired.”

“A task for Hunters,” she waved a hand lightly. “As Chief, you have many other things to do, yes? Like placating this Human Lord. We were sent to explore this place anyways, and what she wants is one and the same. Just leave it to us!”

Her last statement was punctuated by the slap of her tail on the ground. Kesstris let out a sigh: it didn’t take her very long at all to regain her excitement after angering the Undead in the stronghold. At least she couldn’t get herself into trouble out here. Probably.

“W-what was the Human place like?” Yenseus’ asked, “Did you see anything that might be dangerous?”

“They live in caves dug into the hill,” Kesstris said. “It’s strange – I thought the Travellers said that the Humans lived in shelters that they built on the plains. There were many dozens of Humans there, but I went straight to the dwelling of the Human Lord.”

“Then what was that like?”

“It was…”

The Hunters leaned forward as his voice trailed off.

“It was what?” Usuryus prompted.

“Um…like a cave?” He held out his hands, trying to form what he described, “There was a wooden part that extended out a little bit, so it looked a little bit larger than the other Human dwellings.”

“You didn’t see anything weird inside?” Ezsris asked.

“Weird?”

“When the Human Lord came out with you, she smelled of blood.”

“…”

Kesstris never knew that bringing a skilled Hunter could cause so many problems for him. There seemed to be no end to the troubles that she brought.

“C-chief,” Yenseus said fearfully, “you’re not hiding anything from us, are you? The way you speak to this Human Lord has changed as well…”

“It smelled like blood,” Kesstris said, “but we don’t know what happened! Maybe they were preparing food or something…”

“Oh, don’t forget to tell them about those flying cat Beastmen too,” Ezsris’ tail waved excitedly. “I’ve never seen such a large Beastman before! It was twice as long as the Chief. Its paws were three times the size of my head – the claws must have been like swords!”

Yenseus cringed, holding her head in her hands. A terrified, keening sound issued from her throat. The other Hunters started looking over their heads.

“I-it didn’t do anything!” Kesstris tried to calm them down, “It just walked by with its livestock and flew over to the other side of the river. The Humans didn’t even pay any attention to it. Look…Lord Cocytus sent us here to find a place to live, so let’s get started. There’s supposed to be someone coming to record your findings, so make sure you cooperate. Let’s not make a bad impression, alright?”

Ezsris had already vanished into the reeds before he finished talking, and the others reluctantly went on their way. Kesstris was so tired, yet their work had barely begun. He shuffled back to the camp, where he found that a figure in black robes had joined Lady Zahradnik.

“I thought I would introduce you to Nonna before she joined your surveyors,” Lady Zahradnik said when he reached them. “Nonna is an attaché from the central administration, here to both assist with various tasks and learn about the different peoples of the Sorcerous Kingdom. She is currently working as my head administrative official.”

She…?

Kesstris eyed the Undead being as it was introduced. Why was it a ‘she’? There were many Nazarick Old Guarders around the Great Lake, but none were defined in such terms. There were none to be seen here, for that matter: in their place, even more powerful Undead were employed. Was this land that much more dangerous than their old home?

Everything here either did not make much sense, or was outright worrisome. With the rich bounty of the land dangled before them, it felt like one of those old stories where a greedy child was enticed into a den of monsters.

He dipped his head in greeting, and Nonna stared back at him silently in return. After a moment, the Undead being went by him to head down to the floodplain. Lady Zahradnik cleared her throat.

“She is not one for pleasantries,” she told him, “but she will become much warmer once you establish a working relationship. When your own village becomes large enough, you will have your own Elder Lich helping out there.”

“For my village?”

“That’s right,” she replied, “every administrative division in my territory will have at least one Elder Lich working in it. The harbour town will need more when it starts growing, but the villages usually only end up with one.”

“Why would we need an Elder Lich to help us run things?” He asked.

“Hmm…I suppose we didn’t actually see any at the Great Lake. How was your village organized? I believe you mentioned a Chief, various heads and elders…”

Kesstris had received much instruction in running a village, in accordance to his future role outside of the Great Lake, so he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief over the idea that they were now reviewing matters more familiar to him.

“After the war,” he told her, “Lord Cocytus gathered our people into a single village as an alliance of tribes. A unified council was created, with the chiefs of the old tribes, their heads and their elders. Lord Coctyus oversaw proceedings sometimes, but daily matters were usually left for us to take care of. If there was anything important to discuss, we would let him know.”

“That is roughly similar to the way Humans do things,” Lady Zahradnik said. “So we can use the ways you are accustomed to as a starting point for how things are done here. In the future, each Lizardman village will be run by its own chief, and the entire tribe will be led by a council of your leaders.”

“Each village…so you mean to have many Lizardmen come to live here?”

“That would depend on several factors,” she replied, “but, provided that the fish farms are possible here, at least as many as necessary to meet the needs of the demesne. There will be demand downriver as well, but I need to see the effects of these farms on the land before trying anything too ambitious.”

“…why are you doing this?”

“Because it is His Majesty’s will,” she said. “As a member of the nobility, it is my duty to realize the will of the Sorcerer King.”

To follow the strong was the way of his people, but the Human Lord’s tone towards this ‘duty’ to Ainz Ooal Gown was not one of worship – nor was it grudging acceptance or the resignation of the weak. Her voice was tinged with something else, and Kesstris wondered what it was.

“Is…is there a reason why you wish things done in this manner?” He asked, “You could rule us personally, if you so chose.”

His initial fears were that she would come to rule them directly, driving the Lizardmen to serve in whatever purpose she had in mind for them. Many who witnessed the brutal outcome of their duel feared that they had fallen out of favour and would be handed to a tyrant – one whom Lord Cocytus claimed would instill fear into them again. Well, she was still frightening enough as it was.

“Because that is the way of things,” her lips turned up slightly. “All peoples have members of their own that lead them. Lizardmen have Lizardman Lords, do they not?”

“In the past, the Lizardman tribes were led by the strongest amongst them. Only one or two chieftains might be what one might consider a ‘Lizardman Lord’…though Shasuryu Shasha, who appears to have the same mysterious power as you, currently heads to council…”

“It is no great mystery,” she said. “Not any more, at least. You seem to have trained enough under Lord Cocytus for him to recognize your quality: have you heard him refer to ‘Classes’ and ‘Levels’?”

“Muu…these words I have heard before,” he replied. “There is much confusion about them, however. Many feel that the old way of looking at things makes more sense.”

“That is perfectly understandable,” Lady Zahradnik nodded. “Until one comes to their own realization of this aspect of our world, it is difficult to grasp, let alone work with. I am still developing my own understanding, but I am confident that I know enough that it can be used to our advantage.”

The baroness reached down to arrange a dozen large branches over the campfire. The flames rose, and Kesstris grew more alert as warmth seeped into him.

“The ‘Lords’ that you see amongst many races are actually a type of class,” Lady Zahradnik said, dusting off her hands. “Though different races have various qualities unique to them, all Lords appear to manifest abilities useful in leading their people. I still find it strange to refer to myself as such but, as a Frontier Noble, I am probably recognized as a ‘Human Lord’ by Demihumans who have ‘Lords’ of their own. You seem to have come to this understanding as well, comparing my abilities to those of this Shasuryu Shasha.”

Kesstris nodded slowly. It made a sort of sense, and having her use similar abilities on him might be seen as proof of her claim.

“I understand your words,” he said. “But our chiefs earn their positions through ceremonial contests of strength and proof of their value as leaders. I may be chief for now, but should someone stronger come along…should the strongest not lead?”

“It may be presumptuous of me,” Lady Zahradnik replied, “but I believe that leaders should be groomed from a young age. Humans have many vocations – classes, if you will – and those who become the most proficient at their work are the ones that have done so from a young age and pursued it without diverting from their course. An excellent smith is not also an excellent Tailor, Farmer and Miner: they are just a smith. People who divide their efforts between disparate paths are never as proficient as those who focus on one.

“To this end, my subjects are respected for the fruits of their labour – the expertise and products only they can deliver. So it is the same with any class: I do not make judgements solely based on how strong or weak someone is. Those who are strong – those with high levels – are so because they must be. A smith must be high level because they are needed to craft the best equipment possible. An enchanter must be high level in order to ensure that this excellent equipment is imbued with the best magics possible. A warrior must be high level because without their strength, all else can be stolen away. With the support of the people that they defend, they will be equipped with the best items possible so they may perform their duties to the highest standard.

“It is difficult to discern who can excel, but we must support all so we can have the strongest society as a whole. This is a bit of wisdom from my own faith – something proven time and again. With the knowledge provided by the Sorcerous Kingdom, as well as the resources allocated to the study of this wisdom, the truth only becomes more clear.”

“Your own faith?” Kesstris frowned, “You do not worship Ainz Ooal Gown?”

Come to think of it, he saw no statues or monuments to Ainz Ooal Gown in this place: only the flags of the Sorcerous Kingdom waving here and there.

“I do not,” Lady Zahradnik said. “My gods are the Six Great Gods of humanity, who came to live amongst us over six centuries ago. It is their wisdom that I refer to, and their tenets that have guided my house.”

“B-but Ainz Ooal Gown is the Supreme God of Death!”

The Human Lord stilled and stared at him for a long while. Kesstris knew little of Human expressions, but he had the distinct feeling that he said something he shouldn’t have.

“T-then what of our offerings to him?” He pushed their conversation along, “Our tributes?”

“Religious offerings aside,” she replied, “we generally do not deliver tributes here: we pay taxes.”

“Taxes?”

“Simply put, this territory is my title, granted to me by the Sorcerous Kingdom to manage. My vassals take up contracts of tenancy, and a share of the land’s production is paid to them for their skills and labour. The remainder goes towards the maintenance, security and development of the demesne.”

This was certainly not something that was done at the Great Lake. Even now, they relied on the generosity of Ainz Ooal Gown to provide for their needs as they awaited their fish farms to become fully operational. The description of ‘taxes’ was an unfamiliar thing. In the past, the Lizardmen took care of their own families, foraging or hunting for what they needed. No one demanded that a portion be given up simply for using the land – not the Chiefs, nor Lord Cocytus.

“H-how are we to survive these ‘taxes’?” He asked, “We barely had enough to live before…”

“That is one purpose of this survey being conducted,” she answered. “Taxes only come with production, so you will not be paying them until we’ve established what is necessary for a single village to survive, and how much land each one is capable of managing. At the bare minimum, every village will not be lacking for basic needs, so you need not worry about that. Do you see any problems with this?”

If her words were spoken truly, Kesstris thought it was far better than their initial expectations. Spectacularly so. Over time, there would be more Lizardmen living here than at the Great Lake. He felt a thrill of anticipation at the prospect, and his tail started waving over the gravel.

“If it is possible,” he said, “I would like to see my people prosper here.”

“Good,” Lady Zahradnik’s teeth gleamed at him. “Then, while your Rangers perform their survey work, I will begin your instruction in the ways of lordship. It will be a long process, but you will learn how to read and write, how your tribe will integrate with the rest of my demesne, and become familiar with the laws, institutions and customs of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

Kesstris’ tail went limp again.

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ludmila made her morning rounds around the harbour village, quietly tracing her way around the residents and migrants awaiting the construction of the next village.

Chief Esess would not be seeing her today, as Lord Mare was scheduled to landscape the second village and its surrounding fields. Though she was now able to work through the night, there were still various things that needed to be addressed during the daytime hours, and she needed to get all of her responsibilities well out of the way before then. Her thoughts continually drifted to the upcoming appointment, however, making it difficult to fully focus on her tasks.

Over the course of the past few months, Ludmila had come to know Lord Mare and Lady Aura quite well, both through their association with Lady Shalltear and her own activities as a member of the Adventurer Guild. Lord Mare was something like the opposite of Ludmila’s brothers, who often tried to escape their responsibilities to pursue activities that they personally found more interesting: like hunting, sparring or patrolling the border. By contrast, Lord Mare was not only filled with passion for his duties, but he was clever and industrious as well. He was also mild mannered and was a good listener – a little brother that any big sister would be proud to have, as she imagined Lady Aura must be.

He was quite the perfectionist, however. The foundation for the first farming village actually took two days as they figured things out, altering it again and again until he was satisfied. With the past in mind, she set aside the rest of her day and most of the next so she could accompany him as he worked. Those clearing the land were told to stay based out of their camps to continue working, and deliveries would be put on hold for as long as Lord Mare needed.

On the way back to her manor, she found the Linum family relaxing in front of their home.

“Good morning, Lady Zahradnik,” Wiluvien greeted her as she approached.

Roughly five months into their pregnancies, the two sisters appeared healthy and generally well. They were no longer able to conceal their growing bellies with loose clothing, but it seemed that no one was giving them any trouble over anything. Their mother, however, continued to remain in the same state that she had entered since separating her from Campbell Fassett.

“Good morning,” Ludmila replied. “How are you all feeling?”

“My sister and I couldn’t be any better, my lady,” Wiluvien answered for them. “Our mother however…”

Throughout their brief exchange, Ilwé Linum sat and continued to eat breakfast, uncaring of the world around her. She never spoke or seemed to recognize anything beyond her personal routines, remaining uncommunicative even with her own daughters. Ludmila had some confidence that, upon taking her in, the reinforcing effect that she had on her own vassals would help her the same way as it had with her daughters but. Thus far, however, there was no discernible change in her condition.

“There is no hurry,” Ludmila told them gently, “I was just making sure everything was alright with your family.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Lluluvien said. “I’m sure something will change, someday. If you…”

The chambermaid’s voice trailed off as her gaze went past Ludmila’s shoulder. Ludmila turned and found that Lord Mare had arrived. He looked around until he spotted her and made his way over, his golden hair and short, white skirts fluttering in the breeze.

“Good Morning, Lord Mare,” she greeted him with a curtsey.

“Good Mo–wah!”

Lord Mare jumped at a loud cry that issued from behind her, and Ludmila quickly pivoted around to stand in front of him. Wiluvien and Lluluvien had joined Ludmila in her greeting, but they were now staring down in shock at their mother, who had thrown herself to her knees, pressing her forehead to the ground.

“What happened?” Ludmila asked, “Is she alright?”

She scanned the nearby surroundings, looking for anything that might have attacked Mrs. Linum. After several moments, she looked back. The Linum sisters were trying to help their mother up, but she wouldn’t budge.

“Um…we should go,” Lord Mare told her.

“Go, my lord?” Ludmila replied. “But she–”

Lord Mare’s gaze met with hers: he wasn’t wearing his usual, timid look. She let out a small sigh and nodded, following him back up to the potted tree he had placed near the manor. He motioned for her to step through, and she took one last glance towards the Linum family. Ilwé Linum was still in the same position, and her daughters looked about as confused as Ludmila felt.

Shaking her head, Ludmila walked into the tree, stepping out into the first farming village. Another tree of the same species was planted in one of the public gardens, allowing them to get from place to place quickly. Each of the planned villages would have similar trees, as would the other settlements in her demesne should they need them.

They made their way out of the gate and walked up through the fields being harvested by the Farmers and their skeletal farmhands. After some time watching her tenants at work, Ludmila decided to ask Lord Mare about the strange incident.

“Do you know what happened back there, my lord? Mrs. Linum has been mostly unresponsive to anyone for months, and I haven’t seen her react to anything so strongly since we found her in Fassett County.”

Lord Mare looked up at her for a moment, then his gaze went back to the road ahead of them. After they had gone a short distance, he licked his lips before giving a tentative-sounding reply.

“It’s…it’s a weird thing. The Elves around here react to big sis and me really strangely – especially the slaves.”

“I wasn’t aware that there were other Elves enslaved around E-Rantel,” Ludmila said.

“The ones that came in weren’t from E-Rantel,” he told her. “They were from some place to the south. Maybe Merry can explain it better?”

“Merry…you mean the Ranger from the Adventurer Guild?” She furrowed her brow, “I had no idea she acted like that around you.”

“She doesn’t,” Lord Mare said, “not like that, anyways. At first, it wasn’t really there but, after a bit, her behaviour changed. When she’s around big sis and me, it’s like she’s caught somewhere between acting that way towards us, and being wary…or scared. We didn’t want to ask; we weren’t sure if she would end up like the others.”

Something to do with Elves…Ludmila didn’t know the first thing about them beyond their long lives and other telltale traits. What was important here, however, was that Mrs. Linum had reacted with more life than Ludmila had witnessed from her in months.

“These Elf slaves you came across, my lord,” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to them?”

“Since they were slaves that were forced into what they did,” Lord Mare replied, “Lord Ainz said to not hurt them. They ended up in our service…but they’re pretty annoying.”

“…annoying?”

“Un,” he nodded. “They’re all aggressively servile, and they won’t leave us to do our own stuff at home. They try making me wear pants, and they keep encouraging big sis to wear dresses as well…what’s wrong with them? Seriously…”

“Lady Aura dislikes dresses?”

“She doesn’t hate them; she’s just more comfortable wearing what she usually does. B-but they won’t leave you alone, you know! They try to dress you up and feed you, and they hang around you all the time commenting on everything. Lord Ainz said that we’re not allowed to get rid of them, either.”

“They sound a bit like Aemilia,” Ludmila smirked. “Out of curiosity, are they ‘those women’ Lady Aura seems to always grumble about?”

Lord Mare nodded silently, and Ludmila pondered over what she had been told.

“At the least,” she said at length, “they’re doing better than Mrs. Linum. I suppose I’ll have to see what Merry knows about this…are you certain it isn’t some sort of Elf secret? I don’t want to anger her by asking.”

“We have no idea what it is, really,” he said, “and the Elves serving us don’t want to say anything about it. They’re always more concerned about ‘taking care’ of us. Maybe they’re actually like Merry: there’s something that scares them, but they’re scared to even say what it is…”

Ludmila couldn’t imagine what they could possibly be so fearful about. She would ask Merry about it at some point, but it appeared that she would need to be careful about it.

They reached the first section of cleared forest. Overall, the work was now well past the place where the fourth town would be. The arrival of the Golems sped things up immensely, both with harvesting trees and transporting them to the timber yard on the flats. Each of the prepared sections covered roughly the same area as the first farming village and its surrounding terraces. A strip of forest one kilometre in width divided each: stretching all the way from the forests further up the valley slope, to the edge of the floodplain below.

Lord Mare stopped and reached into his inventory, pulling out several sheets of parchment.

“Hmm…has anything changed since you came up with this?” He asked as he looked through them.

Ludmila looked down at the parchments with him, confirming that the maps and the changes detailed upon them were current. The terraces of the first farming village would continue up the entire valley, running through the strip of her demesne allocated for cultivating agricultural crops. The sections of forest between them would be mostly left as they were, save for slight modifications to ensure that runoff would flow into a brook going down the midst of each.

“It looks accurate, my lord,” she said after they examined all of the pages.

“O-okay, be careful where you stand…actually, would you like to come with me?”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be working from above,” he said, “so you can fly up with me and make sure things are going the right way.”

“Is there anything special that I need to do?” She asked.

“N-no?” He answered, “I’ll just cast the spell and you can follow me around.”

“Very well, my lord.”

“「Fly」.”

Lord Mare cast the spell, then cast it again on her. She watched him fly upwards, then she looked down at her boots, which were still planted on the ground. Lord Mare floated back down to her.

“Um…I’m not flying you,” he told her. “You’re flying you.”

“How does that work, my lord?”

Lord Mare leaned over from where he was floating, extending a hand towards her. Ludmila reached out and clasped it. His grip tightened.

“Ei!”

Huh?

The sky and the ground were taking turns entering her vision. The fact that he had hurled her with one hand sent her spinning through the air like a clay shingle as she rapidly ascended over the Vale. Her entire body had turned as stiff as a wooden plank, not even allowing a breath to escape. The scenery continued to whirl around her as she tried making sense of what was going on.

Does this qualify as something ‘weird’? Maybe I should mention this to Lady Aura…

The first thing she needed to do was relax and start breathing again. Secondly, she needed to stop spinning before her breakfast came out. Fortunately, the mere thought of control started slowing her. She was slightly higher than the western crest of the Vale by the time her ascent leveled out. Her head continued spinning long after she stopped. Catching her breath as she stood stationary in the air, Ludmila looked around.

What she saw wasn’t all that different from when she looked down at her home from the ridge of the valley, which was vaguely disappointing. The sense that she had some sort of strange control over her movements through the air seemed to prevent the sense of vertigo that she might have normally had looking down off of a cliff.

As she tested her mobility, a patrolling Bone Vulture glided past, eyeing her bobbing and weaving movements curiously. Ludmila stopped and eyed it back.

“Wait,” she called out, “come back.”

The Bone Vulture wheeled around, coming to an awkward-looking hover before her. She scanned the landscape below before issuing an order.

“Go down to the road and await further instructions.”

The Bone Vulture dove to the ground, alighting on the road near the untouched strip of forest.

『Fly along the edge of the woods.』

The Bone Vulture did as it was told, flapping its way up along the forest. She directed it to several other places before sending it back on its patrol, musing over her findings.

"A-are you stuck?" Lord Mare called up to her.

Ludmila looked down at this voice, finding that he was looking up directly beneath her. She drew her skirts tightly around her knees before willing herself downwards. When she tried to stop at Lord Mare’s altitude, she plummeted straight past him. It wasn’t until she had descended another hundred metres or so that she finally reversed direction to fly back up beside him.

“Flight spells have a maximum regular speed,” he told her. “They also have a set acceleration, but, if you’re going down, you can carelessly add to your falling speed. You have to control yourself going down or you might hit the ground before you can stop.”

“I’ll remember that from now on, my lord,” she said. “How high can one go?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but if you go too high the air gets thin, so you’ll suffocate if you’re not paying attention.”

“Is there a way to tell before you reach that altitude?”

“Hmm…” Lord Mare looked around, then pointed to the southwest, “about twice as high as this mountain range, you might start finding it hard to breathe. It gets colder, too. If you keep going up, it just gets worse, and you’ll die before you drop back down to a safe altitude. Some things can fly really high without problems, but species that live at regular altitudes or underground will be in big trouble. I-I guess if you have a spell or magic item that lets you breathe up there you’ll be okay? Also something that will keep you from freezing.”

“I probably won’t have any reason to fly that high,” she said. “I was just curious.”

“I see…well, don’t forget that just because you’re a certain height off of the ground, your altitude is the same. We’re a few hundred metres above the ground, but we’re still not as high as these mountains nearby. You might fly over some really high mountains thinking that you’re only a few hundred metres off of the ground, but you’d actually be at a risky altitude.”

“Thank you for the warning, my lord.”

Lord Mare pulled out the maps again, flipping through them slowly. Ludmila couldn’t help but compare them to the view below.

“Does Lady Aura make her maps like this?” She asked him, “By flying overhead, I mean.”

“Sometimes she’ll find some high spot to get a general view, but she usually does it from the ground. Rangers can trailblaze and map out terrain without needing to do this.”

Ludmila supposed that was true. Even the maps she personally made and provided to Lord Mare were nearly identical to what she saw below them.

“A-anyways,” Lord Mare told her. “I’m starting now. Let me know if something looks off.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Lord Mare descended to a lower altitude and, with map in one hand; staff held out in the other, floated forward. Below, the soil rippled and flowed like a river current over the terrain. The terraces started to take shape, exactly how they appeared on the plans.

“What do I do with all of these boulders?” Lord Mare asked.

“I’d like to put them aside to be used for masonry if possible, my lord,” Ludmila answered.

Huge boulders floated to the surface of the soil like chips of wood. The waves of earth deposited them on the side of the old road. Lord Mare continued on his way, shaping the land before him. She could only shake her head silently as she followed, trying to figure out how much time her labourers would require to accomplish what was done in a single wave of his staff. According to Clara, Corelyn Harbour’s foundations were laid in the same fashion, saving even her tremendous labour force years of time.

After a few hours of flying back and forth over the land, Lord Mare stopped at a stretch of exposed granite.

“Hmm…”

“My Lord?”

Lord Mare looked down at the map.

“This is pretty near to where the village is supposed to be,” he told her, pointing down towards the site with his staff. “There’s bedrock close to the surface here. I’m not sure how wide of an area it covers…”

“How will this affect your work?”

“I can use it to build up the village foundation, then any excess I can draw out along the roads. We’re going to have to find soil somewhere to make up for it if it turns out that the entire area is like this.”

“I’m barely keeping up with what you’re saying, my lord, but let me know if there’s a shortfall that needs to be addressed.”

“A-alright.”

They flew over to the nearby site of the future village, where Lord Mare moved massive volumes of earth aside, exposing the bedrock just below. Now that she understood what he was referring to, Ludmila started to consider the problem.

“Do you have any suggestions for where we could take soil from nearby?” She asked.

“The valley floor should be the most obvious place to find soil,” he answered. “The river carries dirt along with it from upstream, depositing it in the marshes here during the flood season. We’ll also get some from leveling out the terraces…hmm, that gives me an idea…”

Ludmila followed Lord Mare back to the where he had started, and he pushed the soil aside to expose the bedrock beneath. Starting from the upper terrace, he shaped a length of it into a great stone trough, then filled it with soil.

“H-how does that look?” He asked.

“Is this how you made the training area, my lord?”

“The upper levels, yes,” he nodded, “I used Earth Surge to move the soil out of the way, then Shape Stone to roughly fashion the passages before covering it all up again. Deeper underground, I have to use different methods.”

“I think I understand what you’ll be doing,” she said. “Does this also mean excess rains will be directed into the forests dividing the village plots?”

“Un,” he nodded. “Then the runoff will flow down to the floodplain from there. That way, your terraces won’t erode away as quickly. Actually, if the soil builds up enough from all of the enriched growth, you won’t see much change at all.”

“In that case, I believe it’s an excellent idea Lord Mare.”

“Okay.”

He continued working, shaping the improved terraces as they flew along. The excess stone was collected into the village’s raised foundations, as well as a wide stone pathway where the old road once was. After a few more hours, the landscaping was mostly done – save for the bottom terraces, where they had run out of topsoil.

“Um…I need more dirt now.”

Having had time to think on what to do, Ludmila ended up with something she hadn’t considered before.

“Lord Cocytus said that some of the lake species need deeper water,” she said. “Do you think it would be possible to take soil from the northern third of the floodplain in preparation for that? It doesn’t have to be all at once – just any time we need soil for the rest of the development along this strip.”

“A-are there any rare plants there?” Lord Mare asked.

“Not that I know of,” Ludmila replied. “The plants that grow in the floodplain can be found in any part of it…to be sure, how about we bring soil over from the next clearing for now? The Lizardmen sent over by Lord Cocytus are surveying the area, so they should have a full report by the time the last couple of village plots are ready to be landscaped. That way, we’ll know for certain.”

They flew over to the north end of the clearing, and Lord Mare channeled soil through the space in the next forest strip where the old road was. He finished filling the terraces, and they then flew over to the village foundations. He rubbed his chin in thought before asking another question.

“Did you find any problems with the way the last village turned out?”

“So far, I haven’t discovered any sort of perfect defence,” she said. “Evocation and other spells that deliver energy-typed damage are not a problem at that tier, but physical assaults and certain summoned beings can still do tremendous damage. From what I’ve studied of magic so far, I’m afraid that all I can do in terms of passive measures is make it as difficult as possible to destroy the village. My only active ones at present are to remove casters from the field before they come within range, or have our own casters ready to counter them.”

“We have the same problem in E-Rantel,” Lord Mare frowned down at the bare stone below. “The local materials are just too weak, so our solution is basically the same as yours. Demiurge says that projection is key, and enemies that teleport in will just have to be intercepted as quickly as possible – it takes too much mana to constantly maintain defensive magics over anything but the most important parts of the city.”

“I see…I’ll continue exploring the problem as time passes but, for the time being, there are no other issues with the first village that I can think of, my lord.”

“O-okay. Did you want the improved sewer system?”

“Improved?”

“Un,” he nodded. “I fixed some things up and made better placements for traps and monsters.”

“Do you mean to say that the sewers under the first village are the same ones that started appearing in the Training Area shortly after?”

“Y-yes? It was a good opportunity to figure out what a realistic sewer system would be like. My only example before that was the old ones under E-Rantel. It has a bunch of problems, but I didn’t think that it was a good idea to mess with it.”

No wonder he took two days. Ludmila hoped that none of the Adventurers would blame her for that if they found out about it. Lord Mare continued to look at her, awaiting an answer.

“…just to be certain,” Ludmila asked, “there aren’t any Giant Crocodiles under the first village, are there?”

“The ones in the Training Area are just summons,” Lord Mare answered. “If you want some of your own, you’ll have to tame them from somewhere.”

She looked down at the bare layout of the area, thinking of ways by which she might be able to improve the design of the village. Considering that there was probably no immediate solution to hardening the village to powerful magical attacks…

“Is it possible to incorporate some sort of shelter for the villagers if they’re being bombarded with magic? It can be placed under the market square and villagers would be able to access it from their homes by going into the sewers. In the event that it isn’t enough, the sewer outlet can be widened so that they can follow it down to the floodplain. Some of those one-way passages that are in the Training Area would be ideal to keep intruders from getting in through that route.”

“I can do that, yes…do you think that sort of design would be useful elsewhere?”

“If you mean for the towns and villages around the duchy, it might be. With sufficient warning, the citizens can get to safety in time. The way that the escape route works would depend on where the settlement is.”

“I guess I can show Demiurge later and see what he thinks about it. Since suitable defences can’t be built with local materials, he’s trying to figure out how to preserve productive capacity just in case something manages to get past the regular patrols.”

“It’s a difficult problem,” Ludmila said. “Before the Sorcerous Kingdom, I felt that having fortified positions capable of withstanding an extended siege would be sufficient. After I started to learn about magic, however, I don’t understand how towns and cities aren’t reduced to ashes by their enemies on a regular basis. There seems to be little in the way of an answer beyond matching strength with strength, and praying that your own lands don’t suffer too harshly.”

“Well, as far as we know, there aren’t many nations in the area that are capable of that. Not on the scale that you’re describing, anyways.”

“That’s a relief, I suppose,” Ludmila said. “Even a single, disgruntled magic caster capable of third tier magic could quickly lay waste to any one of the lowland villages, however. The consequences for Re-Estize’s lack of investment in magic casters leaves me wondering how they’ve survived for so long, now that my understanding has reached this point.”

Not only was it disturbing in hindsight; it also left the duchy in a remarkably pitiful state when it came to common knowledge and the development of spells and items: something she resolved to remedy once she had the means. As Mare went about fashioning the sewers below the village, she continued to ponder the problem of defending against enemy spellcasters.

“How would you attack a village like this, my lord?” She asked.

“Um…if someone was careless enough to leave the stone unworked, I could just reshape it.”

“I guess that’s why you advised me to have that taken care of after you finished raising the first village…”

“T-that’s right,” Lord Mare nodded. “The way you’ve designed these villages is pretty clever – most area spells directly affect a limited radius, and things are spread out here that I’d only be able to get a few at a time with a single cast. These buildings are made out of big stone blocks, and aren’t built too tall, so it’ll take a lot to shake them down. If someone attacks with enough power to destroy anything here, everyone elsewhere will hear it and escape.”

That was the hope, at least. During her studies of magic, it appeared that many spells that could affect an area were, in reality, quite small. As long as buildings were durable, spread out nicely, and not prone to collapsing or catching on fire, it became next to impossible for an attacking magic caster to cause extensive damage before her stationed defences could respond.

“How long would that take?”

Lord Mare clutched his staff closely as he looked down at the empty foundation.

“Hmm…with my class skills and the right metamagics, it would take me dozens of casts to flatten the surface of this village – that’s if you’re building it like the first one. Storm of Vengeance has about five times the radius of Earthquake, but these buildings aren’t flimsy like the ones Shalltear destroyed in Fassett Town. The drainage is really good as well, so the acid would just get flushed out…did you design it this way on purpose? I could destroy an army on the field for a fraction of the mana it would take to destroy this place.”

“After figuring that there was no apparent way to have a perfectly defensible village,” Ludmila explained, “I opted to design it in the most annoying way possible against prospective attackers. As a side benefit, it makes for a nice and spacious village with plenty of green spaces.”

“D-does anyone else make villages like this?” He asked.

“Not that I know of,” Ludmila replied. “I wouldn’t even have considered designing something like this before learning about magic, and without our systems of labour, it would be exorbitantly expensive to build even if there was a source of materials nearby. What you commonly see in the lowlands should be the standard for Re-Estize.”

“I see,” Lord Mare frowned down at the village plan. “Hopefully other people don’t do it this way, or it would be troublesome.”

“Troublesome, my lord?”

“I’m supposed to be the one that’s good at area attacks, but towns and cities built this way would be a real pain to destroy. I should figure out how to do things better, but it’s not like there’s an easy way to practice…h-hopefully I can ask Lord Ainz before I need to do something like that for real.”

“What threats would you consider when attacking?”

“I guess the best way to explain it would be that every settlement should have zones of defence. A caster has to pass the outer zone, which consists of long range patrols. The next zone would be the coverage from long-range physical attackers, like Rangers. After that is the zone where enemy casters come into range – if you can cast at them, they can cast at you. Many spells have direct counters, but there’s more than enough that don’t so I could just use those instead. The final layers of defence are protective magics and the structures themselves.”

“How far could Lady Aura effectively attack an incoming mage?”

“With direct fire? Maybe around two kilometres…her accuracy might suffer at that range without using certain skills, but she has her pets that she can coordinate along with her attacks as well.”

Two kilometres with direct fire? Ludmila could only manage around a tenth of that, at most. What sort of ridiculous bow did Lady Aura have? More to the point, how strong did one have to be to draw a bow that could power direct fire against targets two kilometres away? All sorts of questions started to pop up in her mind, and she filed them away for when she could ask her later.

“I suppose I’ll have to figure out how to organize my defences using that concept,” Ludmila said. “The security forces leased out by the central administration are excellent when it comes to direct and open warfare, but I’m starting to see all sorts of holes that can be exploited due to their other shortfalls.”

Lord Mare stopped his work, turning to look at her for a few moments before speaking.

“S-so you noticed…”

“The Royal Court is aware of this, my lord?”

“Hmm…how do I say this…a-all else being equal, if you put a summon up against a person, the person should be stronger – a summon is just a summon, after all. They might have comparable stats to their opponent, but they lack the variety of skills, spells, abilities and Martial Arts that a real person has, and they also don’t have the same extensive experience. The Training Area has generated a lot of data to make these comparisons.”

“Were there any conclusions made?”

“It’s something that we knew all along,” Lord Mare said, “but there are just so many differences around here that we aren’t exactly sure how to gauge strength between the nations in the region. There’s little worry when it comes to open war: as a whole, the region’s equipment quality is poor, and there aren’t many individuals who can match Death Knights and Soul Eaters, never mind fighting anything stronger. The main concern is that parts of the Sorcerous Kingdom might suffer damage once in a while because of the ‘holes’ that you noticed, since the bulk of our coverage is made up of those types of summons.”

“Have there been any good solutions so far?”

“Demiurge is doing some research on that right now – he’s been studying how groups of Demihumans raid and wage war. Cocytus wants to raise a formal army to train out some of the weaknesses in the summons’ behaviours.”

“I suppose if a Death Warrior can learn how to captain a ship, you can have them function in all sorts of ways…”

“T-that’s the idea, I think.”

Lord Mare returned to his work. The sewers took another hour to complete, including the shelter and the outlet that could serve as an escape passage. They flew back over to the village foundation from the floodplain, looking down on it and the surrounding fields. Lord Mare had the maps out again, comparing them to the result.

“Did you notice something, my lord?” Ludmila asked.

“N-no,” Lord Mare answered. “I was just thinking about what to do for next time. Also…is your territory okay? We changed the weather to make sure the harvest comes in on time in the lowlands, but it means you don’t get your usual weather here.”

“To be honest,” she said, “it’s something that I’m becoming very worried about. The effects on the land are quite telling.”

“I thought so,” Lord Mare frowned. “The entire southwest is kind of drying out, but Albedo wants the first harvest to turn out the best results possible.”

“Is there a way to satisfy her directives without sacrificing the land like this?”

“Maybe, but the best way would just not be to meddle with the weather at all. Hmm…”

Lord Mare flew upwards, motioning for her to follow. They ascended for several minutes, rising higher than the peaks of the southern border ranges. Ludmila pivoted as they rose, taking in the scenery around them. She could see the city of E-Rantel peeking out from behind the forested slopes to the northeast, with the peaks of the Azerlisia Mountains looming in the background. To the west, Re-Estize and the spine of the southern border ranges stretched on, disappearing beyond the horizon.

As she continued to gaze down over the land, the air grew colder, wind whipping at her dress and stealing her warmth away.

“「Protection Energy – Ice」.”

The chill subsided.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“N-no problem. Mmh…that’s something we have to think about for the Azerlisia expedition as well. It’s cold enough to inflict environmental damage without protection.”

“Will that be difficult to address?”

“We have mountaineering gear available, but I think we should see what everyone around here uses first. A-anyways,” Lord Mare gestured over the landscape below with his staff, “the small river that joins the Katze River in the north of your territory: if we divert it into the floodplain, the marshes won’t dry out.”

“Won’t the water still flow out the northern end even if we did that?”

“I can fix that. We can raise the sandbar and the bedrock below it, so the new diversion flowing in will raise the water level until it starts flowing out where the river used to flow in.”

“The river drops about ten metres from the beginning of the Vale to the end…we’re going to end up with a lake instead.”

“I can adjust the terrain before we flood it,” he told her. “We can move earth from the northern third, since you wanted to anyway. In the end, it will be deep enough for the people that need it, while everything south of that should be like how it is during the flood season. We can transplant rare plants from the north before that, if we find any.”

“Would it be possible to dam the southern end around where the bridge is?”

“I guess…but why?”

“Since such drastic changes are being proposed,” Ludmila said, “we may as well make use of everything. The water level could be raised to about twenty metres higher than where it is right now, and the dam at the end can house a large mill that makes use of the water leaving the marsh. To keep the water from rising above a certain level during the rainy season, we can create an outlet for flood control where the water exits currently.”

“So you’ll retain the plans for the harbour area, just set at a higher elevation?"

“Yes, my lord. These changes should help address issues with the drying climate in the Vale, as well as take advantage of said changes. It should also make the harbour area more defensible. All that remains is making sure there’s enough water from the diverted river – it’s currently dry due to the changes in the weather.”

“Y-your vassals can take care of that, can’t they?”

“They can?”

Lord Mare pointed towards the ranges on the other side of the Katze River, shrouded by clouds that she hadn’t noticed from below.

“There’s some people changing the weather over there to respond to the changes in climate – they’re using the same spell that I am.” He pivoted and swept his staff over to the lands west of Warden’s Vale, “The watershed for that river covers all of the land over there. If you send them out to make it rain all around there, the southwestern border will get the rain it’s supposed to, and the river will return to normal. That way, you can benefit from the sunny weather in the Vale while keeping everything else from drying up.”

The Krkonoše did say that they would do anything she asked, but it still felt like an imposition. Or maybe not, as they saw her as the one charged with maintaining the natural balance of the area. This would certainly fall under that consideration.

“I’ll see what they have to say about it, my lord.”

“Alright, I’ll come by and make those changes some other day: I need to make sure my mana stays above a certain level in case I’m needed for something.”

“Apologies for the inconvenience, my lord,” she lowered her head. “Will you be staying for a meal?”

Lord Mare shook his head.

“I have to get back to the training area,” he said. “Mister Ainzach is still working on that program for Martial Arts, so we’re still raising Adventurer levels while we wait. They should be needing new practice enemies soon.”

“Were there any updates to the upcoming training expedition, by the way?”

“Um…Merry says that there’s no way we can fit everything you’ve outlined in two weeks. We’re going to be splitting up our expeditions into a few types: we’ll start with basic exploration, then conduct focused studies on areas of interest that we find at a later date. The training expeditions will be reflecting those differences.”

“I understand, my lord. In that case, shall I carry on with preparations for additional training expeditions in the area?”

“Yes, make sure you have a few ready. We’ll still be training for all the other stuff – just not right away.”

“Very well,” Ludmila nodded. “I shouldn't be taking up any more of your precious time. Thank you once again for your invaluable assistance, Lord Mare.”

She curtseyed respectfully and stood with her hands folded over her lap, awaiting his departure. He simply stood before her, staring back.

“My lord?”

“Um…we should land first.”

‘Oh.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The keel of the knarr broke through the thick mists of the early morning, gliding against the river current towards the harbour. Ludmila stood on the shore near the end of the pier, watching as the ship’s sails were lowered. With the assistance of its skeletal oarsmen, the vessel was expertly guided in – the Death Warrior captain had become quite proficient at operating with its Skeleton crew.

At some point, someone had given it a strange sort of cap, of which it appeared to be quite proud of. She never figured out where it had gotten the cap from, but it never seemed to leave the captain’s head.

She shifted her attention to the two figures standing at the bow of the ship, who she assumed were the passengers that she was waiting for. At the least, Ludmila was hard-pressed to consider that they could be anyone else. Attired in black robes and draped in black mantles with black hoods that concealed their faces within dark shadows, they may well have just held up signs that had “Evil Cultist” scribed in bold upon them. The other passengers gave them a wide berth, lingering on the edges of the space reserved for them, and a tinge of annoyance coloured her thoughts when she considered that they had all been stuck together on the ship for over a day.

The two black-robed figures disembarked as soon as the vessel settled against the pier, each carrying a black satchel in one hand; a gnarled staff in the other. They made their way forward, the tapping of their staves on the wooden planks sounding in time with every other step. Moren Boer sighed to her left. To her right, Nonna also sighed, though it was more likely because the two figures were slowing the transfer of passengers and cargo down. Ludmila had to keep a conscious effort to refrain from leaning forward in an attempt to peer inside their cowls.

After a whole minute, the pair’s painfully slow procession ended as they came to stand before her.

“Welcome, Isabella,” Moren stepped forward and spoke to the figure standing at the head of the pair. “I have the pleasure of introducing you to…”

His voice trailed off into a frown, for Isabella was not paying him any attention whatsoever.

The opening of her cowl pointed towards Nonna, and she leaned slowly forward. The bottom half of a pale face appeared. Like the dark cowl that framed her youthful, feminine features, the full lips under her petite nose were painted black. Expecting perhaps an aged individual with a bent and withered appearance, Ludmila was taken somewhat aback that the woman would actually be considered attractive by most.

The black lips parted, and the pink tip of her tongue appeared. Isabella leaned even further forward, tongue worming out like a fleshy probe.

Ludmila snatched Nonna’s arm, pulling the Elder Lich back and behind her. The woman snapped her head up and towards Ludmila, expression transitioning from surprise to annoyance to anger.

“How dare you! Who are you to mmph mm mmgh!”

“I beg your forgiveness for my associate’s improper conduct, my lady!” Moren said as he struggled with the woman, “They probably chose her to come first for appearance’s sake.”

“Appearances?” Ludmila was incredulous, “She just tried to lick my Lich! Forgive my poor imagination, but I really cannot think of anything stranger than that at this very moment.”

She released her hold on Nonna and turned to address the Elder Lich.

“Take care of yourself around these…people,” Ludmila warned her. “We have no idea where they have been. You might want to let the others know, as well.”

“It will be done.”

Nonna walked in a wide circle around the restrained cultist. Isabella’s eyes desperately followed the Elder Lich.

“Ow!”

Moren snatched his hand away from the woman’s mouth.

“No, come back!” She shouted, “Dammit Moren, get your hands off of me! You’re still every bit the horny farm boy from years ago!”

“What!”

Moren released her, but he continued blocking the way as Isabella tried to get past him to reach Nonna.

“Why are you in my way?! That’s an Elder Lich!” She shouted, “An Elder Lich, Moren! Our hopes and dreams are right in front of us! Wait, I know: you’ve actually been trying to hide this paradise from us this entire time! I bet you get your fill every day…shame, Moren! Shame on you!”

Crazy necromantic cultist indeed. The only things Nonna tended to fill people with were statistics and projections.

Ludmila’s gaze traveled over to the other figure that had arrived with Isabella. It hadn’t moved since the commotion started, standing eerily still.

“Noooo! Don’t fly away! Uwehhh…”

Nonna floated off towards the timber yard, and Isabella fell to her hands and knees with a sob. Several children from the families disembarking pointed at her, voicing their curiosity, and their parents pulled them away.

It took several minutes for the downcast woman to return to her feet. Her soles scraped over the gravel as she shuffled back to join them. With her cowl pulled back after the brief struggle with Moren, Ludmila saw that Isabella was a young woman with straight black hair and a generally well-kept appearance. In her current state, however, she had the look of a dead fish.

“You are acquainted with one another?” Ludmila asked.

“Yes, my lady,” Moren bobbed his head. “She was the member of the group that recruited me back at my old home.”

Based on the exchange between them, Ludmila figured that she wouldn’t have to think too hard about how this woman ‘recruited’ people.

“Isabella Aguado, my lady,” she said in a flat, dead voice. “A pleasure to meet you…”

The end of her sentence dragged out, and Ludmila turned her gaze to the second figure. The cowl started to tremble violently. This one wasn’t going to explode, was it?

“Ch-cha-ch-andler.”

She waited for a moment, but nothing further appeared to be forthcoming.

“Welcome to Warden’s Vale,” she greeted them. “I am Baroness Ludmila Zahradnik. Your accommodations have been readied in the first village west of here, so we should be on our way.”

She stepped aside and motioned for them to accompany her. Isabella pulled her cowl forward again, took two steps, then stopped.

“We’re walking?” She asked.

“Yes?”

“What kinda noble walks anywh-ow! Dammit, Moren! If this turns into a bruise, you’re paying for my losses.”

“Are you some sort of…merchant?” Ludmila asked.

“Yes, my lady,” she replied. “I’m an Artificer. That’s the actual reason I was sent first – it wasn’t because I was just a pretty face. Selling magic items was just a side thing, though. My real work was…well, y’know…”

“Recruiting.”

“Yep…no, wait! I’m an esteemed member of Zurrernorn! It’s not my fault that men are so easy to reel in.”

“Is there any need to retain your affiliation now that you’re in a place that won’t persecute you for practicing Necromancy?” Ludmila asked as she led them across the front of the hill, “If any of your disparate branches conduct harmful activities outside of the Sorcerous Kingdom, we may suffer political backlash for harbouring your organization despite any claims that you share no direct association.”

“I figured the Sorcerous Kingdom wouldn’t even care, considering how powerful it is. Anyone looks at you funny and…”

Isabella held her thumb out upside-down in the air, making a squishing noise as she lowered it.

“Right?”

“The diplomatic and political stance of our government is not so unreasonable,” Ludmila told her. “In fact, most of our relations are amiable, or at least neutral. If your organization tarnishes our national image, you may be expelled.”

“Uh…really?” Isabella frowned.

“Yes, really,” Ludmila replied. “I suppose that perception might be a bit coloured in Re-Estize…”

“That might be just a tiny bit of an understatement,” Isabella snorted. “Still…I guess the places we came through looked disappointingly normal. Thought there’d be Undead swarming all over the place.”

“They are being kept mostly out of view, since the merchant traffic is still unfamiliar with how things are now. Out here, however, they will be a common sight…considering your reaction to an Elder Lich, you weren’t interested in the Undead crew or the Death Knights?”

“They were quite the sight, actually,” Isabella said, “but the news that came back with the merchants who started coming from this direction made it sound like there were powerful Undead everywhere you looked. I guess it felt like a whole lot of buildup for not much at all.”

“What about the city?”

“Our instructions were to come straight here, without any detours.”

Ludmila pondered the odd mix of obedience and willfulness in the other woman. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so odd: the stated objective of these Zurrernorn members was to gain entry to the nation rather than a specific desire to live under her rule. She did make preparations in order for them to feel welcome and appreciated, but she was uncertain how they would receive that treatment, or how they would even perceive themselves as subjects of the Sorcerous Kingdom. These magic casters were far removed from the regular sort of tenant that she was used to dealing with.

“Then back at the pier,” she asked, “why did you try to, uh…”

“I’d appreciate it if you forgot about that, my lady. It was just a passing bout of excitement.”

“Does that mean that I’m to expect a ‘passing bout excitement’ every time one of your associates arrives?”

She stared at Isabella for a good while as they walked along, and the woman started to shift uncomfortably.

“Yes,” Isabella started quietly, then her voice rose. “Yes, damn it! Who wouldn’t get excited at the sight of an Elder Lich – one that doesn’t try to Fireball you right away, at that!”

“Personally,” Ludmila told her, “I would say that the only ‘excitement’ most people feel when they first encounter an Elder Lich is the sort that encourages you to run for your life.”

“Plebeians,” Isabella waved her hand dismissively. “They don’t understand what it means – how wondrous of an existence it is.”

They crossed the entrance to the harbour village, and Ludmila called down a Death Knight to help carry their luggage before continuing on towards the bridge. Several men and women stared at the cloaked figures as they passed.

“Forgive this plebeian for her ignorance,” Ludmila said, “but you will have to explain what it means to you and your associates.”

Isabella looked at her curiously for a moment before answering.

“It’s a chance,” she said.

“A chance?”

“Yes,” Isabella nodded. “A chance to learn and study – to discover the secrets of lichdom.”

“You realize that these Elder Liches are His Majesty’s summons, yes?”

“Better than the nothing we had before,” Isabella told her. “I’m sure every member of Zurrernorn has thought about becoming an Elder Lich at least a few times. For most, it’s more than just a thought…except it’s decidedly difficult to study them when they actively try to kill you on sight.”

Was it really such a widespread goal? Bohdan had considered it a likely possibility for Fluder Paradyne back when she had been entirely ignorant of events beyond her demesne.

“I find that there is nothing wrong with being a Human,” Ludmila said.

“Humans have to eat and sleep,” Isabella replied. “They get sick, grow old and die. Don’t you want to live forever?”

“It’s not something I’ve considered, no.”

“You live in a place full of the Undead,” Isabella furrowed her brow. “How have you not considered it?”

“I have a busy schedule.”

“Busy!” The woman laughed, “If you were immortal, you’d have all the time in the world!”

“His Majesty’s Undead servants are always busy as well, so that assertion does not really stand up to scrutiny. My Liege, Lady Shalltear, is also a busy woman.”

“Lady Shalltear…some sort of Undead Lord?” Isabella’s brows drew together, “I’ll admit I’ve never heard of that before…”

“My lady is a Vampire,” Ludmila told her.

“Oh…OH! I see how it is. You’re just being complacent because you can just turn into a Vampire at any time! Damn nobles have leeway no matter where they are,” she muttered darkly, then peered at her suspiciously. “Wait, you’re not a Vampire already, are you?”

“Do I look like a Vampire?”

“I guess not…still, us poor, unprivileged common folk have to find our own way, y’know? We can’t just bide our time until we feel like asking our Vampire Liege to turn us.”

“I have never considered asking,” Ludmila said, “neither has my lady made any mention of it.”

“Huh?” Isabella’s brows drew together, and she gave Ludmila a confused look, “That’s silly – why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t they? If there’s a useful person, why wouldn’t they keep them around forever? That’s the first thing anyone in charge thinks about, right? Finding talented people and figuring out how to keep them. Maybe they’re just not letting on because everyone would start begging for it.”

“What about family? Undead cannot have children, can they?”

“You nobles and your bloodlines…even if that’s the case, all you need to do is have them as a Human, right?” Isabella gave her an appraising look, “You’re still young – you could probably pop out a dozen brats before you’re thirty! And then you won’t get tired raising ‘em because Undead don’t get tired. You could watch over your family through all the ages, making sure they do well for themselves. The best ones you could turn yourself! Just one big happy family of Vampires.”

“The age of majority for worshippers of The Six is twenty,” Ludmila told her. “A dozen is probably impossible – not that I want that many. Also, if what you say is true, there would surely be a nation entirely made out of Vampires somewhere.”

“Hmm…Moren did say something along those lines: that you worship The Six. Don’t tell me that you plan on just dying as a Human.”

“I personally have no qualms about staying Human, and Lord Surshana is owed his due – it is He that holds ultimate purview over our souls.”

Isabella let out a disappointed-sounding sigh, but said nothing more. She looked out to the fields as they walked along, where the Skeleton labourers directed by Farmers were busy with the harvest.

“Despite what you said, my lady,” she waved her staff out towards the nearest group, “you appear perfectly fine with having Undead all over the place.”

“That’s just a strange superstition held by worshippers of The Four. These Undead are just summons – they aren’t souls bound to an undying existence.”

“Then…you won’t mind if I summon a bunch of my own?”

“The remains of the deceased are the property of His Majesty,” Ludmila told her. “If you desire Undead servitors, they can be ordered on your behalf. As I understand it, His Majesty’s Undead are far superior to their regular counterparts, and leasing them will save you precious mana for your work.”

Isabella appeared to think to herself for some time, after which she turned to look at Ludmila with a small frown.

“You’re a noble of Re-Estize, right?” She asked, “One of the ones that went with this duchy, I mean.”

“That is correct,” Ludmila answered.

The woman turned to look back forward, shaking her head.

“It sure doesn’t seem like it,” she said. “Aside from a few noble families that might have some associated businesses, they don’t care much for any kind of magic. It’s just a mysterious convenience to them at best; parlour tricks most of the time. They pay for healing, items and Adventurers, yet they somehow hold no value in it beyond that.”

“I had a good village priest who tutored me,” Ludmila told her, “but it was my time so far as a noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom that really opened my eyes to the applications of magic. Having casters as a part of everyday life allows one to establish a base of knowledge to work off of. With that knowledge, I have been able to start applying it practically to my demesne. This should be where most of the difference lies – Re-Estize never really promoted magic in any substantial way, and with this lack of exposure comes ignorance to it’s value.”

“I dunno if it’s just that…” Isabella said, “Well, I guess it’s a pointless discussion now that I don’t have to worry about those jerks any more. Since you’ve carried our conversation in this direction, I’m guessing you want to get down to business then?”

“I do,” Ludmila replied, “but let’s finish making our way to the village for now. We can begin discussing those matters in the comfort of your new workshop.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Ludmila picked up their pace, and they approached the farming village amidst the height of its harvest activities. All along the road, they passed carts waiting to be filled with the sheaves of oats that had been bundled after being cut and left to dry. Undead beasts drew their loads into the warehouse section of the village to be processed. Beside her, Isabella eyed the looming walls before them.

“When people say ‘village’,” she said, “they usually don’t think of whatever it is you’ve built here. I thought you’d be dumping us in some rural hamlet, safely away from everyone else, but this is more like a heavily fortified town. I haven’t seen anything like this since I was a little girl.”

“The buildings inside are much larger than your average cottage,” Ludmila told them, “and the layout of the common area is quite spacious. Half of the village is for storage, but there are only around two hundred people living here right now. There’s enough living space for around two hundred and fifty, so, despite appearances, it would only be considered a large village anywhere else.”

They ascended the village approach, and the paved street opened up to provide a view of the market square after they made their way inside. Large pavilions had been raised, half-occupied by tables as preparations for the harvest celebrations were made. A number of the storefronts and main buildings, such as the temple and smithy, were still vacant, but the village still gave off the overall feel of being busy.

At the edge of the market square, Ludmila turned to address Moren.

“Thank you for taking the time out of this busy season to welcome your associates, Mr. Boer,” she said.

“Ah, it’s no problem, my lady,” he bobbed his head. “We’re well on schedule, so a few hours away doesn’t hurt much.”

“Will you be joining us for our discussion in the workshop?”

“Hmm…that’ll probably take a lot longer, and I shouldn’t be away from the job for too long. Thank you for the offer though.”

Moren removed his cap and bowed slightly before heading off towards his home.

“I’ll never figure out why that guy favoured farming in the end,” Isabella told Ludmila after he disappeared into a side lane. “He picked up magic pretty quick, too.”

“Some things just have a way of working out in the greater scheme of things,” Ludmila said musingly. “If he had not done so, he would not have ended up here to introduce you and your associates.”

“Meh. I don’t much like the idea that I’m just a pawn moving around for the sake of some bigger plan.”

Ludmila supposed that someone who was trying to permanently escape death’s clutches would feel that way. She led the pair into the entrance of the lichtower, where there were two women seated along a row of chairs in the lobby, awaiting service. Another was speaking to the Elder Lich at the desk. Isabella turned to join the queue as well. Ludmila grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

“T-that one works here, right…right?” She asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Yes, but you are not to interfere with the work of my administrative staff,” Ludmila told her. “If there is one way to get on their bad side, it would be by interfering with their duties.”

They went up the spiral stairs running up the inside of the tower to the second floor, and she paused in front of the door.

“Your workspace is the northern wing of the second floor,” she told the two mages, “while your office and residences are on the third, right above them. The southern wing of this floor is reserved for the village archives – it shouldn’t require saying, but entry is prohibited to all but security and administrative staff.”

Ludmila directed the Death Knight to drop off their luggage above before heading into the corridor. The smell of fresh pine from the timber frames of the building still suffused the air, and the light from the window at the end of the corridor reflected off of the polished, granite floors. She withdrew a key from her bag and unlocked the door to the north wing.

The interior was bare of furnishings or any equipment that might be required, giving the space a cavernous feeling. The wing itself was twenty metres wide and twice as long, with tall, iron-barred windows spaced all along the walls. Isabella and Chandler followed her inside, pulling their cowls back. They slowly paced about, looking around with wide eyes.

“A-all of this is for us?” Isabella’s voice echoed off of the stone.

“It is.”

“This would cost a fortune in the city,” Isabella returned from wandering around. “Why? Why are you giving us this much?”

“The lichtower was originally designed this way,” Ludmila told her. “The wings were intended to house future government facilities, and a workshop for your craft happened to become one of them. Besides, this isn’t the city: I have a lot of space and little in the way of industry at the moment.”

“Then…what is it that you have in mind for us, my lady?”

Were it a month previous, her heart would have wavered over what she would tell them next. With her continuing studies on the matter, however, she was able to firmly settle herself on the direction that she wished to take. The solidifying sense of what revenues the harvest would bring in made her realize that it would most likely be her best – and possibly only – window of opportunity to do so.

“A handful of things,” Ludmila said. “The first has to do with the proposal that you and your associates made before coming here. Everything in this demesne is mundane, and I intend to change that. These village workshops will produce magic items primarily for civilian use: from lighting to storage to all manner of conveniences that you might find in a cosmopolitan city. Once you’ve fulfilled local demand, you will produce exports for the harbour and the river trade.”

“What about equipment and materials?” Isabella crossed her arms, and her eyes turned sharp, “Enchanting doesn’t just require the enchanter. Also, we most likely don’t have the spells for everything that the people might want to use.”

“I thought it best to wait for your arrival before ordering anything in – my knowledge of enchanting is essentially nonexistent, so your personal consultation would be much appreciated. If any costs accompany what you require to learn spells for enchanting, I will finance them as well.”

“So this workshop isn’t a private business?” Isabella turned to look around again.

“Correct,” Ludmila nodded. “Rather than a private business holding tenancy, you and any of your associates who come to work here will be employees of an industry fully owned by House Zahradnik. Your accounting will be submitted to the Elder Lich here, to be delivered to me.”

“The living space above is provided by you, as well?”

“Medical treatment, too – though it’s limited to tinctures and potions until some priests move in…unless you don’t mind healing from Demihuman mystics.”

“Will we receive a wage in addition to what you’re providing?”

“Of course,” Ludmila said. “The current schedule of wages is based on what sort of work you are doing, and the mana costs associated with your tasks. It is something of an experimental concept at the moment, but it should be competitive to what you would earn in other nations once everything else is factored in.”

“Then how about research costs?” Isabella asked, “This sort of thing is usually a side job for us…”

“If you can justify its applications,” Ludmila answered, “I’ll be more than happy to consider it. Anything else will be out of your own pocket, and on your own time. You are free to pursue what you wish, as long as it does not run afoul of the law.”

“I see…you said that there were a handful of things?”

“There are two more, major responsibilities that will be a part of your job, yes. Standardized education is being introduced to my demesne. Reading, writing and simple mathematics will be taught by someone else, but I am also including basic familiarity with magic and the control of the Undead summons used as labour, which the employees of this workshop will be responsible for.”

“Wait a minute – you want us to teach classes? When Moren mentioned it, I thought he was referring to Apprentices.”

“That would be the next part,” Ludmila told her. “Out of the classes you instruct, those with aptitude for magic that express an interest in formal studies will be taken as Apprentices. The first few groups might be a bit large but, ideally, each employee of the workshop will have two or three apprentices at any given time. With four employees per village workshop, it should come out to about twenty percent of every generation being educated as an Apprentice. Once the Temples start being staffed, religious education will be included as well, and another ten percent of each class at minimum will be trained as Acolytes.”

Isabella crossed her arms as Ludmila spoke and, by the end, she was staring up at the ceiling.

“I know we made a case for a more favourable distribution of magic casters,” she said after looking back down, “but I don’t think anyone actually believed that it could happen. So around one in three of your subjects will be a magic caster of some sort, and everyone will be familiar with magic in general.”

“I thought that part of your proposal was particularly important,” Ludmila said. “We are the Sorcerous Kingdom, after all – having our population illiterate and ignorant of magic wouldn’t really reflect that very well. Unlike the well-developed portions of this duchy, my demesne has a small population where such a change in demographics can be handily achieved at an affordable cost.”

“I suppose that makes sense. I’m not sure if the numbers will work out as nicely as you want, but these Apprentices are to receive a general magic education?”

“Yes – it will be your responsibility to show them the world that magic offers, after which they will decide on the course they will pursue. In the future, we might be able to have specialized instructors for the role, but you and your associates are all we have for the time being. I’m putting a great deal of trust in you.”

Isabella pursed her lips in thought, and Ludmila quietly awaited her response. She roughly knew what she wanted to achieve in terms of the overall direction of her fief, but local information was nonexistent when it came to this sort of magical education. According to the materials from the Magician Guild, apprenticeships for mages were either funded by the Apprentice – who would pursue their studies at their own pace – or done on the job, where the Apprentice’s general vocation would already be decided.

The process was informal and not standardized in any overarching way: in practical terms, it was no different than how a tailor, blacksmith or woodsman treated their own apprentices. Like these other industries, apprenticeships were also dependent on the demands of the market. Ludmila could not rely on these reactive behaviours to provide what she required, else she would be constantly behind her forecasted needs.

“I feel like all of our research time just disappeared,” Isabella mumbled.

“How did you operate before coming here?” Ludmila was curious.

“Well, like I said, creating magic items was a side job. I’d do as much as I needed to pay for everything, then all of my time went into research.”

“Does your research require mana?”

“Only when testing out theories and collecting data, I guess.”

“Then how long does it take to enchant something?”

“It’s mostly waiting for mana and shipments of materials to come in, but enchanting has its own research as well – especially if you want us to be doing all that you’ve outlined.”

“What about your apprentices?”

“Um…what about them?”

“They can’t help in some way?”

“Maybe with organizing reagents to be prepared and some menial chores around the workshop,” Isabella explained, “but enchanting isn’t like some sort of production line. People can’t just drop in and help you carry stuff or work on bits and pieces to put together like some kinda physical labour. It’s the Enchanter that does the actual enchanting from start to finish. Apprentices will be able to start making their own magic items once they learn First Tier spells, but the rates of advancement are dependent on each Apprentice. Ultimately, however, you’re going to have a glut of First and Second Tier mages – so this rate for mana usage you’re planning on will have to factor in the Tier of magic being used.”

“I see…you’ll have to pardon my ignorance on the matter. What I’ve had to go on is fairly limited; the materials from the Magician Guild suggested as much, but I was hoping that methods might differ from place to place.”

“They might be by a bit,” Isabella told her, “but most of the difference in the production of magical items would come from the demands of the local markets. Broadly speaking, commonly seen utility goods such as lighting, long-term storage or water sources will be produced everywhere, using the same methods.”

Ludmila looked around the empty wing, pondering over what she had learned. The conduct of the Zurrernorn members wasn’t as bad as she had feared it would be so far – she had pictured them as some sort of rebellious, subversive group that would have to be wrangled into compliance from the start. Isabella was a bit outspoken and lacking in protocol, but appeared to be mostly accommodating of the ideas that she presented. Ludmila’s gaze rested on Chandler, who had been silent throughout the discussion.

“Is there a reason why you haven’t said anything this entire time, Chandler?” She asked him, “Surely you must have something to share.”

His thin lips worked silently, but he ultimately said nothing in reply. He looked down at the stone floor, sandy hair falling forward to cover his olive eyes.

“He was pretty chatty until we arrived at the harbour,” Isabella told her. “We met up at the Re-Estize border and he was pretty excited over everything. Hmm…he’s probably smitten by you? Maybe you’re just his ty–”

Chandler’s head snapped back up again, and he glared daggers at her.

“That, uh…that was just a joke, but I guess you have your reason now?” Isabella laughed weakly, “Well, don’t mind him too much – you just project a certain image that’s bound to be popular with men and women alike.”

“Maybe I should speak to my lady’s maid about that…”

“Why?” Isabella raised an eyebrow, “There’s nothing wrong with it. If anything, you should be using it to your advantage.”

Her stance reminded Ludmila of Liane, who would often offer similar commentary in regards to Florine’s appearance. Ludmila didn’t have the younger noblewoman’s generous figure, however, so Isabella’s statement felt more a barb.

“I am starting to think that merchants commonly see things along those lines.”

“Of course!” Isabella grinned, “If it sells, it sells, right?”

“What am I ‘selling’, exactly?”

“Hmm…that whole noble lady knight kinda deal. You got it down pretty good – I bet people stare at you wherever you go. It’s a strong strategy: pretty rare too, since it’s usually men running things in the countries around here.”

“It is not a ‘strategy’ that I’m going out of my way to employ,” Ludmila stated. “I’d rather be recognized through my work as an administrator.”

“Why not both?” Isabella raised her hands and shrugged, “No merchant ever goes ‘oh no, I have a good quality product, gotta make sure it has a poor image’. If something has a good image, a good reputation and good quality, that just drives it’s value up in the eyes of your clientele.”

“I am not some sort of product.”

“You might not see it that way, my lady, but that’s just how it works. It’s strange, really: you’ve been tossing all these nice proposals out, and even the feel of your demesne gives that same, strong impression. Yet, for all that you’re doing here, you’re not pushing for all of the gains you can get. A noble’d normally exploit your advantage for all it’s worth – prestige and influence and all that.”

Ludmila frowned, dissatisfaction rising in her throat. She didn’t think her family had ever cared for such things. Being considered a trustworthy and reliable house was good enough, and taking advantage of their reputation felt like it would cheapen it.

“Everything being done to develop my demesne is not driven by that sort of self-centred motivation,” she told Isabella. “I am ensuring that my demesne and its people thrive, and that His Majesty’s mandates are carried out. They are duties to land and liege that I carry out willingly as a noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“No kidding?” Isabella arched an eyebrow, “Well, if it’s all natural, then you don’t have to worry about keeping up an act. A few ‘enhancements’ to your image and more than a few people will be flinging themselves on the street in front of you, praying that you’ll step on ‘em.”

Ludmila fought to keep the appalled expression off of her face – and the urge to shake the woman violently.

“We have digressed quite a bit here,” she cleared her throat and looked between them. “Were there any questions about what we went over?”

“We’ll have to figure out how to do the teaching bit. As for everything else…you sound pretty open-handed, but I’m sure there are budgetary restrictions?”

“The instructors coming in have been specially trained by someone in the capital,” Ludmila told her. “If you get together with them, you should be able to come up with something. As for the budget…you are correct: I do not have unlimited resources, but I do have plenty on hand. Any mundane furnishings can be produced locally – that includes anything you or your apprentices might need for the dormitory upstairs. Structural changes to the wing can be accomplished through the same means.”

Ludmila scanned the empty room, trying to imagine what it would eventually contain. There were diagrams and descriptions in her reference materials, of course, but she had no idea what went where, how they were operated, or how crucial anything really was.

“I am uncertain if there are any specially crafted tools that need to be imported,” she said, “but we can go through that after you put together a list of everything that you think you need. As for future research, I will have to weigh the benefits of each proposal and decide which ones should be prioritized. Not only will material resources be limited, but we will not have so many magic casters available that we can pursue every avenue at once.”

“I see,” Isabella turned around to look across the empty workshop once more. “I was wondering what you wanted with so many magic casters…could it be that you’re trying to turn this fief into a centre for magic?”

“It is one of several things I have planned,” Ludmila smiled slightly at her conclusion. “Re-Estize is absent of any national institutions when it comes to arcane magic, so this duchy has inherited the same problem. As you can imagine, the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Undead do not have much of a need for most of the magical items that this workshop will be turning out, but its living citizens would certainly appreciate them. This being the case, I thought it would be a good place to start.”

Isabella turned back to her again, face an unreadable mask. Ludmila wasn’t sure why she was suddenly concealing her reaction: she thought that it was exactly what they asked for.

“Like other nations with valuable institutions,” Ludmila pressed on, “the Sorcerous Kingdom has strict laws and regulations regarding the protection and development of its assets. Warden’s Vale is not too distant from the capital, but it is also isolated by nature, making movement easy to regulate. It will be an ideal location to raise an institute for magic once the appropriate security measures are made. The creation of magical items will be but one branch of what I intend; the knowledge and expertise that you and your associates bring will be welcome as well.”

Isabella and Chandler silently exchanged glances after she finished speaking.

“Was there something disagreeable in my proposal?” Ludmila couldn’t help but ask.

“No,” Isabella answered quickly. “Not on a broad level, anyways. The specific details will obviously need to be hammered out over time, but things have turned out to be the opposite of what we initially expected.”

“What were you expecting, exactly?”

“Considering that you were one, a noble of Re-Estize, basically. The majority of them are ignorant and dismissive of magic and magic casters. That’s why we ended up trying to sell you on the idea of magic items being necessary for a growing demesne: to appeal to a noble’s more…practical perspective. Instead, what we found was a…a…”

“A home,” Chandler’s eyes shone. “A place where our work is validated instead of shunned; where we can walk proudly in a place where all of the arcane arts can grow and thrive. You are a visionary, my lady: mages from around the world will flock to your banner.”

Isabella frowned over at him, and waved a hand experimentally in front of his face. His sparkly-eyed look remained unchanged.

“I’m not as much of a sap as this guy here,” Isabella gave Ludmila a lopsided smile, “but he has the gist of it. If you’re building what I think you’re building, you’ll have a lot of mages coming your way eventually…as long as you stop trying to suppress the image that comes with you and your fief.”

The last line was delivered with a mischievous wink, and Ludmila cringed inside.

“It is my hope that mages will be drawn by what we build here,” Ludmila said. “But it is something that will be long in the making, and one of many projects that will take generations to establish. I just need to carry it as far as I can in the time that I have.”

“Or you could ask your liege to turn you into a Vampire, then you can just oversee the entire thing yourself.”

Ludmila wanted to sigh. Why couldn’t people be satisfied with a natural lifespan? Given Isabella’s strong feelings on the matter or lichdom, debating the idea with her seemed utterly futile.

“If it is Lord Surshana’s will,” Ludmila told her, “then it is what it is.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 18

Chapter 18

“What’s this?” Lady Shalltear asked.

In the hall of her manor, Ludmila presented the crystal decanter, it’s crimson content unchanged from when she had filled it.

“A gift, my lady,” she answered. “I’m uncertain if it’s appropriate or not, but I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

Lady Shalltear received the decanter in both hands with a bemused expression in her face. She removed the stopper and immediately looked back at her.

“This is yours…”

“You can tell?”

“Of course.”

Lady Shalltear held the decanter under her nose, and she closed her eyes. A faint flush appeared over her cheeks as she quietly inhaled. After a moment, she released her breath and her eyes opened again, crimson gaze glowing softly in the dim lightning.

“Whatever possessed you to do this?” She asked with a hint of a smile.

“It was back when I was formalizing the local laws for the Krkonoše,” Ludmila answered. “The Sorcerous Kingdom probably has more than a few predatory species with unique needs, and the thought crossed my mind that you were a member of one of them. You mentioned that, as Undead, you don’t require sustenance, but I wondered if you might be at least a bit curious. One thing led to another, and…anyways, the decanter is enchanted with preservation magic, and it maintains the temperature of its contents, as well. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t work but, then again, I’m not exactly an expert on this sort of thing…”

Her voice trailed off awkwardly. Delivering such an unexciting and long-winded explanation was decidedly not the best way to convey a gift.

Lady Shalltear raised a finger, and a thin, crimson filament rose out of the opening of the crystal container. It collected into a small sphere in the air between them.

“Itadakimasu.”

With a gesture, Lady Shalltear popped it into her mouth. Much like someone tasting wine, she appeared to roll the blood around on her tongue. Her crimson eyes grew bright, then dimmed, and then she swallowed. Her expression settled, gaze focused on nothing in particular. After several moments, she replaced the stopper, pressing the decanter to her breast.

“Was there anything wrong with it?” Ludmila finally dared to ask.

“The magic item appears to have kept its contents fresh and warm,” Lady Shalltear replied absently, “if that was your question.”

Lady Shalltear’s thoughtful expression returned, and the silence grew long between them.

“…do I really taste that bad?”

Lady Shalltear blinked and turned her gaze up at her curiously. She brought the crystal decanter up between them, slowly swirling the content within.

“Blood carries within it the essence of life,” the chime of her voice was quiet, yet clear. “When a Vampire takes the blood of her prey, she can taste everything that they are at that moment. The panic and rush of flight; grief and desperation; terror and despair – those are the usual flavours that we come to enjoy. We are predators who savour the thrill of the hunt, and the emotions associated with a successful pursuit are carried by the blood of our quarry. I personally prefer to stretch things out to develop the taste, if the situation allows for it.”

The container disappeared into Lady Shalltear’s inventory, and she came forward until mere centimetres remained between them.

“As you might be able to imagine,” she said lightly, “that’s not what your blood tasted like.”

“You have my apologies, my lady,” Ludmila said. “I’ve heard similar stories of how predatory species savour the taste of their prey – I suppose I should have considered it from that angle as well.”

“I’m not saying that it’s bad,” Lady Shalltear’s eyes glimmered in amusement. “Just different. I’ve never actually had the like before, and I suspect that blood with these particular qualities is exceedingly rare to obtain.”

Her liege looked up at her, and the glimmer in her eyes transformed into a coquettish smile.

“And you’re right – I was very curious. I will treasure your gift, Ludmila.”

“I’m pleased to be able to provide something of value to you, my lady,” Ludmila said. “Though you should probably enjoy it at your leisure. Humans do eventually recover from blood loss, so I can provide you with more every once in a while.”

Lady Shalltear let out a short laugh, stepping away lightly.

“I suppose that sort of reasoning shouldn’t come as a surprise at this point, coming from you. Did you have any difficulties doing this?”

Ludmila glanced to the side, where Aemilia was quietly attending to them. She still paled whenever Ludmila mentioned it, and clearly shied away at the sight of blood. Well, Human blood, at least.

“It required a couple of attempts,” Ludmila said. “The first time, I thought I could just restore the lost blood using a healing potion.”

“I’m sure it just mysteriously vanished right in front of your face.”

“You know about this?”

“I do,” Lady Shalltear nodded. “It was the result of some research from a while ago. Detached portions of the body disappear when healing magic is cast on the injured target, so those portions have to be rendered into some other product so that the magic doesn’t recognize it. It’s of no help to us since I take my blood fresh.”

“I see…I suppose this result was from some sort of study with livestock?” Ludmila pondered the information, “It might be a bit cruel, depending on what is harvested and the methods used, but it’s probably better than slaughtering living things that take years to raise. It would be more cost effective, as well, especially if something highly valuable is derived.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right!” Lady Shalltear smiled and nodded, “All sorts of materials can be harvested and processed, and healing spells can restore everything! Do you have plans to implement this concept in any form?”

“I’m experiencing a shortage of temple staff for the Human population at the moment,” she replied. “The majority of the Krkonoše are Druids, but they prefer to live in their alpine isolation. The Lizardmen will also be bringing their own mystics, but I’m uncertain if they’ll have mana to spare outside of servicing their own communities. Exploring this application for healing magic will need to wait until we’re in a more comfortable situation with local priests, or secure a cost-effective source of magic items.”

“Well, I’ll certainly be looking forward to that,” Lady Shalltear told her. “You know, I was actually thinking of doing that with the Frost Dragons. The two that were killed back then yielded a wealth of materials.”

“Is that so? I’m uncertain if you’ll be able to find any willing participants, though I suppose it would depend on what you’re planning to harvest from them. If you do, however, I’m sure that some of the local merchants would pay handsomely for that sort of thing. The revenues generated could go into improving the transportation network, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. We’re still far too busy to experiment with things at the moment, and the Dragons are still getting settled into their routines. We’ll have to revisit the idea some time later. Shall we get going?”

“Of course, my lady.”

They left the manor hall of Warden’s Vale, strolling down the village lane. Men and women stopped to silently pay their respects to them – or stare at Lady Shalltear. Ludmila was certain the latter was more likely, as it was the first time they had probably seen her liege. The mid-morning sun glared down at them from the clear skies, and Lady Shalltear brought out her parasol.

“Is it true that Vampires are weak to sunlight, my lady?”

“Low level Vampire Spawn are severely hampered by sunlight,” Lady Shalltear replied. “Once one gets to around the level of my Vampire Brides, it’s just a reflexive annoyance, at worst.”

Lady Shalltear twirled her parasol as they made their way down the hill and over the bridge, stopping mid-way to look north over the floodplain. The waters had receded considerably with the continued dry weather, and Chief Esess grew alarmed at the trend. Lord Mare’s suggestion for the valley floor was just the thing that everyone appeared to need, assuming that it would work out as well as was hoped.

“Lady Zahradnik?” Lady Shalltear’s voice drew her out of her thoughts.

“Apologies, my lady,” she replied. “I was just reviewing some major changes that were on the way.”

“Is that so? I thought you might have become anemic after losing all of that blood. Speaking of which, you should let me do it next time: there would be less mess and fuss.”

“How would that work, my lady?”

“The same way as you observed earlier,” Lady Shalltear told her. “I can just draw the blood welling out of a cut and send it over into the decanter.”

“I see…I thought that you’d just bite me.”

“As much as I would like to,” her liege’s lip twitched upwards, “that wouldn’t be very wise. The necrotic curse that I inflict on living beings prevents natural and magical recovery, so you wouldn’t be able to heal until it is addressed. Taking your blood directly would also tempt me in various ways, so I might get just a bit carried away, despite my intentions.”

Ludmila stared out across the landscape again. Lady Shalltear’s words reminded her of a point that had been brought up not too long ago.

“Don’t tell me I’ve finally managed to frighten you with something,” her liege’s voice rose to tease her.

“My convictions remain unchanged from back then, my lady,” Ludmila replied. “I am yours, for as long as you would have me. However, if you wanted to do something to me, you could have at any point before now…that came up in a discussion recently, actually.”

“What has?”

“A couple of those members of Zurrernorn that we discussed some time ago arrived about midway through the harvest,” she said. “One of the topics broached was their envy over how I could request to be turned into a Vampire at any time. That I could have immortality: free of the cage they believe imposed upon them by life.”

Lady Shalltear’s fingers wrapped lightly around Ludmila’s elbow, and she tilted her parasol slightly to come closer.

“Is this something you desire, Ludmila?” Her silvery voice took on a silken quality.

“I hadn’t considered it before that point, my lady.”

“But you have now, yes?”

“Yes, my lady,” she swallowed. “In the end, I told them that I would rather face death by the grace of Lord Surshana. I mean no offense by this, of course.”

Lady Shalltear leaned her head against Ludmila’s arm.

“I’m pleased that you aren’t a fool,” she said.

“A fool?”

“Yes. What they suggested to you was foolish to the extreme – the words of those with a shallow understanding of what it means to undergo such a transformation. They only consider it as a shortcut to immortality, without any regard for the consequences.”

Lady Shalltear started walking towards the far side of the bridge, drawing Ludmila along with her. They were halfway up the slope to the terraces before she spoke again.

“If you were someone that the Sorcerous Kingdom valued solely for your personal martial strength, then perhaps it would be a good idea to turn you. Becoming a Vampire does make you far stronger, after all. Your value – including what stems from the relationship we now enjoy – will be adversely affected as a result of being turned.”

As they continued to walk along, a pair of Death Knights carrying a tree trunk came down the road in the opposite direction. Their gazes followed them briefly in passing.

“Do you understand what it means to be a pet, Lady Zahradnik?” Lady Shalltear asked her, “A thrall?”

Ludmila shook her head in response.

“I imagine that you consider yourself a loyal vassal,” Lady Shalltear said, “and I believe that most Humans would consider you extraordinarily so. This loyalty, however, is fundamentally different from the relationship between a mistress and their thralls, pets or summons. I’m fairly certain that you’ve already recognized this in your interactions with His Majesty’s Undead servitors.”

“I have recognized hints to those behaviours, yes,” Ludmila nodded. “But I find that, as long as everything is done in accordance with His Majesty’s will, any disagreements that arise are more along the line of debates over the methods and thinking we employ to accomplish our tasks.”

“You have a high degree of empathy – even for His Majesty’s servitors – and your flexibility and willingness to accommodate others has earned you remarkable results when it comes to their integration. I believe this has heavily skewed your views on their nature, so I shall explain how things actually are.”

Lady Shalltear paused for a moment, expression fixed in thought.

“As one of my Vampire thralls,” she said, “you may perhaps feel that you’re still yourself. The truth, however, is that you will be compelled to serve, obey and please me in any manner possible. At the thought of your mistress, all reason will fly away, all of your strength and intellect will be focused into a single-minded drive to fulfill my desires. You will leap into any hazard and commit any deed in my name, without question or consideration for yourself or anyone else. Now, does that sound like the behaviour of Ludmila Zahradnik?”

“No, my lady,” Ludmila answered. “While I will strive to serve you faithfully, I would still consider the meaning and consequences of my actions on a much larger scale. I believe that this, too, is an important part of being a loyal vassal – to be mindful of how my liege may be affected by my service. If I perceive that there are flaws or improvements in your directives, I will bring them to your attention.”

“Indeed,” Lady Shalltear said, “So you should understand why I consider it a foolish move, in your case. To turn you would be to throw away the very reason that you exist as my vassal, for it will destroy who you are. You will be incapable of providing me honest counsel, because you will, from that point onwards, be unable to oppose your mistress. Every step of development in your demesne; all of your policies, decisions and actions would be in consideration of my personal preferences: in deference to my every taste and whim. You would become nothing more than a slightly different sort of Vampire Bride, to be employed for lesser tasks, or used for my own pleasure.”

Though Lady Shalltear spoke as if it were an undesirable thing, her grip on Ludmila’s elbow tightened. Her liege’s crimson eyes shone brightly, even in the daylight, and her tongue slowly ran over her lips. Her true appearance nearly slavered at her words: long tongue rasping over thousands of needle-sharp teeth.

Lady Shalltear did not miss Ludmila’s look.

“Don’t let my expression fool you,” she smiled slightly. “Despite how tantalizing the prospect is to my…carnal nature, it’s not something I would rationally desire for in our current circumstances.”

“Not long after I encountered the Krkonoše,” Ludmila said, “one of their Volkhv mentioned that Vampires can release their thralls. They’ve only studied things from a distance, however, so I’m uncertain whether it’s true or not.”

“It’s not something I’ve ever attempted, to be honest,” Lady Shalltear said. “There is a limit to the number of powerful vassals I can turn, and I suppose if I reach that limit, any extras would run around free…well, it’s something I would have to ask His Majesty’s permission to attempt, and I’m unwilling to lose you over an experiment.”

She drew closer to lean on Ludmila’s arm again as they walked along.

“For the moment,” she smiled, “we shall just have to settle for something like this. Your value lies far beyond simply being my plaything, and you’ve already proven your worth many times over.”

“They brought that idea up as well,” Ludmila faced forward again. “That a nation like the Sorcerous Kingdom would strive to retain valuable talent through similar means.”

“We do have the means,” Lady Shalltear told her, “but the nature of the candidate warrants careful thought. There are many options that fit Humans of various dispositions, but you are quite the difficult one to pin down. We could transform an evil individual into a Demon or the opposite sort into an Angel, but I figured the best fit for you would be some sort of plant.”

“A plant?”

Ludmila imagined herself buried waist high in an earthenware pot, sitting on a windowsill somewhere doing paperwork. Would she be green in colour and sprout blossoms every spring? Maybe she would bear fruit, creating thousands of seedlings every year. It would certainly resolve her future issues with finding a consort.

“Yes,” Lady Shalltear nodded, “a plant Heteromorph of some kind. At first I thought: ‘maybe a construct like an automaton, or a golem’, but I decided that it didn’t quite fit. There’s the issue of your class build as well – you may have some job classes that specifically require your being a Human, and that would end up in an awful mess. Also, now that I’ve had a taste of you, the idea of a plant Heteromorph has lost the little lustre it had. Despite what people might think, Vampires have no particular preference for tomato juice or the like.”

“…I didn’t realize that there was so much to consider, my lady, or that you had at all.”

“Well, those people that you spoke to did have a point there,” Lady Shalltear said. “Any extraordinarily useful and loyal individuals will, of course, merit consideration. In the end, the requirements involved in this sort of transformation means that it would be at your discretion, but I would be quite disappointed if you refused.”

They continued onwards up the road to the village, through the fields of stubble. Already, the Farmers were turning the soil and preparing to sow the autumn crops. They would be planting oats again for this season, and Ludmila wondered how the duchy’s overall harvest would affect her revenues for the next harvest.

Lady Shalltear had arranged today’s meeting in order to experiment with something in regards to shipping the harvest. Ludmila had not been able to secure a shipwright for new vessels, so she was in dire straits when it came to her cargo capacity. Clara had promised to purchase her exports – she was already monopolizing all of the stone and timber shipped out of Warden’s Vale – and Ludmila felt utterly ashamed at her rate of delivery.

Thoughts of Clara made her realize that her friend was most likely the prime candidate for transformation into some sort of immortal being. What she had accomplished thus far outstripped every other noble in the duchy combined, and it was unlikely that the Sorcerous Kingdom would let her die of old age if they could help it.

Would Clara accept their proposal? If so, Ludmila decided she would as well, if only to keep her closest friend company…but how would their gods feel about that? Would they lose their divine favour? Would they even have any business promoting the welfare of Humanity as non-Humans? Loyalty and duty; friendship and faith…everything important to her made an otherwise straightforward path difficult to navigate.

“That’s quite the glower you have on your face.”

She rearranged her expression at the sound of Lady Shalltear’s voice.

“This whole idea about a future as some sort of immortal being is giving me quite a lot to consider, my lady.”

“Is that so? Well, in that case, I look forward to your favourable response should the time come.”

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Ludmila considered showing Lady Shalltear around the now-completed farming village but, after imagining a pair of crazed Zurrernorn members jumping out of the lichtower to do some unspeakably shameful thing to her liege, she decided against it.

They walked up the ramp to the warehouse section, making their way through the gatehouse and to the rows of grain silos waiting to be emptied. The straw from the harvest had been baled and stored away, and the chaff swept up for future use as well – more commodities that she had no cargo capacity for.

Both chaff and straw could be used as feed, and there were also many other uses for straw, but there was still simply too much that would build up until her shipping problems were alleviated. Timber and stone – also piling up faster than she could ship out – were far too valuable of an export in the duchy at this point, so everything else just collected endlessly. Timber and stone production would fall drastically after all of her planned clearing was done, but she suspected that something else would just end up taking up her scarce cargo space.

As time went on, it seemed that problems just had the tendency to be replaced by other problems. Her production issues were slowly being addressed, leading to storage and transportation problems. The boons presented by the Sorcerous Kingdom had clear advantages over past methods, but properly harnessing all that it offered was an ongoing struggle. She would probably have to rebuild the old bridge sooner rather than later, but it would still have to wait until the farming strip was fully cleared.

She checked around for anyone else in the storage area, but it appeared that they had shown up early. Clara was supposed to arrive by Gate, along with Lady Pestonya. The warehouse section was mostly empty, save for the Undead guarding the vicinity. Over the western wall drifted the sounds of the feast day festivities.

“How are things with the aerial transportation network, my lady?” Ludmila asked as they continued to wait.

“Uneventful,” Lady Shalltear replied. “Which is good in the sense that everything is operating according to schedule, but rather lacking in any excitement.”

“So the rumors of those Frost Giants haven’t actually turned out to be true?”

“Cocytus has reinforced the mountain roads,” Lady Shalltear told her, “and I’ve reorganized our deliveries to be less susceptible to singular attempts at destroying them. So far, there hasn’t been any significant change on their end, according to our observers. Despite their reputation as savage raiders, they appear to be quite organized when presented with a tangible threat. It will be interesting to see what they come up with, should they move at all.”

“I understand the desire for the Adventurer Guild to make their effort first,” Ludmila said, “but is it wise to be so passive? It feels like the Frost Giants are being given free opportunities to act throughout this wait.”

“It might seem that way,” Lady Shalltear told her, “but we aren’t allowing anything of the sort. Cocytus has taken command of the forces in the region, as a part of his ongoing desire to raise an official army for the Sorcerous Kingdom. Since these Frost Giants are stronger than most of our other neighbors, he’s been using this whole affair as an opportunity to see what sort of tactics they try to employ, and figure out how to defend against them…you have that look on your face again.”

Ludmila furrowed her brow, trying to figure out what ‘that look’ was with little success.

“Which look might that be, my lady?”

“The one that always appears when you’ve latched onto some crucial idea.”

“Do I truly have such a look?” Ludmila asked.

“You do,” Lady Shalltear answered. “It’s not very noticeable, but I’ve figured out quite a bit about you. So…what is it?”

“Is there still a shortfall of individuals capable of performing conventional reconnaissance in the Sorcerous Kingdom’s forces?”

“Not to the point where we’re incapable of defending ourselves,” Lady Shalltear said, “but it is an area of weakness that is on the list of ongoing concerns. Our foremost duty is to see to the defence of His Majesty’s realm, so the possibility of even miniscule damage being inflicted to his holdings is an unforgivable state of affairs if we possess the means to address it.”

“I’ve heard that Lord Cocytus is trying to correct some of those weaknesses by establishing this army and training the Death-series servitors for various roles.”

“That is the general idea, yes…why do you ask?”

“Is this actually possible?” Ludmila glanced towards Lady Shalltear, “I understand that they possess a certain degree of intelligence and are capable of being trained to do various things, but I also know that they have some hard limitations in terms of their raw capabilities. I’ve only noticed things that I’m personally familiar with, yet there are dozens of weaknesses that cannot be addressed through training due to these hard limits.”

“What are you proposing, exactly?”

“Nothing concrete, so far,” Ludmila replied, “but I will be starting to raise my own Rangers soon. They’ll be used to help eliminate my own fief’s weaknesses in local defence, and I was wondering if Lord Cocytus would be interested in something along those lines as well.”

“Cocytus would be interested in anything that might improve his new army,” Lady Shalltear smirked. “If you wanted my personal opinion on how relevant they would be, it would depend on how strong you could make them. If they are good enough to track and identify the majority of potential intruders along the border, then they would easily find a place in the realm’s security forces. Beyond roles of a similar nature, however, their use would be negligible compared to what we can simply bury our enemies with.”

“That’s all that I was considering them for, currently. I was just wondering if there was a place for it in the realm as a whole. I’ll have to see what results I can come up with before proposing the idea to Lord Cocytus.”

Lady Shalltear turned to look up at her, brow furrowed. Her parasol vanished, and she folded her arms.

“I don’t understand why you continue to take this sort of approach.”

“I’m uncertain of your meaning, my lady.”

Her liege released a tiny sigh.

“Despite all of the thinking that you do,” she told her, “you tend to rely on your intuition first. Has it ever led you astray? In a catastrophically bad sort of way.”

“I have come to some wrong conclusions, in the past.”

“Hmm…too far,” Lady Shalltear said. “What I’m referring to are your initial hunches; instincts – have they ever pointed you in the wrong direction?”

Ludmila remained silent as she pondered the question.

“There is such a thing as thinking too much,” Lady Shalltear told her, “and I believe that it’s crippling you, in some ways.”

“Thoughtlessly following one’s intuition and instincts is bound to lead to trouble, eventually.”

“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t think at all,” Lady Shalltear said. “Lord Peroroncino knows that I’ve been a bit too hasty with my own intuition at times but, as someone who also relies on it, I’m saying that you should learn to trust your own. It might seem a nonsensical risk to those who only value well-defined logic and reasoning, but you will probably find it more productive than miring yourself in too much thought.”

There was a lull in the wind, and the sound of the villagers celebrating rose over the western wall. Ludmila reflexively glanced up at the noise.

“This has been the case so far, yes?” Lady Shalltear told her, “You’ve consulted with me on a great many things, and I’ve seen the results of your work. Your most prominent achievements have come to pass because you’ve been placed in situations where you do not have the luxury of lengthy planning, or you must willingly dive into what you consider unknown territory. Instinct and intuition correctly guide you towards favourable results, before any rational thought can be applied. It is one of your most excellent qualities, and I believe that you should rely on it more.”

It occurred to Ludmila that Lady Shalltear’s observation was strangely accurate. The most significant outcomes in the time since they had met did not hinge on careful planning or cunning calculation. In nearly everything that mattered, she had either been thrown into the fire and relied on her convictions to arrive at a solution, or meaningful results had been achieved without even realizing that she had been naturally working towards them. Rational methods had their place but, more often than not, they were employed to explore what her intuition had first pointed out.

“You’re probably correct, my lady,” Ludmila admitted. “I will say that actively trying to do things that way would be quite hard for me, however.”

“I suppose it’s just something that you’ll need to learn how to embrace. You are possessed of a character that strives for order, yet you thrive in chaos: skillfully navigating seas of uncertainty to achieve your objectives. If you are to think long and hard about anything, you should be considering what this means.”

The portal of a Gate spell appeared before them, and Clara stepped out. Adorned in a long summer dress of her customary house colours, she smiled brilliantly in the midday sun when her gaze found Ludmila and Lady Shalltear. Behind her, Lady Pestonya appeared, and the portal silently closed.

They exchanged their greetings, and Lady Shalltear started discussing something quietly with Lady Pestonya. Clara joined Ludmila where she stood behind Lady Shalltear, bumping up against Ludmila playfully.

“I’ve finally arrived at the mysterious Warden’s Vale,” Clara said with a giddy air about her. “I lost hours of sleep last night thinking about it.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Ludmila replied. “You have a far more fabulous place at home.”

“Hmph,” Clara pouted, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Please don’t judge…

Ludmila was fairly certain that she could show Clara around the village without feeling ashamed about it, but, beyond that, her demesne was still the next closest thing to wilderness. With the colossal amount of work going on in Corelyn County, she felt that there was nothing truly worth showing off in her own demesne by comparison.

Lady Shalltear and Lady Pestonya completed their exchange, and they turned to face them.

“We’re ready when you are,” Lady Shalltear told Ludmila.

“What was it that you had planned, my lady?” She asked.

“It’s fairly straightforward,” Lady Shalltear answered. “We’ll be sending your grain through a Gate leading to the storage space in Corelyn Harbour. All I need to know is which ones need to be emptied.”

“You’ll be delivering all of it, my lady?” Ludmila’s mind froze.

“All that’s due to be delivered, yes.”

Ludmila exchanged a look with Clara, who only smiled in return. Had she asked for this? She did have an entire county to feed…

Her mind worked rapidly, trying to reorganize her development schedule in the event that she had not inexplicably entered into some sort of dream.

“Is that really alright, my lady?” Ludmila said, “Your mana is precious…”

“That’s why I’ve had Pestonya come along,” Lady Shalltear told her, “we’ll balance out the mana between us and see what half of our capacity will deliver…based on past results with other things, it should be more than enough.”

“In that case,” Ludmila looked at Clara again. “The anomaly you pointed out happened.”

“How far off were the numbers?” Clara asked.

“It was exactly as you predicted,” Ludmila answered.

“I knew it,” Clara said. “You picked a crop that isn’t commonly grown in the lowlands, after all…”

“What are you two talking about?” Lady Shalltear leaned in between them.

“It’s a discrepancy between the expectations outlined in the administration’s almanacs and what the actual results should be, my lady,” Clara explained. “I pointed it out to Lady Albedo a few months ago, but she wanted solid proof for my claim under the new systems. Ludmila planted the earliest crops, so now we have a sample of the evidence that the Prime Minister asked for.”

“So is this a good thing, or bad thing?” Lady Shalltear asked, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“I noticed that the information in the almanac was…sterile,” Clara said, “for lack of a better way to put it. Considering the fact that it was presented under the assumption that Undead labour would be used, I suspected that the projections were put together as the results of a controlled experiment. Elder Liches directing the cultivation of crops in the region, or something along those lines…”

“That’s not exactly what it was, but you’re fairly close – you picked that up just from reading a string of numbers on an almanac?”

“It stuck out quite a bit to me, my lady,” Clara said. “I’m certain other members of the nobility have noticed as well, but they’re still stepping lightly under the new administration. The point here being that the crops in the projections provided by the almanac were not grown by Farmers, but casters of some sort. This is a bit of an oversimplification, but crops managed by professional Farmers produce more.”

“Something like a class bonus?” Lady Pestonya asked.

“If we were to use that style of terminology, yes,” Clara answered. “Loosely speaking, Farmers with some experience actually harvest five percent more produce. This is a general bonus, not counting any specializations. The tenants of my own demesne are specialized in their respective Riverland crops, so they produce even more. Since oats are not commonly grown in this region, I was able to reliably predict that this five percent bonus to the harvest would occur for Ludmila’s summer crops.”

“How in the world did you figure all that out in the first place?” Lady Shalltear made a face.

“As long as one keeps thoroughly accurate records, they’ll start to see some oddities between various tenants. Due to the ideal conditions of the Riverlands, House Corelyn’s yield figures have always been much more reliable than most. With a bit of research, the existence of this ‘bonus’ becomes readily apparent.”

“These Farmers used Undead labour,” Lady Pestonya noted, “shouldn’t that make a difference?”

“No, my lady,” Clara said. “It doesn’t matter what kind of draft animals you use, nor how experienced your farmhands are. You may consider these Undead labourers along those same terms.”

“This is excellent news, then!” Lady Shalltear smiled, “A pleasant surprise, to be certain. So how much should we be moving?”

“102,600 bushels, my lady,” Ludmila said. “Ten of these filled silos.”

“Each destination should have enough volume for five of these,” Clara added.

They walked up to the first in the long row of raised silos, each ten metres in diameter and four metres high. Lady Shalltear called over the Death Knight standing at the closest gatehouse, sending it to the spout of the first silo.

“「Gate」.”

The familiar portal of the Gate spell appeared, but not in the usual way. This time, it was opened horizontally below the spout of the grain silo. Ludmila shook her head – it was an obvious application of the spell, in hindsight.

Lady Shalltear nodded to the Death Knight, who pulled the lever to open the spout. The long stream of oats poured out directly into the portal. Ludmila could only stare as 160 tonnes of grain was dumped straight into its destination in Corelyn County within minutes. The process continued on with the next silo.

“Were you running low on grain?” Ludmila asked Clara, “This entire shipment is enough to feed your entire demesne for just over a month.”

“A bit over five weeks, yes,” Clara answered. “We’re not starving, but I wanted to have a good surplus before the rest of the duchy starts moving food around. With so many new things happening at once, you never know what sort of disruptions might occur. Lady Shalltear also has a vested interest in getting things moved over – the faster your goods are delivered, the faster you get paid and the faster she gets your taxes, yes?”

Clara held up a folded sheet of paper between her fingers – a copy of a transaction from the Merchant Guild. Ludmila took the paper and opened it, then abruptly folded it again.

“This is a silly number,” Ludmila said. “I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Well, they do match your own projections,” Clara replied, “Your plans go far beyond just that, so you’d better become accustomed to it. I don’t know how commodity prices will fare by winter, but I’m certain this is your best chance to get anything done. I’ll be looking forward to your results as well.”

It occurred to Ludmila that the true reason Clara had convinced Lady Shalltear to expedite the delivery of grain was so that their exchange could happen all at once, while prices were still at their highest. She shared a look with her friend, and Clara’s lips turned up in a self-deprecating smile. Ludmila wasn’t the only self-sacrificing idiot of a Human in the Sorcerous Kingdom. She sniffed and grabbed Clara’s hand, pulling her along to catch up with Lady Shalltear.

When they reached her, Lady Shalltear was holding a hand to her ear. The Death Knight was awaiting a new Gate, while she spoke aloud to someone.

“Eh? What do you mean I buried Shizu – didn’t you warn her to move?”

“Was there an accident in the harbour?” Clara asked worriedly.

“That Entoma…” Lady Shalltear muttered, “They were probably bickering over the same thing again.”

Ludmila frowned. How did an argument result in one side being buried by a shipment of grain? A new Gate opened, and the Death Knight released the spout of the silo. The lack of concern over the incident was decidedly strange.

“Is everything alright on the other end?” Ludmila asked.

“Hm? Yes, they’ve already pulled her out,” Lady Shalltear answered absently, then glanced over at them. “What happened between you two? You’re both positively glowing.”

“We’re just being idiots together, my lady.”

“I-is that so?”

“Yes,” Ludmila couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. “Clara went and completed our transaction in advance, so you’ll be receiving your taxes the next time I drop by the Merchant Guild.”

“May I have a look?” Lady Shalltear looked down at the invoice in her left hand.

Ludmila handed it over, and Lady Shalltear’s crimson eyes went back and forth as she scanned the content. Her brow furrowed when she reached the bottom of the page.

“Your taxes are ten percent of this?”

“I’ll be adding what I owe for the timber and stone from this season’s exports, as well.”

“Perhaps I’ve been a bit too conservative with the construction of the post offices – they don’t even put a dent in what I get from you…there are going to be five of these villages?”

“Yes, my lady,” Ludmila replied. “We’ll be able to move on to expanding our facilities for the aerial transportation network and working on several other things sooner than expected. It should act as a sort of head start, but I wouldn’t hold hope for any of the goods produced with the direct assistance of Undead labour to maintain their current prices for long.”

“Agricultural staples will be the first to experience the eventual collapse in prices,” Clara said. “I suspect that, in three or four harvests, the exports from the Sorcerous Kingdom will begin to weigh on the regional markets. It’s far too sudden to rebalance the duchy’s agricultural sector properly, so the value of our exports will abruptly diminish until that happens, or until we gain access to new markets.”

“The administration still guarantees a price for grain,” Lady Shalltear said. “You could always sell it to the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“I thought that was an emergency measure back when the city was at a standstill?”

“It’s not,” Lady Shalltear replied. “The price floor will stay on the listed goods indefinitely. Let’s just say that the regional markets are not the only outlet for this duchy’s production.”

“I see…” Clara said, “Still, it will take quite a lot to have market prices tumble that far – I sincerely doubt that they ever will. Having this guarantee as a fallback is reassuring should such an unlikely event occur, but being proactive in finding new, accessible markets will net us the best long term gains.”

“You already have one in mind?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“A few, my lady,” Clara answered. “Liane is doing most of the research, but the stance of our little circle is that we must take the offensive. The advantages conferred by our new systems grant us tremendous economic reach – all we need are a few missing pieces in our arsenal before we can start.”

“And here everyone sees you as some sort of angelic being,” Lady Shalltear raised an eyebrow, “full goodness and warmth.”

A slow smile crept onto Clara’s face, and she gave Ludmila’s hand a small squeeze.

“Someone once told me that Angels are every bit as ruthless as Devils,” Clara said, “and I suppose she was absolutely correct. It is His Majesty’s will that the Sorcerous Kingdom stands as a beacon of prosperity and harmony, and so we shall carry its light to the furthest corners of the world. We’ll start with something nice and manageable, of course.”

The Weapon Master

An orphaned boy inheriting his father's blade; the diligent disciple calmly practicing the techniques of her venerable school. A tribal champion rising by raw, personal skill with their trusty club; a wanderer obsessed with testing his blade against the strong. The journey one initially embarks upon may vary greatly, yet all such roads to expertise lead to the puissant and deadly grace of the Weapon Master.

No simple Soldier, Adventurer or Gladiator, the Weapon Master is a warrior who has achieved such proficiency with their favoured armament that it has become a natural extension of themselves. Dominating opponents with overwhelming technical expertise, power and an array of powerful Martial Arts, they are a spectacle to behold and a terror to face. Even the most disciplined formations and the finest of armour is often no match. They stand in the eye of a storm of martial devastation, carving bloody trails through battlefields around the world.

Experienced Weapon Masters are coveted as instructors by nations and private individuals alike, often running branches of their own respective schools, or founding entirely new ones in order to propagate crucial teachings before they are lost in their passing. They are most commonly found in the military institutions of powerful nations – who spare no expense to train the best and brightest of their warriors – facilitating the security of their lands, or the conquest of their neighbors.

Rarest amongst Weapon Masters are those whose talents lead them to achieve the greatest heights of their craft: legendary warriors akin to the Kensei of the south, whose feats of renown inspire generations throughout the ages to set foot upon the very same path.

Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Itzal Verdi opened the tavern door, and he could no longer tell whether the noise from the street was greater than what came from within. The jingling of chimes over the clamour drew the attention of one of the waitresses, who came forward to greet him.

“Welcome,” she looked up at him with a smile. “Will it be the usual, mister?”

He nodded slightly in response, and the waitress left to prepare his table. Inwardly, he was amused: this very same serving girl was giving him the most vehement glares when he first came to the city.

It was to be expected, he supposed. His first few weeks in E-Rantel consisted of him frequenting the merchant inn’s tavern on a daily basis, but, due to his limited coin, he had loitered in the empty space for hours with nothing but a cup of water. Now, with his stipend from the Adventurer Guild, he was provided ample funding to room here, as well as order a day’s worth of full meals from the kitchen.

The empty state of the inn, too, had drastically changed. It had transformed from the barely frequented establishment of early spring to one filled with merchants and their hired men. The inn was near full occupancy and its tavern was bustling; employees rushing about to keep up with their patrons. A constant murmur drifting through the light haze, the press of bodies, and the sound of a Bard performing from an unseen corner made it difficult to believe that the warm and cozy atmosphere was cold and sterile not long ago.

The serving girl returned with a hesitant look on her face, and Itzal frowned at her uncharacteristic expression.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Your table…someone’s there,” she answered. “They say they know you, but I’ve never seen ‘em before.”

Itzal’s gaze reflexively turned in the direction of his usual seat, but he couldn’t see across the crowded floor. His mind worked through the possibilities as he waded through the patrons, and a sudden thrill of anticipation ran up his spine when he saw the two figures seated there. He nodded once more to the serving girl to send her on her way before taking a polished, wooden chair.

The man seated across from him was a familiar sight from times past, sporting a head of closely-cropped black hair and a roughly-shaven jaw. The plain-faced brunette beside him was entirely unfamiliar, but the light and conservative style of her garb suggested that she, too, was from the south.

“Going up in the world, I see,” the man noted as he performed a gesture with his right hand.

Following the man’s gaze to his chest, Itzal’s fingers touched the gold tag clasped around his neck. He had stayed on with the Adventurer Guild to learn what the Sorcerous Kingdom was up to there, and the stipend provided to a Gold-rank was roughly equivalent to the wage of a master craftsman. Compared to eking out an uncertain living as a mercenary, it certainly was a step up.

“This is–” Itzal cut off his reply when the woman leaned close to the man and whispered something into his ear.

“She says that your Adventurer tag has an enchantment on it,” the man answered Itzal’s unspoken question. “You’re being tracked.”

“What!” Itzal said sharply.

He cringed at the sound of his own voice, and looked around to see if he had drawn any attention to himself. Turning a pleading gaze back to the man, he struggled to find words to defend himself.

“Relax,” the man said with an easygoing air. “We’re not accusing you of anything. This practice is not unknown to us: we, too, use it to track our own people and, should misfortune befall them, recover their remains.”

“We…?” Itzal frowned, then shifted his attention to the third member at the table, “Who is this woman?”

“For the duration of this assignment,” the man replied, “she is also your superior. Considering the state of things here, I thought it prudent to call in someone from one of the other branches.”

Itzal nodded. Through his long history working with the man, he knew him to be from the Windflower Scripture, which operated passively for the most part: overseeing and traversing the information networks throughout the regions surrounding the Theocracy. If it was another branch with functions related to the gathering of intelligence, then this woman should be from the Clearwater Scripture. He knew next to nothing about it beyond scarce mentions in passing, however.

“Call in…wait, how long have you been here for?” Itzal asked, “I room at this inn, and you’ve only appeared now?”

“I actually departed the Theocracy a few months ago,” he replied. “Just inside the border, however, I was involved in an…unfortunate incident, and was captured by the authorities.”

“No! What...what did they do to you? Are you alright?”

“Fortunately, the noble involved spoke in my defence, so I was let off with a fine for property damage,” he laughed in a helpless sort of way. “My purse became quite light after I was released. The other reason our new friend is here is to detect if anyone has been subjected to compromising spells or abilities, starting with myself.”

Itzal nodded slowly at his account. If another agent was required from the south, the entire process would probably take that long, given deliberations and travel time.

“Is it really safe to say all this in a busy tavern?” He asked.

“It is not a concern,” the man replied. “Our friend here is a Cleric, and has warded our table with an enchantment that renders us beneath notice. If we do not call any attention to ourselves on purpose, no one will pay any attention to us.”

“I see…then what’s our mission here? You’ve been here long enough to see what’s going on – what will the Theocracy do?”

The serving girl appeared at Itzal’s side, placing the hearty meal he usually ordered before him. She walked away without a word, even while the man across from him spoke.

“Our mission is as it always has been: to collect information and send anything useful on its way. Our friend will render magical assistance if the situation calls for it, and see to her own duties. All of the agents here will assist her if she requires it. As for our superiors: they will do what they deem necessary, using what information they have.”

“It’s hard to believe that it’s business as usual seeing everything that has happened here…”

“Yet that is what it is, and it’s importance is even more so seeing everything that has happened here. It is clearly not Re-Estize any more: things are moving too fast, and there is too much that is not understood. The people at home can barely make heads or tails of what is going on, so what we report is of great interest – and urgency. You understand this, yes?”

“Yes, of course,” Itzal straightened in his chair. “What would you have us do?”

“A few of the others have already come by,” the man said, “and they appear to be well positioned. By their tellings, you have fallen in with these ‘new Adventurers’, which is good. Come – enjoy your meal before it grows cold, and regale us with your tales.”

Itzal felt uncomfortable being the only one partaking at the table, but he did as he was instructed. He started from the beginning, about the state of the E-Rantel when he arrived, it’s gradual recovery, and the suspicions which he held about Human collaboration in the Sorcerous Kingdom. He related Guildmaster Ainzach’s call to his members, and the divisive result. They stopped him on several points to question or have him elaborate on his observations.

“This training is not too dissimilar to what is practiced in other nations with similar means,” the man said, “save for the continual restructuring of the entire facility by this Dark Elf Druid. The degree of challenge and authenticity is greater that most can afford as well, since they appear to be able to use resurrection magic on a whim…tell me, have you ever fought against Humans in this training?”

The question made Itzal realize that, in all of his sessions, he had never done so. Not directly, at least. As a Rogue, he did participate in laying down challenging sequences of traps for other parties to face, but, beyond that, all he had fought were various types of Demihumans and summons that were conjured by unseen casters. A thought came to him.

“They do not pit Humans against Humans, but if you consider it in reverse, they are pitting inhuman creatures against Humans. Ogres, Trolls, Goblins, Hobgoblins, Lizardmen, the controllers of the summons…while we train against them, they are training against us. Everything we do is being observed by the proctors assessing our performance as well – who knows who else may be watching?”

The two Scripture members exchanged looks.

“The Sorcerous Kingdom has forces walking about openly in the streets that far outstrip the Adventurers that we have seen,” the man told him, “so we consider Demihumans being used directly against Humans in such a manner unlikely. The observation of Human capabilities is a valid point, however. You say their claim is that the Adventurer Guild is supposed to be an…expeditionary force for the Sorcerous Kingdom – their purpose: to explore the unknown. All we’ve heard is this endless training, however. Is there any inkling of these ‘expeditions’ being enacted soon?”

Itzal straightened in his seat, taking a swallow from the chilled ale set beside his meal. Considering the timing, it seemed a leading question…well, no matter – it was something he would normally be reporting, anyways.

“A training expedition has been organized,” he told them. “In a forest to the southwest – south of the newly-reorganized Völkchenheim County.”

“Oh?” The man raised an eyebrow, “Have they shared any information about it with their members?”

“I’ve been selected as one of the participants,” Itzal replied, “but in-depth information beyond our loose roles is absent. We’re to go in blind, establish a camp and perform functions that are, on the surface, in line with the ‘mandate’ of the new Adventurer Guild. Our general orders appear to mostly revolve around mapping, surveying, and collecting samples of interest to be sent for analysis back in the city. Since this exercise is being conducted within the borders of the Sorcerous Kingdom, it has the feel of casual reconnaissance, with no chance of encountering what might be considered foreign elements.”

“Hm…so you have not directly noticed anything that points to underlying motives or thinking, though you suspect that there is more to these ‘expeditions’?”

“I believe it to be highly likely,” Itzal nodded. “As you say, the strength of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Undead armies is more than adequate for any overt military actions, and the mandate of their new Adventurer Guild serves a complementary role. I would hardly be surprised if their ‘expeditions’ were simply the precursor to invasion – used to identify key territory; the information gained through their unassuming façade employed to plot a nation’s demise.”

“I see,” the man said. “Well, what actions they ultimately take on these so-called expeditions will make clear the true purpose of this organization. Again, it is good that you have positioned yourself for the future – I know that it is not exactly the way of things you are used to, so it is to be especially lauded.”

Itzal felt a rare warmth creeping out from within. Such appreciation was mostly unheard of in his career as an informant, and recognition from his superiors that he had gone out his way to prove himself useful was extremely gratifying. He focused on his meal for a few moments in order to keep the openly pleased expression off of his face.

“Speaking of which,” the man continued. “Have you been able to make any inroads at all in the usual ways? I am not expecting much, I assure you – they seem to have replaced the impoverished with the savage.”

“You have the right of it,” Itzal nodded. “Things are practiced much differently outside of the slums. The usual means are far less available, and those that are available are far more expensive. I would wager those of us working within trade guilds and merchant companies will be far more effective in the current circumstances.”

“And you would win that wager,” the man smirked. “We have several dozen agents in the nearby region from our usual movements, but I have sent word for more. Soon we will have quite a number from all places that send their trade through here. The Sorcerous Kingdom has opened their borders to all merchants, and even wayfarers who simply seek to learn more of the new nation. They have even claimed that they do not mind spies – though I am not entirely sure if this was made in jest.”

“…is it safe to concentrate our agents here?” Itzal frowned. “As expansive as our operations are, losing so many at once will still take time to recover fully.”

“I cannot see how the Sorcerous Kingdom could detect ours specifically,” the man shrugged, “they would be a few amongst many. You have most likely seen them yourself: agents from the Empire, Karnassus and beyond. I have even seen what I am pretty sure are Dwarf spies – their nation is outwardly friendly to this one, but suspicions regarding such a monstrous friend are sure to linger.”

Itzal grunted in silent agreement as the man spoke and he continued eating. Re-Estize was the edge of nowhere when it came to the world; no one treated the nation of unsophisticated and primitive people with any real interest aside from the merchants and criminals who could exploit their backwards state.

The appearance of the Sorcerous Kingdom was a shock to any who received the news in the surrounding regions; as any such nation led by an Undead sovereign would naturally be perceived as a dire threat, and an enemy to all. Opening their borders to trade and travel was an invitation of sorts to any that desired information. Given the outward appearance that they had chosen to take, the Sorcerer King was attempting to lull everyone into complacency.

“Then I’m to continue with the Adventurer Guild,” Itzal said after washing down the last of his supper. “Is there anything that you’re aware of that I should keep an eye out for?”

“You would know better than I,” the man said. “No one else has entered the new organization. Establishing yourself as a ready ear and shoulder should provide us with a wealth of information, given the loose-lipped nature of Adventurers. Working your way further up their ranks and…well, this is all common sense.”

“Magic items,” the woman spoke to him for the first time.

Itzal looked askance to the man, who returned an unknowing look and a shrug.

“A portion of my own assignment,” her hazel eyes pulled his own back towards her, “it is of the utmost importance. You said that in addition to a government stipend for the Adventurers, they also have an…exchange of sorts for equipment and other items. If you notice any items of rare potency – those that should not be available through local artifice or regional commerce – attempt to obtain them through legitimate means.”

“That sounds like something I’ll be doing anyways,” Itzal replied, “so it shouldn’t be a problem as long as it’s a justifiable purchase. If I pick up something I can’t use, that’s sure to raise eyebrows.”

The intensity of the woman’s gaze lessened, and she let out a small sigh.

“Of course,” she said. “You will forgive me for my insistence, it was just too crucial a matter to idly mention. Even if you are unable to personally possess them, a report of their existence would still help.”

“Is it possible to share why this is so important?” Itzal asked.

“A part of it,” she answered. “I have been explicitly instructed to monitor the city for powerful items, and examine them if I have the opportunity to. I cannot do so illegally, as it would cut my time short here, so you are a promising source given the relationship this new Adventurer Guild shares with the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“What happens if you find what you’re looking for?”

“I cannot say, exactly, but word will be sent back immediately if I do – it is for my superiors to decide.”

Itzal’s breath stopped when he considered who Scripture members ultimately reported to. An weighty task had been shared with him: one that was considered a priority to even a Cardinal of the Slane Theocracy.

“I-is there anything else I should know?”

“Not regarding this matter, but I received a message from home just before you arrived. It is not a mission for us, per se, but everyone should be made aware and act in accordance.”

The man shifted in his seat to face her – apparently it was the first he had heard of this as well.

“As you should already know,” she said, “the Theocracy has adopted a neutral stance regarding the Sorcerous Kingdom upon learning the result of the Battle of Katze Plains. Since we are not in open hostilities, the local Bishop has been petitioning regularly for assistance with the Temple’s work here. The faith of The Six grows in the Sorcerous Kingdom, and there are not enough staff to keep up with everything despite their best efforts.”

“Surely they are not considering sending temple staff here,” the man scoffed.

“For nearly two months,” she replied, “the Bishop was met with flat refusal. Then…he resorted to Temple Law. The Temples of the Six Great Gods – even the Cardinals themselves – cannot refuse him in this. Not outright, at least; word of his plight has spread across the Theocracy.”

Itzal furrowed his brow. He was a simple man who only knew rough ways, so he had no idea of any of this.

“What law is this?” The man asked grimly, “You…you cannot mean…no…”

“Yes,” the woman let out a resigned laugh. “In their hesitation to provide support to the Bishop of E-Rantel, the worst possible option has been forced upon them.”

“Ai…” The man groaned, bringing a hand up to his forehead, “This…this is crazy! Does the Bishop wish for war? Surely they counseled him against such a rash request?”

“I asked just the same when I received the information – my contact said that he remained adamant. That being said, the case the Bishop presented must have been extraordinarily compelling: there would not be such a problem otherwise.”

The man turned back to the table and leaned forward, holding his face in his hands and taking a deep breath.

“I-I’m sorry,” Itzal spoke into the silence between them, “but I don’t understand. What happened, exactly?”

“There is a certain ordinance,” the woman turned to address him with her rueful smile. “A codified section of Temple Law that has stood for centuries. Every institution of the faith – every shrine, monastery, temple, cathedral, hospital, school and university – is due a portion of the faith militant according to the population that they serve. It’s purpose is to assist in maintaining order, and to defend against those who would dare to strike directly against our priesthood and their faithful.”

“But our Temples are not under threat of violence here,” Itzal replied in confusion. “Not now, nor when they were a part of Re-Estize. Why did the Bishop call for this kind of help when he has never needed it?”

“With greater congregations there is the need to maintain order still…but, going by the nature of the Bishop’s requests since he started sending them, he intends to use the faith militant as a stand-in for the priesthood in local ministry.”

Itzal’s confusion only grew. What did armed men have to do with the work of the priesthood?

“Itzal, my old friend,” the man leaned back on his chair, smiling slightly over his confusion. “These are not the faith militant that you’re thinking of – not the strongmen who volunteer to keep brats and ruffians from misbehaving during temple service in these backwards lands. She speaks of the faith militant of the Theocracy: raised since childhood according to the tenets of our religion, both proven in battle and well-versed in the ministry – she speaks of the Paladin Orders.”

“What!” Itzal shot to his feet with a confounded noise.

His chair tipped over and fell to the ground with a clatter. Itzal ducked his head at the noise and looked around, but it appeared that the spell cast over them worked even for his abrupt outburst. He righted the piece of fallen furniture and sat back down before continuing heatedly.

“He’s right – this is crazy! How…no. They cannot come here, it will be a disaster: instead of serving the faithful, they will get them all killed! You must tell them this, you must…”

The man shot him a look, and Itzal stilled his tongue – he had overstepped his bounds. The woman showed no sign of anger at his behaviour, instead speaking in a mollifying tone.

“Seeing that a decision of this magnitude must pass through the High Council,” the woman said, “you may rest assured that what is allowed has been the result of purposeful calculation. They are not heedless and ignorant aristocrats that would make such careless decisions. The various Paladin Orders around the Theocracy have been carefully preparing since the Temple acquiesced. It is their hope that if they send the more seasoned and well-traveled of their number, the…reaction will not be as extreme as it would normally be. Bear in mind that I have passed this information on to emphasize how crucial our work here has become: the more we know, the less likely anyone is to trip over anything that could trigger a mishap.”

“...how many, then?” Itzal wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answer.

“The ordinance states one of the faith militant for every thousand faithful.”

He sifted through his mind for a rough number, but he wasn’t sure if it was correct. One thing for certain was that the faith of The Six was reclaiming the population at a gradual, yet seemingly inevitable, pace, and the figure he finally came up with was too many mishaps waiting to happen every day.

“You…” he grasped at a straw in this seemingly suicidal decision, “you said they did not agree outright…”

“That is correct,” she nodded. “In the end, they agreed that half would be sent at first, then the remainder if no problems arise.”

“Half…but that’s still–”

“Thirty-Six Paladins,” she answered for him, “elite members of the Orders who qualify for Temple duties. The arrangements are still underway, but make no mistake: they will appear sooner or later. We must do what we can to pave the way for their arrival.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Zu Chiru poked his head out of the tunnel to his home, whiskers twitching as he tested the night air. He stood there for many minutes, as the air was strange and alien – as disconcerting as the countless points of light in the endless ceiling overhead. Eventually, he gathered his courage and stepped out, closing the stone portal behind him. Upon the door was scratched the symbol of the Zu Aygen Clan. Behind it was an expanding network of tunnels and warrens that stretched deep below E-Rantel.

E-Rantel…

The name of this Human city felt as foreign to him as the city itself. At least Dwarves had the good sense to build their cities underground. These Humans left their dwellings exposed on the inhospitable surface, with its chaotic weather and incessant brightness that left the Quagoa blind and helpless.

Even their ‘night’ was no true respite, as it was often filled with the glare of an eerie orb of silvery fire. When their clan had migrated here – well, it was more that they were dumped here – they were told by the Crimson Harbinger of Death that it was where they were to make their new home.

Left exposed to the sky, their children wailed as their furless forms and sensitive eyes burned in the light of what the locals of the city called the ‘moon’. The only thing their parents could do was cover their families with their bodies and scant rags as they themselves trembled in fear and uncertainty, surrounded by the cold, dry and hostile landscape.

Zu Chiru, and the adults of the clan who did not have families to tend to, threw themselves into excavating a new home for their people, making their way down into the soft, black soil. As the hours passed, the skies grew brighter and, to the horror of all, the world became a blinding whiteness. They screamed and cried and whimpered in terror, curling up over their children and doing what they could to shield themselves from the dreadful, searing light.

He was lucky enough to be a ways into the new tunnel, but he still had to squeeze his eyes shut against the light that seeped down from the entrance as he kept digging. He made his way deeper and deeper, claws tiredly pulling apart the strange soil and tossing it aside. He made enough room for another and left the hole, blindly feeling around, calling for anyone who could help. And so another joined him, and they made room for more. Over the hours the tunnel grew, longer and deeper. Those who passed out from exhaustion were dragged back outside and replaced with fresh workers, while the children were afforded room in the expanding underground space first.

Eventually, the Quagoa reached a wall of stone and broke through. They exclaimed between themselves excitedly when they found that a vast network of crude tunnels lay beyond. It was not as warm and wet and full of life as the cavern networks of their former realm, but it was still a comfort compared to the dreadful surface. Amidst the fungi and moss and abundance of crawling things, they decided to move those on the surface to this new shelter…but then something appeared.

A huge Slime rose before them and spoke in a female’s voice. It told them that they could not be here; that they could only make their home below the ‘Demihuman Quarter’, and that they must turn around and fix the hole. Staring after the strange being and the parade of Slimes that followed in her wake, he wondered if they had broken into Slime territory. Did Slimes even have territory? Did they just encounter some sort of Slime Lord? A Slime Queen? Slimes didn’t even have males and females, as far as Zu Chiru knew.

Still, they decided that not to invade the territory of the Slime Queen would be for the best, for they sensed she was even stronger than Pe Riyuro, the greatest of Quagoa Lords. The Quagoa of the Azerlisia range as a whole had just suffered from a nightmarish calamity, losing 7/8ths of their entire population. The Zu Aygen clan was just as devastated as the others, so time was needed to recover before any thought of testing their new neighbors.

They covered the hole and returned to their work. Another day passed until they could stuff everyone into the freshly excavated tunnels, and another week went by before a makeshift warren formed.

The efforts underground continued, but shelter was not their only problem. Fortunately, some things came to them. For the first day, Zu Chiru wondered if the worms and grubs they found in the soil would be their only sustenance, and the elders considered ordering raids into the Slime territory for mushrooms, insects and rats. The night after, however, an Elf named Mare and a Human named Florine appeared with food: great quantities of meat kept fresh in wondrous magical containers.

While it was distributed and they filled their empty bellies, Florine explained how things worked in the Human city to the clan leaders. The most important detail at the time was that they would need to earn wages that were exchanged for food and other goods. The idea was strange to the Quagoa, who only knew the toil of expanding their empire under the mountains, offering tribute to their leaders and the Frost Dragons who ruled over them.

It was entirely backwards here: they would receive tribute for their toil. Instead of simply taking what they needed wherever they happened to be, they would need to exchange their treasures instead. Zu Chiru was uncertain how to feel about that. For the time being, they were offered ‘work’ in the Demihuman Quarter, labouring over the ongoing construction at night. They did things that were thought suited for them: establishing foundations and…well, establishing foundations was pretty much all that they did.

Sometimes Dwarves or other races were placed over them; sometimes it was the other way around. There were Undead everywhere as well, performing the most menial of tasks. Though this work was currently plentiful, Zu Chiru thought that it would be limited. Eventually they would not be needed, then what would they do?

He looked down as he walked out into the night, staring down at a crinkled sheet of paper. Before anything else, he would need to stop by the Vampire Post to pick up a delivery of ores from their old mountain home. His sister had just given birth to her first litter, but she had lost her mate in the battle against the Crimson Harbinger, so now it was up to Zu Chiru to help her out.

Zu Chiru sighed. Before, all he would have needed to do was forage around a bit while doing other things. Now, everything was so horribly complicated. Work for food, work for ores, work for everything. They had to order in what did not exist here. The earth below the city was dark clay that was absent of mineral ores, so the bounty that their people usually existed on was no longer theirs to enjoy. It was not a place where Quagoa would normally live.

“Zu Chiru!” A voice called down to him from above, “You’re joining us tonight?”

Zu Chiru looked up. On the terrace above was a small gathering of his clansmen, who had assembled to do something about the impending lack of work. They had started a project of sorts, based on what they had seen around the quarter.

“After this,” he waved the paper over his head and went on his way.

Up and out of the bowl of the Demihuman Quarter Zu Chiru walked; out to the gatehouse near where the steps leading up to the top of the city’s inner wall were laid. He walked past the Undead sentries, towards the Dragon pens. A pale figure with glowing crimson eyes stood behind a desk in front of the hoardings on the wall.

“Welcome, dear customer,” she said. “How may the Vampire Post be of service today?”

This female always seemed to be here, and she was always so polite. Zu Chiru never knew what to say in reply. He simply dipped his head once and placed the sheet of paper on the counter. She took the sheet in her hand and checked through a book laid open on the desk.

After a moment, she lightly tapped a bell. Another pale, smooth-faced female appeared, taking the paper and walking away into the building. She reappeared with a box between her hands a short while later, placing it on the counter before him. Zu Chiru lifted the cover, sniffing the content. Though riddled with impurities, the ore within was edible. He took the box into his hands and nodded before he walked off. The two pale females bowed.

“Thank you for your patronage,” their voices followed him as he turned to go back the way he came.

As Zu Chiru made his way back to the clan warren, he looked down at the box with a worried sigh. It wasn’t much: barely enough to keep the litter fed until the next delivery came in. Unlike many things that the various peoples in the city consumed, meat and ore was expensive, and his clan toiled endlessly just to get by.

The Human named Florine explained this, too, at length. Something about ‘supply’ and ‘demand’ and how prices for meat would fall eventually and the shortage of ore in the city would only last until ‘trade’ caught up. There was a lot more, but her stream of strange words mostly bounced off of Zu Chiru’s furry head and fell to the ground powerlessly. His parents cared much for him, finding the best ores that they could feed him when he was a child, so his coat was strong and hard to penetrate.

What little he understood of what she said was that things would become cheaper some day. Unfortunately, they would also finish the tasks in this Demihuman Quarter that fed them some day as well. He made his way back down into the warren and left the ores with his sister, then returned to the surface with all of his worries continuing to plague him. The clansmen that had called out to him were still in the same place as before.

With them were members of several other races: two Ogres, some Goblins, a Troll and a handful of Lizardmen. They were prospective students who would pay them for instruction in hand-to-hand combat. In the past weeks, Zu Chiru and his clansmen discovered that the Demihumans in the city were not so great at it. The bare handful of remaining experts in the clan saw this as an opportunity to collect tributes, and these Demihumans were more than happy to pay them to learn. The payments were usually in the form of handicrafts, furs or meat. What they collected was not enough to feed the clan on its own, but at least it was something. Zu Chiru shuffled up to the rows of students and instructors sparring with one another, and he frowned over the sight.

Because Demihumans were of various sizes and had their own racial attributes, he wasn’t sure how well Quagoa combat would work for them. Smaller Demihumans like Goblins were roughly Quagoa sized, but they lacked strong fur and claws Though Lizardmen had a measure of toughness due to their scales, their long bodies and thick tails were something Quagoa did not have. Ogres and Trolls were huge and strong…at least they could partner off one another. Maybe they were just happy picking up pointers and techniques that would work for them? Zu Chiru wasn’t sure if it would ever earn the clan enough to survive – they would need far more students to do so.

“Oh, Chiru, you’re back.”

An elderly Quagoa with red fur shuffled up to him. He was the strongest of the Zu Aygen Clan that remained, having been considered too old to fight on the day of sorrow, and the one who had come up with this idea.

“Zu Loru,” Zu Chiru clasped his hands before him, lowering his head respectfully.

“How is your family?”

“Hmm…my sister is cranky,” Zu Chiru replied. “She wants the little ones to have more ore, but she knows this is all we can afford. I think I end up taking the brunt of her bad mood.”

“Understandable,” Zu Loru nodded. “It was so easy in our old home: even if it wasn’t always the best stuff, we never lacked for ore and food.”

They shared a long moment of silent melancholy together. Little else could be done about it.

“Perhaps the tunnelers will find something below…”

“There is nothing below,” Zu Loru shook his head. “They hit bedrock the other day, and it’s just old limestone that smells of nothing else. No food or water; no caves or ore…and we are not allowed to explore beyond the confines of this quarter.”

“Feh. Why did they choose for our clan to come to this place…”

“It should be obvious, shouldn’t it?” Zu Loru’s voice turned bitter, “Because we are of Zu. You don’t see any sign of the Pu and Po here. Even in these dire times, they used the great tragedy as an opportunity, whispering in the ears of those in power to send us away. They do not care that we have been forced to live in this desolate place of black clay and veinless stone!”

Zu Loru stomped the ground in anger, and Zu Chiru scratched his chest. How indeed? The Crimson Harbinger told them to live here, and the Human told them how things worked. By all appearances, they were provided the bare minimum of what they needed and were left to figure the rest out on their own. He decided to move to a less depressing topic.

“How many new students since yesterday?”

“A few,” Zu Loru replied. “I believe that, once this Demihuman Quarter begins to fill, we can expect a substantial number. The Mountain Mole Sect must be vigilant of the others in the place, however. We must keep prospective disciples from straying into their grasp.”

Zu Chiru nodded in agreement. If they were to afford more and better ores for their offspring, they needed to keep the two other sects in the quarter from gaining in reputation and membership.

The foremost of their rivals was the Azure Sky, Iron Fist Sect, which occupied an expansive complex near the western gatehouse. They appeared to collect the young, training them from an impressionable age. After some digging around, it was found that their buildings were shallow, so what one noted from the surface was all that there was. Though the sect’s disciples were young, the master there was quite intimidating. The one time he went to challenge them, a tall Human female in flowing robes had brandished a long stick of wood at him. The end was wide and covered in bristles – he had never seen such a weapon before. Quagoa were only strong against metal, so Zu Chiru had prudently withdrawn to rethink his approach.

The second rival was more manageable. The Justice Dragon Sect had a single hall in a space between the southern entrance and the eastern wall, and had no disciples to speak of. Their ‘master’ was nothing more than an aged Human male of few words. All Zu Chiru had to do there was draw away people that looked interested in learning the ways of close combat. The old man ultimately did nothing: he just sat within his hall as if new students would simply drop in with no effort on his part.

“Zu Loru,” he asked, “the noise from the Justice Dragon Sect the other day: has there been any hint as to what it was?”

“Rumor has been going around that there’s a new student there – the old man is no longer alone in his hall.”

“What! I thought I kept them all away!”

He stormed off towards the Justice Dragon Sect. Perhaps this new student had come in during the day, but it wouldn’t do. They couldn’t let a rival sect gain even a bit of a claw hold.

With few dwellings yet built in the Demihuman Quarter, Zu Chiru could see across the darkness of the night to the rival school. He scurried over in a matter of minutes and studied the face of the building. Running his gaze over its wooden supports and planks, he could hear the voice of a male and a female filtering through the thin panels of the entrance. It appeared that the rumors were true. Zu Chiru pondered how he might wrest away this new student…well, it shouldn’t be hard: the master here was just an old Human who was often away.

Zu Chiru hopped about as he warmed himself up. After feeling suitably ready, he shouted at the building.

“Old Human!”

No response. The voices on the other side paused for a moment before resuming.

“Old Human!” Zu Chiru raised his voice.

The voices inside paused again, only to resume once more.

Really – had they no shame? A challenger had come, and they did nothing but cower inside their hall. A small group, consisting of various quarter residents, started to gather around on the street nearby. Zu Chiru grinned, wheezing laughter blowing out of his nose.

Good. Their cowardice would be seen by all, and the Justice Dragon Sect would lose all face. What Dragon, even? It was just an old man and his timid student.

Zu Chiru took a deep breath.

“Old Huma–”

He fell silent at the sound of someone working the door of the building. After several moments, the entrance slid open. Zu Chiru fluffed out his fur and assumed an intimidating stance.

“You’ve finally shown yourself, old one…”

The head of a Dragon appeared in the doorway, and Zu Chiru froze.

Eh? This is not an old Human...

Before any further thoughts could form, the Dragon head lunged forward and snatched him off of the street. He didn’t even have time to scream. The curious residents that had gathered around scattered away in fright.

Zu Chiru disappeared into the bowels of the Justice Dragon Sect, and the door silently slid shut with his passing.

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The world shifted back into cohesiveness. Ilyshn’ish’s body tingled almost painfully as her Blindsight remapped the abrupt change in her surroundings.

She felt the ground below her, so she tucked in the wings that she had started to unfurl in panic. She was…indoors? It was a large chamber: roughly as large as the spacious tavern of the Frosty Beard. It lacked furnishings, however, and had no balconies or sunken alcoves. The scent of fresh cedar filled her nostrils; beyond the thinly paneled walls and rounded pillars lining the space, it was bare of any decoration or value.

At first, she thought it a newly-built warehouse – or perhaps some sort of prison – but it lacked the sense of being built for storage, and its framework of cedar had no hope of holding her should she choose to escape. On one end of the chamber, a figure stirred from where it was seated.

“Lady Shalltear,” it asked, “do you require any assistance?”

A deep and venerable-sounding voice. A strong and pleasant voice. To her disappointment, however, she only found an aged Human male approaching them. His measured footfalls echoed lightly around her, and he stopped several metres away.

“As a matter of fact,” Lady Shalltear answered lightly, “there is something you may be able to help me with.”

Ilyshn’ish looked down to the source of the second voice, then realized her claws were still stuck in Lady Shalltear’s torso. She tried flicking her away, but the tiny Vampire wouldn’t budge at all. Ilyshn’ish dug in and pulled mightily; to no avail.

“You – stop that!”

Lady Shalltear’s voice rolled out and snapped through the air at her. Ilyshn’ish flinched and froze.

Why did she stop, dammit! She hated herself at that moment, hated her Frost Dragon nature that compelled her to obey, having experienced firsthand how impossibly strong Lady Shalltear was.

“You’re being rude,” Lady Shalltear scolded her, “just look at what you’re doing to the floor. Really – there isn’t an ounce of propriety or awareness in you.”

Ilyshn’ish focused her attention downwards. Beneath her, there were gashes in the polished floorboards: whole planks splintered and torn away to reveal the soil beneath. The ground appeared to be quite soft…maybe she could quickly burrow away when the chance presented itself.

Lady Shalltear stepped back, and Ilyshn’ish’s claws slipped out of her without any sense of resistance. The exquisite fabrics of her priceless gown showed no change from their pristine state. Ilyshn’ish peered down at the diminutive figure, examining her magical garb for perhaps the twentieth time.

“This new school of yours,” Lady Shalltear said, “this Justice…”

Her voice trailed off, features forming into a complicated expression.

“Justice Dragon Dojo,” the aged Human’s voice filled in for her.

“Yes, that.” Lady Shalltear frowned, “Are you really set on that name? It’s a bit…”

“I believe it to be a deep and meaningful name,” the old man said. “It has a certain ring to it as well, don’t you think?”

The complicated expression did not leave Lady Shalltear’s face.

“I understand why you chose that name,” she said, “but something still seems…well, whatever, it’s your show.”

Lady Shalltear’s hand disappeared into the air, reappearing again with a plain-looking sheet of paper. She cleared her throat before reading it.

“‘Cultivating discipline in spirit, mind and body’ – that’s what your pamphlet says, yes?” Lady Shalltear dangled the paper before her as she spoke, “This one is lacking in discipline, and you appear to be lacking in students.”

“Wait, what?” Ilyshn’ish protested, “Why am I–”

“Who gave you permission to speak?” Lady Shalltear scowled at her, “Do that again and I’ll be nailing your tongue to the city wall.”

Ilyshn’ish’s jaws snapped shut, and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. Why was she stuck under this insanely unreasonable Undead monster?

“Anyways,” Lady Shalltear continued, “she still has a schedule to keep, but, on her days off, she’ll be under your tutelage. Don’t let her escape.”

“Escape, you say…” The old man looked up to Ilyshn’ish, stroking his beard. “This is honestly quite unexpected.”

“Is there some problem?”

“I am on standby to assist with various tasks around the city,” he replied, “so I will be here unless I am called away…exce–”

“Excellent,” Lady Shalltear smiled. “I look forward to the results of her training.”

Lady Shalltear vanished from the hall, disappearing in the same fashion by which they had arrived. Ilyshn’ish shared a long look with the old man, then she turned her head around, examining what appeared to be the entrance of the building just beyond a pair of thick wooden pillars.

“Lady Shalltear’s instructions are that you train under me,” the man said. “I do hope you are not planning on leaving.”

“I have no reason to be here,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “Neither did I demand any training.”

“Have you not considered the consequences of displeasing Lady Shalltear?”

“You’re not Lady Shalltear,” Ilyshn’ish informed him. “If she doesn’t like me doing one thing, then I’ll just do something else.”

Once Ilyshn’ish finally thought she figured out how the door worked, she rose up on all fours to leave.

“I believe her instructions were to not allow you to escape.”

Ilyshn’ish felt a presence before her and found the aged Human standing in front of the door. She twisted her head around to look at the head of the hall, then back to the door again. When did he move there?

“Your cooperation would be appreciated,” he said. “This building is relatively fragile.”

The old man stood with a rigid, unassuming posture. Beyond the fact that he seemingly teleported all the way from the head of the hall to its entrance, Ilyshn’ish could not sense how strong he was. He didn’t have the bearing of a magic caster, and she had never witnessed anything move that quickly before. Why was this city full of such ridiculous beings? Ilyshn’ish turned around and lay back down with a long-suffering sigh. The polished floorboards frosted over, and she started doodling upon them with a claw.

The Human reseated himself at the head of the hall.

“Now…why is it that Lady Shalltear would send you to me for instruction?”

“Who knows?”

“I’m sure you must have some idea…”

Why were so many people in this place so insistent on knowing things about her? Why did they even feel entitled to the response that they sought?

“I don’t,” she told him. “I came back from work today and she appeared at my door, accusing me of some wrongdoing.”

The Human studied her at length, and Ilyshn’ish shifted uncomfortably.

“W-what?”

“Perhaps she was dissatisfied with your performance in some way?”

“I don’t think so,” Ilyshn’ish said. “If anything, my performance met with an overwhelmingly positive reception – the substantial earnings that resulted are irrefutable proof of this.”

“Then what is this about having issues with discipline?”

“I said I don’t know! I didn’t ask for any of this!”

Her tail lashed out over the floor, bumping into one of the pillars along the side of the hall. The entire structure shuddered ominously. The old man looked up at the rafters, then down at the hole in the floor.

“How about we start by reining in your emotions?” The old man suggested, “This is something that could use some work, as the condition of the hall might attest to.”

“What insanity are you spouting?” Ilyshn’ish looked down at him incredulously, “Emotions should flow forth, lest one stifles their own craft.”

“Hmm…perhaps I have gotten the wrong idea. Are you something like a Barbarian? I believe I ran into one of those sorts last year: a Brawler type who combined Monk skills and totemic powers…quite noisy, he was.”

“A Barbarian…”

“Indeed,” the old man replied. “He was the disreputable sort, so it came to blows. Fortunately, some help at a crucial moment allowed me to manage a close victory.”

A close victory? Did Humans commonly have such powerful individuals rise from their number? Maybe exploration wasn’t as safe of an idea as she originally thought – at least her home in the Azerlisia range only had Frost Giants at worst, and no one usually came to bother them there.

“Still,” he muttered thoughtfully, “there is always room to better oneself. Even if you are a Barbarian–”

“I’m a Bard!”

Her shout reverberated around the hall. The old man frowned a long frown, falling into a long silence.

“Why do none of you people ever believe me when I say that?” Ilyshn’ish complained.

“If you mean Lady Shalltear and her servants,” the old man said, looking back up at her, “it is probably because they have only considered Dragons as Dragons.”

Of course she was a Dragon. What was that supposed to mean? Ilyshn’ish couldn’t make any sense out of his explanation.

“If this is the case,” he continued, “you may have been left in my care with similar thinking in mind. While I am not exactly a Dragon, perhaps she thought that I would have an easier time instructing you.”

A sort of feverish gleam came from his steely grey eyes, at great odds with his otherwise stony face. Thoughts of Hejinmal came to mind: he wasn’t going to turn her into a pet, was he? To be trained like some sort of animal to do tricks for his petty entertainment…

“I don’t need to learn anything from here,” she told him.

“Dragons seem to be associated with power and wisdom by the people here, but that does not sound like what a wise being would say…are you absolutely certain that there is nothing for you here?”

Ilyshn’ish glowered down at him, then quickly assumed a more neutral expression, just in case the old Human wasn’t as benign as he appeared. He was almost certainly possessed of extraordinary power, yet the way he spoke was annoyingly humble. At least Lady Shalltear played a part deserving of her strength: leaving no question as to the difference between herself and those around her.

Maybe this individual had some weakness in his character that she could exploit – it would certainly explain why he had inexplicably settled on squatting in this unassuming wooden building. If she could learn how so many beings in this city became so absurdly powerful, lingering for a while would be well worth it.

“What did you plan on teaching me?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Lady Shalltear mentioned something about a lack of discipline, propriety and self awareness,” the man pointedly looked at the hole in the floor again. “You have some strength, yet it seems that you have not mastered it – perhaps by cultivating discipline in body, you may in turn find balance in mind and spirit.”

“That makes absolutely no sense”.

“Is that so? Hmm…perhaps it would be easier to just start rather than sit around talking about it.” The man rose to his feet. “The Justice Dragon Dojo was originally intended to train Monks. However, since you are a Dragon that fights with their body, there may still be much for you to gain…but first, discipline.”

The Human walked around her, eyeing her in a way that she did not much care for. What could she even learn from this Monk training? Dragons already knew how to fight with their bodies.

“Ah yes,” the man said when he returned to stand in front of her, “you may address me as Master Tian.”

“Tian…”

“Master Tian.” He corrected her, “I don’t believe Lady Shalltear mentioned your name…”

“Shiver.”

“Shiver?” Master Tian raised an eyebrow, “If I’m not mistaken, Dragons should have more substantial names…well, no matter.”

“Can we get this training over with?” She asked, “I have to return to the Dwarf Kingdom at dawn.”

Annoyance filled Ilyshn’ish upon being forced to admit her powerlessness over her own situation. What would this ‘discipline’ even achieve to improve her lot? She doubted it would make her strong enough to resist Lady Shalltear.

“At dawn?” Master Tian said, “Perhaps we should just conduct a basic assessment today…how do Bards engage in combat around here, by the way? The fighting kind appears to be quite scarce.”

How could this so-called Master not know how others fought? Doubts started to rise in her mind.

“As far as I have read,” Ilyshn’ish sniffed, “how Humanoid Bards end up can vary between fragile beings that lend their support from a distance to front line combatants. The only Bard I’ve personally witnessed fighting was Frost Giant Skald who wielded a greataxe in direct battle.”

“Hoh...then how do Dragon Bards fight?”

“With my natural weapons? I can’t exactly wield the weapons that Humans can, if you haven’t noticed.”

Ilyshn’ish raised a foreleg and worked her talons in mid-air. Being able to manipulate the handle of a weapon with any semblance of finesse was a dubious prospect, at best.

“I believe we Dragons are at an advantage, however,” Ilyshn’ish told Master Tian. “The Bards that I’ve seen locally appear to equip themselves lightly, with perhaps chain shirts, rapiers and bows at best. I have the benefit of my natural armour and weapons, which do not burden me with additional encumbrance, and will grow in strength as I do. In just half a millennia, I doubt that any mortal artifice would be able to overcome my natural armament.”

After her explanation, Master Tian stroked his grey beard thoughtfully. With how often he did so, Ilyshn’ish started to become curious about what it felt like. After some time, he stopped and nodded to himself.

“I believe I have a rough idea about your direction now,” he told her. “With what you describe, you would be suited for some sort of Dancer class.”

“We Dragons have their own ways,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “Pursuing mortal paths would rob us of our natural strengths.”

“I see. I was uncertain whether they existed here or not, but, in hindsight, I suppose that they must. The path you pursue is one unique to your kind – a racial prestige class, or a series of them.”

That had a nice ring to it. Ilyshn’ish leaned forward to peer at Master Tian closely.

“You’re not going to try to have me become a Monk like the ones you originally intended on training here?”

“In your case,” he replied, “I believe that it would be a waste. The greatest beings that I know of often combined the strengths of their respective races with classes that were only available to them. It should be an example in this Sorcerous Kingdom, where many peoples of many backgrounds and species can pursue their own unique paths for the greater good.”

She hadn’t a clue about his ‘greater good’, but the rest of what he said made sense to her. Maybe there was some wisdom to be gained here, after all.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Ilyshn’ish rose to her feet, “Let us begin, Master Tian.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Wings folded and tail tucked in, Ilyshn’ish lay on the floor of the Justice Dragon Dojo, head in an upright position. Her eyes were closed; breathing, steady. In short, she was doing nothing but sitting there.

Upon settling on a direction for her ‘training’, there was not actually much time until she needed to depart in the morning. She spent her entire shift flying back and forth, wondering about what sort of strength she would cultivate. On her next day off, she returned to Master Tian with expectations in tow, and then…

What am I doing, actually? I’m just sitting here, right? I’m definitely just sitting here. I don’t feel any stronger – I don’t think you can even get stronger just sitting around doing nothing. Actually, no – that’s technically how it works for Dragons…

“KAAAAATSU!”

A small wooden plank smashed into the knuckles of her right foreclaw. It broke upon her scales, scattering splintered fragments across the floor. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“W-w-w-what was that for!” Ilyshn’ish snatched her claw back, “Are you trying to make me age prematurely? Wait – is that the secret? I don’t th–”

“Thoughts are clouding your meditation,” Master Tian told her. “You must empty your mind; control your breathing.”

“To what end?” Ilyshn’ish frowned, “Also, I should tell you that Frost Dragons can’t not think.”

“Is that so?” Master Tian raised an eyebrow, “Then what happens while you sleep?”

“We sort out our memories, review and analyze past experiences, update the list of slights against us…”

“You actively do that while you sleep?”

“Yes? What’s so strange about that?”

“Hmm…I wasn’t aware that Dragons did this.”

“All Dragons have a certain degree of awareness, even while sleeping. I suppose it is an extension of this trait for us Frost Dragons.”

Master Tian stroked his beard in contemplation, while Ilyshn’ish contemplated the fact that such a nice voice was wasted on a Human. She looked around the hall of the dojo idly: the floor had been repaired, but it was still absent of any other disciples. Surely those with an interest in unarmed combat would sense the strength of Master Tian and beg for his tutelage. That, or they knew that his instruction didn’t work and she was just wasting her time here.

“You’re obviously quite strong,” she said, “but why is it that no one comes to learn from you? Especially in this Demihuman Quarter – most of the races here respect strength.”

“It has not been long since this dojo was built,” Master Tian replied, “but, since then, there’s been some interference from rodents of unusual size.”

“Rodents of unusual size?” She frowned.

“Indeed,” Master Tian nodded.

Ilyshn’ish’s scales rippled in squeamish discomfort as she tried to imagine what the old Human referred to. Did the city have such a problem? Would these giant rodents find a way to burrow under her scales? Maybe they would sneak into her mouth and gnaw away her tongue while she was sleeping, or slowly chew holes in her wings…

Her wings unfurled to shake off the imaginary rodents, sending currents of air swirling around the hall. Master Tian’s lapels fluttered, and he eyed a wall hanging as it swayed back and forth. The decoration had appeared some time while she was away, and it smelled no more valuable than the paper and paint that it was composed of. The artist wasn’t even very good – she was certain that she could do far better.

“Perhaps this is an opportunity for your training,” Master Tian mused.

“You want me to go out and bash rats?” Ilyshn’ish furrowed a brow, “I’m of the mind that Lady Shalltear won’t be very happy if she receives complaints about a Frost Dragon chasing rodents up and down the alleys.”

“I believe that violence should only be used as a last resort, or reserved for those who persist in their reprehensible actions,” Master Tian told her. “Since you are a Bard, you may be able to employ your skills in persuasion to arrive at an amicable resolution.”

He wanted her to negotiate with Vermin? What did it even have to do with training? How big were these things, anyways? The fearsome spectre of these horrible rodents who could trouble even Master Tian grew to monstrous size. Did they even exist? She hadn’t seen anything of the sort throughout the century of her living in the Azerlisia Mountains, but recent memory did bring to mind at least one such creature that could sometimes be seen lurking in the shadows of the city’s central district…

A voice leaked thinly through the entrance of the Hall.

“Oh, it seems that one has appeared outside,” Master Tian said. “This timing is quite fortuitous.”

Ilyshn’ish looked down at Master Tian worriedly. He wanted her to do something about it now? She wasn’t ready to face such a powerful foe – she at least wanted time to study these creatures before confronting them. She focused her senses, but, as thin as they seemed, the walls of the hall still blocked out most of the details beyond.

The voice sounded from outside again. Its tone seemed very much one of challenge. She didn’t want to die yet...

“M-master Tian,” Ilyshn’ish shifted further away from the entrance, “this being sounds very much like he wants to fight. Didn’t you say we shouldn’t easily resort to violence?”

“I am sure that you will at least have the time to state our case,” Master Tian told her. “I would just like for them to stop loitering around on the street outside and chasing away prospective students.”

Ilyshn’ish stared down at Master Tian incredulously. Them? How many would she have to face? Given how quickly rodents tended to breed, maybe there were entire sections of the city swarming with them…she hadn’t had the opportunity to explore the underground portions of E-Rantel yet, so she was glad that this information came to her attention before it was too late.

The voice sounded again, full of confidence and belligerent intent. Master Tian looked on expectantly.

Suppressing a pitiful whimper, Ilyshn’ish turned and crept over towards the entrance. She carefully worked open a crack between the doors with a claw before sliding one side open. Information from the outside flooded her senses. There were about two dozen individuals of the different races in residence gathered around the nearby street. She didn’t detect any giant rodents resembling the one in the central district.

Was it concealing its presence somehow? Rodents were quite good at that. She carefully poked her head through the doorframe to see things directly. On the street, there was no sign of the giant rodent from the central district. There was, however, a Quagoa standing perfectly still straight out from the door. Come to think of it, the mole Demihumans were basically rodents, too.

Ilyshn’ish lunged forward, grabbing the Quagoa in her jaws. She withdrew into the hall again, quietly closing the door. As she returned to Master Tian, a warm sensation pooled in her mouth.

“Peh!” She spat him out in disgust, “Peh! Peh! Gross! Why did you do that? I wasn’t going to eat you.”

The Quagoa lay unresponsive in a soggy heap on the floor. She let out a short breath, then shook her head violently. Chunks of yellow ice rained over the floor. Ilyshn’ish wanted to scrape her tongue off on something – would one of the pillars work?

“Was this what you were referring to?” She asked Master Tian.

“Indeed,” he replied, looking down at the unconscious Quagoa. “However, I feel that negotiations have gone in an unintended direction from the outset.”

“Oh, this is perfectly harmless,” Ilyshn'ish reassured him, “generous, even. My father would go much farther in his negotiations with the Quagoa. We didn’t even collect any tribute from this one for the privilege of an audience.”

“…is there really such a need?”

“Of course,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Considering his manner of approach, he should be glad we didn’t kill several hundred of his kin to set them straight.”

“This may be how you conducted yourselves in the past,” Master Tian told her, “but there are laws in the Sorcerous Kingdom that prohibit such destructive conduct. Negotiations between citizens should be…just what are you doing?”

Master Tian frowned down to the floor in front of her. Ilyshn’ish followed the line of his gaze: the Quagoa had curled up into a ball, which she was absently batting back and forth between her claws.

“Oh, this?” She said lightly, “A habit, I suppose. They always curl up like this…it’s quite cathartic, I’ll admit. Would you like to try?”

“What I would like,” Master Tian said, “is for you to cease.”

Ilyshn’ish gave the Quagoa one last swat, and it rolled out in front of Master Tian. Her tail lazily swished back and forth as they waited for it to unfurl itself. Eventually, his head poked out, glistening nose and whiskers twitching.

“I-is it over?” He said warily, “Have I finally come to the land of Derey? I admit that I was never very brave, but it would be nice…”

His gaze turned up to Master Tian.

“Ah, the old Human is here too…well, he was old, after all. But why is he in Derey?”

The Quagoa continued scanning the hall, stopping at Ilyshn’ish’s nearest claw.

“This is not Derey,” he sighed.

“You’re not too bright, are you?” Ilyshn’ish said.

After a moment’s thought, she turned to Master Tian.

“This one should be taken advantage of,” she told him. “With little effort, we could smoothly take control of his entire clan.”

“That was not my intention,” Master Tian frowned up at her.

“But it does fulfil your objective along the way, yes?” she said, “You’ll get all sorts of other benefits on top of that.”

“Ending their attempts to interfere with the operation of this dojo is sufficient.”

“Then why not just get rid of them yourself?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“His Majesty has left us with explicit instructions to not harm the citizens without just cause,” Master Tian answered.

Just cause? If that was the case, what qualified as just cause? Lady Shalltear certainly didn’t hesitate to stab her with that horrible glaive within moments of their meeting. Maybe the Frost Dragons weren’t considered citizens, if what Master Tian mentioned on the day they met meant anything. They weren’t citizens, or even people: just ‘Dragons’ – monsters to be exploited for labour and crafting materials. The world was truly an unfair place.

Ilyshn’ish believed that she understood Master Tian’s quandary. If the Quagoa knew that his hands were tied, they’d operate in a fashion where he couldn’t directly retaliate. It could be done so that it was perceived as weakness by the Demihuman residents, hobbling his local standing and harming the dojo’s reputation as a place to learn the ways of unarmed combat. If he called in the local security forces to disperse them, it would also be seen as weakness. Truly, he was caught in a bind.

This being the case, it made his rejection of her proposal even more puzzling. It didn’t appear to break any rules, so it was the perfect solution. She looked back down at the Quagoa, who was now sitting on the floor and combing his fur.

“You – Quagoa.”

The Quagoa kept grooming himself, so she knocked him over with a claw.

“Hiiieee!”

She examined his scant adornment while he flopped about in a panic.

“You’re Zu, are you not?”

“Y-yes mighty one,” he rose to his knees and bowed several times. “This one is Zu Chiru, of the Zu Aygen Clan.”

The Zu Aygen Clan was a small and weak group amongst the Quagoa relative to the clans of Pu, who made up the majority of the race’s population in the Azerlisia range. She guessed their presence in E-Rantel meant that they had been tossed out after whatever happened in Feoh Berkana.

“If you join with us, Zu Chiru,” her imperious voice filled the hall, “we shall grant you control of half of your entire clan.”

“R-really?” Zu Chiru looked up at her with wide eyes.

Master Tian cleared his throat. Ilyshn’ish sighed. She was doing him a favour, yet all she received in return was his thankless rejection.

“Why did you come to interfere with this dojo?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

Zu Chiru looked back and forth between Ilyshn’ish and Master Tian. A low growl rose from Ilyshn’ish’s throat.

“F-for the prosperity of my clan!” He squeaked.

“How does making noise in front of this hall bring prosperity to your clan?”

“Because the sects compete for disciples,” he explained. “The Mountain Mole Sect must bring in disciples, or our clan will starve!”

Zu Chiru looked down, dry washing his hands.

“The Azure Sky, Iron Fist Sect is too strong, so the only thing we can do is draw students away from here.” He looked to Master Tian, “Please – you are but one old Human, but we have many mouths to feed!”

“Hmm…”

Ilyshn’ish turned her attention to Master Tian. He wasn’t going to cave in to Zu Chiru’s weak mewling, was he?

“I can’t imagine that you have any obligation to acquiesce to this pitiful request,” she prompted.

“I have no desire to bring any hardship to His Majesty’s subjects,” Master Tian replied, “but there appear to be quite a few misunderstandings here in the first place.”

Too soft! Master Tian was too easy to bend with heartfelt pleas. It was lucky for him that his strength afforded him leeway for such imprudent indulgences.

“First of all,” Master Tian went on, “this Azure Sky, Iron Fist Sect…are you perhaps referring to the orphanage?”

Beyond it being a place to store loose whelps, Ilyshn’ish had no idea what an ‘orphanage’ was. Neither did Zu Chiru, it appeared. The Quagoa’s mouth worked around the strange word.

“I don’t know what that means, but it’s a place filled with young Humans. A dangerous Human female is the leader there…they say that she will not die, even if her head is taken!”

“That’s absurd,” Ilyshn’ish snorted. “What do you take Humans for, Adventurers?”

“I-it’s true!” Zu Chiru said, “But unlike Adventurers, who are said to not die even when they are killed, this Sect Leader continues to move when her head is torn right off! My clanmates have witnessed this: one night, a wolf Beastman snatched her head away, but the body chased the Beastman around the bowl until it was subdued and beaten with such force that the ground quaked with every blow!”

Ilyshn’ish’s jaw fell open in mute horror. That certainly was terrifying. What he mentioned about those Adventurers was also terrifying. It was no wonder that they were universally feared. Master Tian stepped forward.

“Perhaps a brief visit will address your concerns…”

Both Ilyshn’ish and Zu Chiru violently shook their heads in unison.

“W-we should stay as far away as possible from such a savage individual,” Ilyshn’ish said. “There’s absolutely no reason to take such risks.”

“They are mostly younglings,” Zu Chiru said, “but there are a great many there – some of them even larger than myself! They have gleaming eyes and large teeth…if things go badly, we will be overwhelmed and eaten!”

They looked at Master Tian with pleading expressions, but the old man was not dissuaded.

“Come, now,” Master Tian clapped his hands, then gestured towards the door, “let us be off – I am certain no harm will befall you.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ilyshn’ish slinked out of the entrance of the Justice Dragon Dojo on the heels of Zu Chiru.

Unlike the other sections of the city, the Demihuman Quarter remained active through all the hours of the day. The streets and terraces at night were frequented by those species possessing Darkvision or something superior to it, like Tremorsense or Blindsight. This night seemed busier than she last remembered, though the population was still a small fraction of the Human-dominated areas of the city.

How the denizens of the quarter felt about having a ten-metre long Frost Dragon walking by was difficult to discern. She couldn’t decide whether they were simply too busy to pay attention or pointedly trying not to draw her attention. There were also many races present that she had no experience with, so their expressions and body language were unknown to her. Then again, she was a Frost Dragon, so any of these weak individuals who weren't really paying attention to their surroundings most likely did not take any more note than they would a passing wagon.

Through her day together with Pam the previous week, she had learned the behaviour and flows of traffic in the city, allowing her to subconsciously navigate the street with no difficulty or incident. As they walked through the busiest section of the main street, their progress slowed and Ilyshn’ish looked around for the source of the disruption. Along one side of the paved road, which ran from the western gatehouse to the southern one, were what looked to be stands similar to those that could be found in the plazas around the city. Though none were occupied, Ilyshn’ish examined them curiously as they walked by.

“This place seems to have filled in a bit,” she murmured absently.

“Indeed,” Master Tian said. “It is an encouraging sight.”

Encouraging? What was so encouraging about any of this? She eyed the small groups of Demihumans as they milled about the tables.

“Do they plan on opening some sort of market here?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “The way these tables are organized is reminiscent of the plazas around the city.”

“As I understand it,” Master Tian answered, “a handful of Human interests are trying to encourage commercial activity in this quarter.”

“To what end?” She furrowed a brow as her eye wandered over the tables, “The tribal peoples here live uncomplicated lives – they have no appreciation for commerce as Humans or Dwarves do.”

“I spoke at length with a few of the organizers,” he said. “According to one of them, the Great Forest of Tob is considered a mostly untapped resource, so there is great interest in the merchant community over what the tribes living there can deliver to the city. Another expressed a desire to see all of the races have their own traders and spokespeople, and for the citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom to come closer together through their peaceful interactions in E-Rantel. It is an admirable objective, and in line with His Majesty’s desire that all citizens would partake of the nation’s prosperity.”

Ilyshn’ish glanced at the stands again, then examined the individuals that they passed along their way. Everything about them spoke of their simple lifestyles, and she couldn’t imagine anything being displayed here beyond raw plants, stones, hides and simple crafts. Visitors who came to sell the occasional findings of actual value here would just be feeding the Human-owned industries of the city, who would proceed to take the lion’s share of the ‘prosperity’.

Zu Chiru, waddling forward before her, also looked about, his fur standing on end. He shrunk away from every sudden noise and movement as they made their way along the street. Despite his seemingly timid behaviour, Ilyshn’ish decided that this particular Quagoa was actually quite brave. Even when scouting, they tended to move in groups; seeing one wandering around alone in a strange place – aboveground, no less – was essentially unheard of.

“As brave as you are for your kind,” she told him, “picking a fight with Master Tian seems a bit much. Well, more like suicidal.”

“I-I didn’t know such a monster was inside!” He exclaimed, “This place is strange – nothing is as it seems.”

“You’re right,” she replied. “This place is strange. The people here are sly: they veil their strength, and exploit the deeds of others – daring to scheme even against those stronger than themselves. It is not like our old home, where all things are determined through honest displays of dominance. This city is a place where the strong rule using the methods of the weak. Though…since the Quagoa are weak, it should suit your people well, should it not?”

“B-but what can we do?” Zu Chiru said despondently, “The soil is soft and poor; there are no caves, and groundwater does not collect here. We are forbidden from tunneling beyond the boundaries of the Quarter, so we must submit ourselves to the mercy of others to survive.”

“Didn’t you start farming recently?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “Mushrooms and Lizards, if I recall correctly.”

“The Pu jealousy guard this secret technique,” Zu Chiru told her bitterly. "The Zu do not know how. All we know are the ways of our kind, and they gain us no advantages here…”

Ilyshn’ish supposed that he had actually a good grasp on his clan’s present situation. The Human city was quite insidious in its ways, promoting its systems of exchange. Simple people that lived honest lives, like most of the residents of the Demihuman Quarter, were quickly ensnared by its cycles of labour and consumption. The rulers of the city were not idle about it, either – at least not at the start.

Whenever a new group of people arrived, a powerful Dark Elf and some sort of Human minion were sure to appear shortly after. They would come bearing essential sustenance and supplies, and the Human would tell them the ways of the city. Then they would be directed to their first places of employment – usually as labour for the ongoing construction projects around the quarter. Past that point, the poor, unwitting Demihumans would become trapped. There was no time to think or figure things out: only time to work and rest. She wasn’t sure if there was any way to escape it.

Not that their plight mattered to her – she was still trying to get herself out of her own predicament. Studying how the Human city functioned led to some clues, but a real solution still eluded her.

They arrived at the large complex at the other end of the Demihuman Quarter: the same place where she had first encountered several powerful individuals, including Lady Shalltear. Master Tian pulled on a chain dangling near the gate, and the chiming of a bell issued from within. Miss Lupusregina’s head popped out from behind one of the buildings. She came forward with a gaggle of immature Humans following in her wake.

“Oh, if it isn’t Master Sebas,” she said as she came forward. “Looking for someone?”

Master Sebas? Didn’t he prefer to be called Master Tian? Perhaps there was some difference in the relationships here…

“Lupusregina…shouldn’t you be in Carne?” Master Tian frowned gravely at her.

“Shizu and Entoma are there right now,” Miss Lupusregina replied, “they were passing through on the way to the Great Lake, so I had them watch over the place while I came over here. The place just keeps expanding: even with the Dwarves all moved in, they keep changing the rest of the place with their ‘improvements’.”

“If your business here is concluded,” he told her, “you should return to your duties.”

The smooth way in which Master Tian and Miss Lupusregina interacted spoke of some long standing relationship between them, but Ilyshn’ish could not tell what it might be from their brief exchange. Miss Lupusregina appeared to defer to him, but her attitude was so casual that one would doubt if she actually did.

“Yep, I’m heading out right now; dontcha worry about it…”

Miss Lupusregina turned around to look over the Human whelps that were standing behind her.

“Big Sis Lupu has to get back to work now,” she told them. “Make sure you don’t get caught misbehaving – cause that’s bad. What do bad children get?”

“The FIST!” They yelled out in unison.

Both Zu Chiru and Ilyshn’ish jumped at the noise, and the Quagoa scurried behind Ilyshn’ish. Though Miss Lupusregina appeared to be threatening them with some dire punishment, the young Humans responded energetically, each holding up one of their tiny, balled-up hands in the air. Weak as they were, these Human whelps were every bit as vicious as wyrmlings – Zu Chiru was right to fear this place.

“That’s right,” Miss Lupusregina said with a satisfied nod. “Big Sis Yuri is really scary. I might be able to take a few good hits, but you pups’ll get smushed into paste for sure.”

“LUPU!”

A shout issued from somewhere unseen, rolling out from between the buildings towards the gate. Miss Lupusregina leapt straight up onto the nearby wall and disappeared into the night.

Another figure appeared from the depths of the complex, and the crowd of children solemnly parted to let her through. It was another female, wearing a long dress that some of the more mature Human women around the city favoured. Despite her severe-looking Human garb, however, Ilyshn’ish immediately sensed this one was not a Human. She exhibited none of the telltale signs of the living, and her scent was extremely weak. Like Lady Shalltear and her Vampire Brides, this one was most likely Undead.

The Undead female ran her gaze over the Human whelps, then let out a resigned sigh.

“Really, that Lupu,” she said. “Putting strange ideas into their heads. Get back to your rooms, children – it’s long past bedtime.”

She finished walking up to the open gate, and the children dispersed behind her, disappearing beyond the range of Ilyshn’ish’s senses.

“Do your sisters frequent the orphanage often?” Master Tian asked.

“Shizu and Entoma do,” the woman replied, “and Lupusregina comes by to see Lady Nigredo when alterations to the counterdivination arrangements in Carne are required. Narberal and Solution have not – I was really hoping that exposing them to the orphans would mellow them out a bit.”

“I see…so it isn’t working out so well?”

“The results are mixed. Shizu only gravitates to those that she finds cute – and I still haven’t figured out what her criteria are. Entoma has become a remarkably excellent caregiver – at first, I kept worrying about whether she would try to eat a few, but the children all seem to love her very much. Lupusregina, however, only sees opportunities to rope them into her mischief…”

She paused, eyes widening for a moment.

“Please forgive me; it seems that I have forgotten my manners. Welcome, Lo–er, Master Sebas,” the Undead female lowered her head slightly. “Is there something I might be able to assist you with?”

“I’ve brought a fellow who has expressed some concerns that I thought would best be put to rest,” Master Tian replied. “This Quagoa here…hmm, where did he go?”

Ilyshn’ish flicked him out from behind her with a flick of her tail. Zu Chiru let out a startled cry, rolling forward to stop before the Undead female’s feet.

“His name is Zu Chiru,” Master Tian said. “I believe he and his fellows are starting some sort of school here. Zu Chiru, Miss Yuri: Director of this fine orphanage.”

Zu Chiru unballed himself and dropped to his knees, kowtowing in a decidedly Quagoa-like fashion. It reminded Ilyshn’ish somewhat of their King, Pe Riyuro, prostrating himself before her father, but it lacked the customary tribute of precious ores and gemstones to pay for an audience.

“This one offers his greetings to you, Dread Leader of the Azure Sky, Iron Fist Sect. This one is Zu Chiru, who humbly presents himself before your fearsome presence.”

“Sect?” Miss Yuri adjusted the frames of her spectacles, “What is this all about?”

“I believe he and his fellows consider both the orphanage and my dojo competition for prospective students,” Master Tian said.

“What sort of ‘school’ are they founding?” Miss Yuri’s voice turned curious.

“Our Mountain Mole Sect is one that teaches the foundations of Quagoa combat, oh Dread One,” Zu Chiru’s voice drifted up from the cobblestones. “We’re trying to find a way to earn more, erm…money? So that we may improve living conditions for our clan.”

“I see…but why would you consider this orphanage competition?”

“You take in the young, do you not?” Zu Chiru looked up at Miss Yuri, “There are many powerful beings here – why else would this place exist but to collect the impressionable so they may be inducted into your sect?”

“I’m not sure where you’ve heard this from,” Miss Yuri gazed down at Zu Chiru with a look of concern, “but our instruction is not in the ways of violence. The Azure Sky, Iron Fist Institute for Promising Children is a place where poor orphans are gathered and furnished with the skills and education to become productive members of society. Any who show promise or interest in martial vocations will be introduced to places where they can better pursue those paths – which are not practised here.”

What was the purpose of that? Taking in whelps and providing what Miss Yuri described seemed monumentally wasteful. The strongest would naturally rise to the top on their own to be picked out, at no cost to oneself. There must be some hidden benefit to all this…

“What happens after you’re done ‘instructing’ them?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “Will they then be your minions, sent out to bring back wealth and prestige?”

Miss Yuri looked up at her with a furrow on her brow. Ilyshn’ish returned her look – it was a perfectly reasonable assumption.

“Who is this, Master Sebas?” Miss Yuri asked.

“She goes by the name of ‘Shiver’,” Master Tian told Miss Yuri. “Lady Shalltear left her with me to address some matters of discipline.”

“This ‘Shiver’ certainly has quite the self-serving outlook,” Miss Yuri said. “I’m surprised she sent her to you…given Lady Shalltear’s disposition, I’m surprised she survived at all with her tone. Do you know what it is that she did?”

“She told me that she does not know,” Master Tian said, “and Lady Shalltear left before I could request a better explanation. Seeing that I’ve been trying to raise some upstanding individuals for Lord Ainz, she might be thinking along those same lines – Lady Shalltear has been quietly stretching out her hand over the past few months, employing various locals for her purposes.”

“Is that so?” Miss Yuri examined Ilyshn’ish with a critical eye, “Lady Shalltear, hm…I suppose Dragons do fight with their natural weapons, but I’ve never heard of a Dragon with job class levels before…”

“Indeed,” Master Tian said. “I held the same impression, but she professes to be a Bard.”

“A Bard?” Miss Yuri tilted her head curiously, “Then perhaps some sort of Dancer?”

“That was my conclusion, as well,” Master Tian somehow straightened his already straight posture, and adjusted his pure white tie. “We should get back to training, as her time in the city is limited. Thank you for your assistance in clarifying matters, Miss Yuri.”

Miss Yuri lowered her head with a gentle smile, spreading her skirts in a graceful curtsey.

“It was no trouble at all, Master Sebas.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 5

Chapter 5

On their return from the orphanage, they discovered a small crowd in the midst of where the market stands were being set up along the street. A pair of Human females stood at the centre of everyone’s attention, speaking at length to them.

Ilyshn’ish watched them out of one eye as they skirted around the gathering. From the subject matter, these were two of the Humans who had come to take advantage of the state of affairs in the quarter. One of them looked up at her, and she noted in passing that her pupils were red. The Human female offered her a bright smile, and Ilyshn’ish averted her gaze.

The diminutive Human looked so weak, yet she gave her that unflinching look. She wondered what sort of underhanded schemes were in play that gave her the confidence to express herself so boldly to an obviously superior existence. Another detail tempted her to examine the Human again, but she stifled her curiosity to avoid meeting the Human’s gaze again.

“Those Humans appear to be able to see in the dark,” Ilyshn’ish said. “I thought their kind needed light to see. Are there different variants of Humans?”

“The local Humans all appear to be the same basic species. Perhaps they possess some item that confers Darkvision,” Master Tian offered. “It should be one of the many of low level enchantments available in this region.”

“One of those Humans is known to me,” Zu Chiru said. “She is a kind lady that goes by the name of Florine. She does not appear especially big or strong compared to her underlings, yet she commands them with absolute confidence, and they all obey without question. This makes her a Human Lord, I think?”

“A kind lady?” Ilyshn’ish was instantly suspicious of this Human Lord, “What is it that makes her so kind?”

“S-she comes to bring the residents supplies and teaches us the ways of this city.” Zu Chiru replied defensively, “She does so of her own volition, and offers us fair prices for shipments of food – the first one was even free!”

Ah, so it was the Human minion that went around with the Dark Elf. Ilyshn’ish wondered if she should let him know that their freedom was being stolen away from them by this ‘kind’ Human.

Zu Chiru, despite his wariness of overt threats, seemed blithely unaware of anything else. He probably didn’t even realize that the explanation offered by Miss Yuri was no reassurance at all. They would raise their whelps and send them to whoever offered the greatest benefits. Given the underlying relationship between Master Tian and Miss Yuri that Ilyshn’ish detected, any potential students for the Midnight Mole Sect would be sent straight to the Justice Dragon Dojo instead. The games of profit and power being played in this city were merciless to simple, honest folk.

“Hmm…if one of them was Lady Gagnier,” Master Tian said, “then there’s a good chance that the other was Lady Wagner. They are often seen together – good friends, if memory serves correctly.”

Ilyshn’ish shook her head sadly. The entire board was well and truly rigged: you were either one of them, or an outsider to be exploited.

“You…you know of them?” Zu Chiru asked.

“Indeed,” Master Tian nodded, “Lady Wagner was of great assistance some months past, delivering a great quantity of liquor while the city’s trade was at a standstill. The both of them also took initiative to settle some matters in the west, and they are now actively working to improve the state of the Sorcerous Kingdom in many areas. This activity in the Demihuman Quarter is but one of many projects they’ve spearheaded in the city and beyond.”

Ilyshn’ish sniffed derisively as his statement.

“Do you have some objection to this?” Master Tian asked.

“Rather than any objections,” Ilyshn'ish said, “I fail to comprehend the purpose of these convoluted schemes. The Sorcerer King has so much power at his disposal that it’s entirely unnecessary. In the face of his pure might, all must heed his will or be erased from existence. There is no point in whatever all this is supposed to be.”

“I believe His Majesty to be a kind and benevolent master,” he told her. “Have you, too, not gained many benefits from his rule?”

Ilyshn’ish narrowed her eyes, uncertain whether the words Master Tian said were in jest or not.

“I wonder how many of the residents here respect him for his ‘benevolence’.”

She scanned the street, locating a pair of Lizardmen loitering ahead of them.

“You two Lizardfolk,” she stopped to speak to them, “how is it that you’ve come under the Sorcerer King’s rule?”

They shuffled backwards as her head loomed close, then exchanged looks at her question.

“We were subjugated last year,” one of them replied. “We are currently in the city because His Majesty, um, suggested that we should travel.”

“What of other tribes near your home, or perhaps other races?”

“They were conquered as well,” the Lizardman said “By Lord Cocytus, on behalf of His Majesty. Everyone around our lake was consolidated under his rule.”

“Thank you,” she nodded at them, and they continued on their way.

“I saw what was left of the Quagoa in Feoh Berkana,” she eyed Master Tian pointedly as they went along. “There’s no reason for me to believe that it was some act of benevolence. My family was the same – my father was murdered right in our own home, in front of his three wives. My half brother was killed shortly after for expressing his dissent over matters. I heard they were both taken away to be dismantled for crafting materials. My eldest brother was given away to be turned into a pet, and now the rest of us are slaves of Lady Shalltear.”

“Slaves…” Master Tian said in a grave voice, “Though it sounds out of sorts for one such as her, I hear that Lady Shalltear has put much thought and care into the aerial transportation network. You’ve been provided much to ensure your good health.”

“What we’ve been provided with is the means to toil indefinitely,” Ilyshn’ish told him, “and no option to refuse. Perhaps it is as you say, and she puts much thought and care into the aerial transportation network itself, but we Frost Dragons are nothing more than beasts of burden.”

They left the main street, walking up the lane towards the Justice Dragon Dojo.

“This is besides the point however,” she continued. “All of the beings you see here follow the same rule – the unbreakable rule of the world. Prosperity, wealth, and even their very lives will be taken without the means to retain them; benevolence and good intentions mean nothing if everything can be trampled underfoot. They gather under the Sorcerer King because his overwhelming strength permits their continued existence – they did not come to him for his goodwill.”

Ilyshn’ish’s gaze wandered over the quarter, until it was drawn by the brightly lit streets beyond the southern gatehouse.

“These Humans, too,” she mused. “I wonder how E-Rantel and its surrounding lands ended up under the Sorcerer King’s rule?”

A steely expression formed over Master Tian’s features, and they followed him back into the hall. He reseated himself at the head of the hall; Ilyshn’ish and Zu Chiru before him.

“It is not a bad thing for the strong to rule with benevolence,” he said after some time, “and it is right to assist those in need.”

She wanted to roll her eyes. It appeared that their views were irreconcilable. Ilyshn’ish looked over at Zu Chiru.

“Zu Chiru,” she said, “what do you think about all of this?”

“M-me?” He looked between them nervously, “My thoughts are as dust to such powerful beings…”

Ilyshn’ish smirked, her tail swishing smugly over the cedar floorboards.

“…b-but is it not better for everyone to be happy?”

Her tail stopped, and she glared down at him balefully. In hindsight, it was a mistake to ask this gullible idiot. Master Tian nodded sagely.

“I concur,” he said. “Strength alone is nothing to be prideful about. If one has power, it is best used for the benefit of all.”

Ilyshn’ish sighed. Debating the matter any more would only plague her with headaches, so she decided to press on to things that actually held practical value.

“Half the night is gone,” she said, “and I must return to the north in the afternoon. Weren’t we supposed to be undergoing some sort of training?”

Master Tian’s looked from Zu Chiru to Ilyshn’ish, then back again.

“Perhaps this fine gentleman would like to learn alongside you,” he said.

“T-this Zu Chiru?” The Quagoa’s nose twitched.

“I have heard it is more beneficial to have a partner to train with,” Master Tian said. “You, too, have an interest in self-improvement, do you not?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“He’s going to die,” Ilyshn’ish stated flatly.

Zu Chiru nodded empathetically.

“As this is training,” Master Tian told them, “you should not be striving to kill one another. The objective is achieving mastery over one’s self. Dancers are those who harness the power of their art by weaving it through bodily form.”

“This building probably won’t survive if I start dancing inside.”

“I suppose that is probably true…”

A light knock issued from the door. The three exchanged glances and Zu Chiru, being the closest to the entrance, went to answer it. Seriously…it wasn’t even the Quagoa’s place and he just naturally started working for them. He slid open the door and issued the most piteous squeak Ilyshn’ish had ever heard come from a Quagoa before keeling over.

“Sebas?”

Ilyshn’ish felt a squeak of her own escape when she heard the voice coming in from across the threshold.

“Welcome, Lady Shalltear,” Master Tian rose to his feet.

“I was moving some Demihumans and their goods to the market nearby,” Lady Shalltear said, “so I thought I’d see how things were coming along.”

She stepped around the collapsed Zu Chiru and into the hall. Her crimson gaze swept over the interior, stopping at Ilyshn’ish.

“Oh~ I see that this child has returned without need for prompting,” she said. “This discipline of yours appears to be working wonders so far, Sebas – how long until you’re done with her?”

“Er…we have only just begun, so it should still be some time yet,” Master Tian replied. “If I might ask, is there something specific that you would like addressed? Getting in contact with you has been quite difficult recently.”

“I’ve been wonderfully busy, after all.” Head held high, a note of pride entered Lady Shalltear’s voice, “As for this child…I suppose any improvements would be welcome, but your priority should be placed on her loose tongue.”

“…her loose tongue, you say?”

“Indeed,” Lady Shalltear nodded. “She is the source of the Frost Giant rumors that Albedo has been tied up in knots over recently.”

The air turned deathly still, and Master Tian slowly looked back at Ilyshn’ish. She slowly started edging away.

“Hoh…” He said, adjusting his pristine, white gloves, “She claimed that she did not know why she was sent here.”

“I told her quite clearly when she asked,” Lady Shalltear told him, “it was just before we appeared here.”

“I see,” he fixed Ilyshn’ish with his steely gaze. “It seems that discipline of another form is required.”

“Wai–”

Ilyshn’ish’s protest ended at its first syllable. What happened? Master Tian only looked like he had turned to face her. How was she suddenly careening through the air? Her senses were jarred violently as she bounced off a pillar and smashed through the back wall of the building, rolling over and over until she hit the base of the quarter wall.

Memories of the last time she was sent flying in such a fashion flooded her mind with horror. She spread her wings to escape, making it all of two metres off of the ground before she felt something latch onto her tail. Her trajectory abruptly reversed and she whipped into the ground, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

“Lying is bad,” Master Tian’s voice could be heard through Ilyshn’ish’s coughing.

“Bad children get the fist~” Lady Shalltear’s silvery voice chimed lightly through the hole in the wall.

“It appears that the truth is bad for me, as well!” Ilyshn’ish croaked.

She spread her wings again, flapping frantically, then she couldn’t. Sharp pain spread from her shoulder, and a sense of creeping dread sent an uncontrollable shiver of despair through her. She flopped to the ground, landing painfully on her side. Ilyshn’ish raised her head, turning it to look back over herself.

“M-my wing!” She cried, “You–”

“Lady Shalltear’s instructions were to not allow your escape, and Lady Albedo’s instructions were to…well, let’s just say your present circumstances are quite fortunate by comparison.”

Ilyshn’ish pondered why her current circumstances were quite fortunate while the pain ebbed away and the Ring of Regeneration slowly did its work. She tested her wing gingerly, then it collapsed over her back again in an explosion of agony. The only indication that Master Tian had even done anything was the slight shifting of his gaze to her shoulder.

“You evil–”

“Regeneration, is it?” Master Tian said in an unsettlingly calm voice, “Then I shall employ a more lasting measure…”

She had absolutely no desire to find out what ‘a more lasting measure’ entailed. Scrambling to her feet, she bolted forward to climb up the wall. Her left arm went numb, and she went face first into the stones. Her body grew heavy, and she struggled to move even slightly.

“You may be able to recover from physical injuries,” Master Tian told her, “but regeneration will not save you from the effects of debilitating skills.”

Master Tian lifted her bodily off of the ground, and she zipped back through the hole in the wall of the dojo. Lady Shalltear’s sadistic leer crossed her vision before Ilyshn’ish hit the ground and slid across the polished floor. The building shuddered when she collided with the pillars framing the entrance.

“I knew you had it somewhere in you,” Lady Shalltear smiled in approval.

The sound of crisp footsteps emanated from the hole in the wall. Ilyshn’ish weakly cringed away from Master Tian’s approach, but he turned and reseated himself at the head of the hall.

“You can still do quite a bit more, you know,” Lady Shalltear said. “Though your direct, unarmed attacks easily injure her, her damage reduction is already high enough that all of this bouncing around doesn’t do anything at all. Ah – she goes back to work in the afternoon, however, so don’t do anything that would cause problems with scheduling.”

“I do not derive pleasure from this,” Master Tian said. “I have, however, seen what the people here can turn into, should their immoral actions remain unchecked. Considering her personality, I believe it best to admonish her with a firm hand.”

“Yes,” Lady Shalltear nodded, “I’ve come to the same conclusion about these Frost Dragons: since they seem to mainly function off of the experiences retained in their memory, it’s best to employ corrective methods that they will never forget. Since she cannot recover from injuries directly inflicted by me, however, there is a limit as to how far I can go. You have no such limitations, but it’s a shame that you never seem to enjoy such things. She has a Ring of Regeneration, and, as a Bard, she can magically heal herself. You may ‘train’ her quite thoroughly if you believe it to be a productive course.”

“Is that so?” The strange gleam returned to Master Tian’s eye, “I will certainly keep this in mind. Seeing that you have not delivered her to Lady Albedo, am I correct to assume that this ‘loose tongue’ of hers was not purposely employed in a malicious manner against the Sorcerous Kingdom?”

“I arrived at that conclusion after some investigation, yes,” Lady Shalltear replied. “She is simply an ignorant primitive that does not understand appropriate conduct in civilized society. Fortunately, her kind is easily corrected when the appropriate methods are employed, so it is a salvageable case.”

“That is good to hear,” Master Tian said. “I shall endeavour to instill some propriety into her during the course of our training.”

“I can’t wait to see how she turns out,” Lady Shalltear beamed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my duties. Ah~ it’s so good to be busy!”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Furry legs pumping wildly beneath him, Zu Chiru made his way breathlessly through the Demihuman Quarter. Terror flooded his mind and he dared not glance behind, lest he discover the Crimson Harbinger stalking in his wake. His panicking heart would surely explode in his chest if it were the case.

Zu Chiru did not know why she had come, only that she stood before him: eyes glowing with vermillion radiance across the threshold of the door. When next he woke, the Dragon was being murdered, and Zu Chiru slipped out of the door amidst the commotion. She was not a bad Dragon, he thought, but she was soon to be a dead Dragon, and he did not wish to be next.

He ran and he ran, past the Goblins and the Ogres; the Lizardmen and the Dwarves; along the street with its rows of tables. He ran until he found himself at the western gatehouse, near the grounds of the Azure Sky, Iron Fist Sect. Squinting out at the painfully lit streets of the Human city beyond, Zu Chiru knew he could go no further. He scurried off to the side; into the cold, dark space behind the Dwarven Inn, weeping alone quietly over his harrowing ordeal. He wanted to go home, back under the mountains where it was dark and warm and wet and the world was not so terrifying.

Regaining his wits some time later, Zu Chiru poked his head out of the alley to look upon the street. Along the road, he saw the tables from before, now arrayed with many things. Behind them stood members of different races, most of whom he was entirely unfamiliar with. Sharp, green scents filled the air, unwelcome to his Quagoa senses.

Residents of the quarter moved alone or in small groups, walking up and down the long row of tables. Some stopped to exchange various items, but he could not make sense of how their bartering worked.

“ROCKS!”

A bellow nearly startled him witless again.

“BUY ROCKS!”

An Ogre a few tables away shouted out into the night. Several Lizardmen had already gathered at his stand; why did he have to be so loud?

Zu Chiru watched as they spoke with the Ogre, holding up several items in turn. The Ogre stopped them at a coil of narrow rope and nodded after a moment. The Lizardmen picked out small, smooth stones from those displayed on the table, placing them in a bag while leaving the rope behind. Curious, Zu Chiru came out of hiding and waddled over to the table.

“D-do you have ores?” He asked.

“I have ROCK!” The Ogre’s fetid breath blew back Zu Chiru’s whiskers.

Well, maybe he shouldn’t expect too much from a surface dweller. He stood on his tiptoes and sniffed around the table. His nose led him to a stone roughly the size of his head.

“What about this one?” Zu Chiru pointed to the stone that bore traces of ore.

“Show.”

“Show? Oh.”

It occurred to Zu Chiru that he had nothing to barter, not even a scrap of worn hide. He pulled his hand back and stepped away from the table, shuffling up the street.

“ROCKS!” The Ogre bellowed out again, “BUY ROCKS!”

Zu Chiru let out a great sigh – he couldn’t even afford rocks. If the Zu Chiru of today told the Zu Chiru of months past that this would be his future, Zu Chiru would surely dismiss Zu Chiru as a lunatic.

“Zu Chiru.”

A warm, familiar voice from nearby stilled his steps, and he turned towards its source.

Several tables away, standing on the back of a wagon, was the Human, Florine. He made his way over and found a second Human sitting on the edge of the wagon, legs swinging idly as she looked around. Zu Chiru looked up at Florine.

“Y-you remember me?”

He had only given her his name once: back when a few of his people had gathered to learn about the city after having food brought to them.

“Of course – you were quite attentive back then,” her eyes scanned the street briefly. “No one else from your clan came to see the market?”

“They...this is not a place where they would come.”

“Why not?” The other Human asked.

Zu Chiru shrunk away from her sharp, inquisitive voice. This second Human female was the same height as Florine, but thinner, and had a devilish gleam in her icy topaz eyes. Unlike Florine, whose eyes glimmered like warm amber pools, this other one caused him to shiver from an intangible chill.

“Who…who…”

“This is Liane,” Florine told him, “a close friend of mine. Don’t let her scare you – she’s here to help everyone here, just like me.”

He looked back and forth between them, then recalled something he heard Master Tian mention.

“Someone said that there is a Lady Gagnier and a Lady Wagner here…”

“Hey! Why does she go firs–”

“That would be us,” Florine said. “Liane is Lady Wagner, and I’m Lady Gagnier.”

“I-if you are styled in such a manner,” Zu Chiru said carefully, “does that mean you are Human Lords?”

“We are Human nobles, yes,” she replied.

“Then…your clans – how large are they?”

“Our clans…? If you’re referring to how many subjects we each have under us, hmm…including the ones in the merchant companies, there should be around 11,000. Liane should be around 12,000?”

“Something like that,” Lady Wagner said. “A quarter of mine are in the merchant companies, though.”

Zu Chiru’s eyes threatened to roll out of their sockets, and he felt himself backing away. These two Human Lords had clans that rivaled even the great Quagoa clans from before the day of sorrow. Why did Lady Gagnier call out to him? Was he actually allowed to speak to them? If he uttered one wrong word, the Zu Aygen clan might be mercilessly crushed.

The words spoken earlier in the night by the dead Dragon must have been true. The people of this city were sly: veiling their strength and playing games of power that he had no idea about. He glanced over to Lady Gagnier – he didn’t want to believe it, but…

“So…back to my question,” Lady Wagner said. “Why won’t the Quagoa come to the market?”

“T-the smell…” he hoped the answer would not offend, “my kind will stay away from it.”

The two Humans looked up and started sniffing the air.

“Uh…which smell?” Lady Wagner asked.

“The smells that were brought in tonight,” Zu Chiru explained. “Our people live underground, so scents drifting down from the surface are a sign of danger. The smell of trees and other green things, like much of what these people have brought with them.”

“Your people never visit the surface at all?” Lady Gagnier frowned.

“The surface is a dangerous place,” Zu Chiru’s voice was grim, “for the day is bright and full of terrors.”

The two Humans exchanged glances.

“Does that mean the Quagoa won’t ever come to the market?” Lady Gagnier asked.

“Of this, I am uncertain,” Zu Chiru answered, “but even the scent of the timber being used for construction here makes many of my clanmates nervous.”

“Hm…why are you here then?” Lady Wagner said.

“I was…on another errand, and saw what was happening here.”

Zu Chiru didn’t want to admit that he was fleeing for his life; even the kind Lady Gagnier might turn her gaze away. Such a coward had no right to speak to clan leaders. He shifted from foot to foot nervously as Lady Wagner leaned forward, as if to examine him.

“In that case,” she said in a low, conspiratorial tone, “did you see anything you liked?”

“I-I was looking at a stand with rocks,” he replied, “but then I realized that I had nothing to barter.”

“That so?” Her voice returned to normal, and she straightened in her seat, “Well, let’s go take a look.”

Lady Wagner hopped off of the wagon and strode off, and Zu Chiru felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Lady Gagnier smiling down beside him.

“Shall we see what she’s up to?” She asked gently.

They made their way back to the Ogre and his rocks, but, by the time they reached the head of the line, over half of them were gone. He poked his head over the counter, but could not find the one he had sniffed out previously.

“I-it’s not here anymore.”

He looked down at his feet. Now he had wasted everyone’s time.

“May we take a look in the back?” Lady Wagner asked.

The Ogre gave them a nod, and they went into an alley behind the table, where a large cart full of rocks awaited. Lady Wagner motioned to him, and Zu Chiru hopped on and started digging around.

“Pick out a half dozen of the best ones,” Lady Wagner said.

Ten minutes later, a small row of rocks were placed on the table before the Ogre.

“How much?” Lady Wagner asked.

The Ogre held up a hand.

“Wow, discounts already? Or maybe he miscounted…you know there’s six rocks here, right?”

The Ogre frowned down at the row of rocks, but, in the end, held up five fingers again.

Lady Gagnier placed five copper coins in the Ogre’s hand, and they went on their way. Lady Wagner led them to a clear spot on the nearby terrace, where she plopped the stone she had been hefting onto the ground. Zu Chiru placed the two stones he had scooped up beside it, and Lady Gagnier followed suit. The three stood around their purchase, and Lady Wagner put her hands on her hips.

“So,” she asked, “why’d you pick these ones out?”

“Because they had the best scents,” Zu Chiru replied.

“Quagoa senses are probably much keener than Human ones when it comes to this sort of thing,” Lady Gagnier told him. “Could you please explain to us what each of these stones is, Zu Chiru?”

Zu Chiru lifted the closest one between his claws, holding it out.

“This one is mostly iron ore,” he said. “Our children need ores to grow out their fur, but it is expensive to deliver here.”

He set the rock back down and pointed to three others.

“These also contain iron ore, but not as much.”

“Hum…” Lady Wagner stroked her chin, “what about these two that are left?”

“There is something inside them.”

“Something…?”

Zu Chiru picked one of them up and started nibbling away at the stone. After several minutes, all that remained was a white, oblong lump with traces of purple veins. It was about the size of a riding lizard’s egg, and he held the object up for inspection.

“You could smell that?” Lady Wagner furrowed her brow.

“Yes?”

“Okay…then what about the last one?”

Zu Chiru placed the lump on the ground and took the last stone. He turned it under his nose, trying to figure out the best way to get at what was inside. Gnawing away from the nearest end, he eventually produced a cloudy, red stone that fit in his paw.

The two Human Lords looked to one another.

“Is that one Dwarf still here?” Lady Gagnier asked.

“The lapidary?”

“The lapidary.”

“Should be around until the end of the week,” Lady Wagner said. “Want me to do it?”

“Yes, please.”

Lady Wagner picked up the two items and walked off.

“W-what’s going on?” Zu Chiru asked, “Where did Lady Wagner go?”

“She went to sell what you found,” Lady Gagnier told him. “They’re worth more than what we paid for all of these rocks.”

“Truly?” He gaped.

Lady Gagnier offered a smile at his wonderment.

“If you know where to go with what you have,” she replied, “there’s much that you can do. Was it very hard for you to locate those stones?”

“No, it is normally done this way when we go out foraging in the tunnels.”

“I see…would you be able to do this for shipments from the Azerlisia Mountains?”

“I do not think it would work so well,” Zu Chiru said. “The ones that send the ores will have already kept such things for themselves.”

“I suppose that makes sense…”

Lady Gagnier shivered and drew the long piece of cloth draped over her shoulders around herself. So surface dwellers could get cold in this exposed world as well…

“The Ogre that brought the rocks is from a tribe that lives deep in the Great Forest of Tob,” she told him. “I’m actually the one that went and suggested that they collect stones from the gullies and streams around their home, so I’m happy that he was able to find customers as soon as this market opened.”

“You went to them?”

Zu Chiru looked at her with wide eyes. Lady Gagnier was truly a Human Lord, to be able to brave such strange and dangerous places.

“I’ve been all around the Great Forest,” Lady Gagnier said, “trying to connect all the tribes living under His Majesty’s rule. Most of them are actually satisfied as they are, but a part of me thinks that it’s just because they haven’t seen how far they can go now. I managed to encourage a few dozen to come bring the things that they liked from their homes to the city, thinking that they could provide what we Humans wouldn’t be able to think of for this quarter. So far, it appears to be a success…for those who have participated, at any rate.”

Lady Wagner reappeared, walking down the way towards them.

“That was quick,” Lady Gagnier said.

“The guy was right up at the front of the tavern,” Lady Wagner replied, “and I didn’t haggle too much.”

She held out her palm, upon which a number of silver coins rested.

“Twelve silver for the amethyst geode,” she said, “and ten for the carnelian. Mmh…I guess I should break some of this up into copper…”

“This becomes copper?” Zu Chiru resisted the urge to lean forward and sniff at the coins.

“One silver coin is worth thirteen copper ones,” Lady Wagner explained. “Well, with Re-Estize currency anyways – that’s still the majority of what’s circulating around the city–ow! Has anyone told you that you’ve gotten more and more violent recently, Florine? I know you’ve been spending a lot of time around Demihumans and all, but…”

“You shouldn’t go off on tangents like that,” Lady Gagnier told her. “They barely know what currency is, never mind all the different types and what’s in circulation. We can leave that sort of knowledge for later.”

“Feh. We should have really pushed for trade currency: the faster we get away from these nonsensical exchange rates, the better.”

Lady Wagner counted out a number of untarnished copper coins, then deposited everything into Zu Chiru’s paw. There were twenty silver coins, plus twenty-one of the copper ones. He looked back up again.

“W-weren’t the rocks from the Ogre only a single one of these copper coins?” He asked.

“That’s right,” Lady Wagner nodded. “He’s selling in bulk, so it’s up to people to pick out the ones that they want. His goal is to sell as many rocks as he can, so he can go buy some stuff for his tribe and go back to get more rocks. Those things are weirdly popular…”

“That’s why I started him off doing that,” Lady Gagnier said. “The local quarries are all tied up with the construction going on everywhere, so bringing them in during the night market will ensure that the residents get some of what they need. It’s a good thing, too – I had no idea that some of these items were in such high demand here.”

Zu Chiru looked down at the coins again. There were perhaps a half dozen more rocks in the Ogre’s cart that had a decent amount of ore in them, but he thought he should also buy some plain stones to make his family’s den more homey. At the thought of the warrens, he stumbled across an idea.

“There is limestone beneath the city,” he said. “Can the Quagoa use it to barter?”

“The city and the land that it’s on belongs to His Majesty,” Lady Gagnier said, “so you’ll have to obtain permission to do so first.”

“I doubt they’ll let you, though,” Lady Wagner said. “Pulling up the foundations of the city probably isn’t such a great idea. E-Rantel will just collapse and slide off the ridge if you guys dig up enough.”

“We’re on a ridge?”

“Yep. This is a fortress city: it’s built overlooking the surrounding areas.”

That would explain a lot of his clan’s findings while digging around. It was dry and desolate, but they never realized that the city was basically built on a tuft of dirt sitting on a hill.

“I see,” he looked down at the four remaining rocks on the ground. “I am not sure how I can thank you for everything. This would not have been possible but for your help…I am curious, though – why do this at all?”

“His majesty desires prosperity for his subjects,” Lady Gagnier told him. “As nobles, we follow His Majesty’s directives, and we also desire a prosperous realm. I believe His Majesty made a personal promise to your own highlord, Pe Riyuro, did he not?”

“…those of Zu are far from Pe Riyuro’s inner circle,” Zu Chiru said. “We do not know what agreements they have made: only that our entire clan was sent to this place, away from our beautiful homeland.”

“I’m uncertain of your clan’s circumstances,” Lady Gagnier said, “but we’ve been worried about your people here since they arrived. Many of the other residents are slowly taking steps to find their own place here, but the Quagoa have some unique qualities that present barriers others would not have.”

“You…you’re worried? For us? But we are not of your clan.”

“You are citizens of the Sorcerous Kingdom,” Lady Gagnier smiled her warm smile, “and that is what’s most important.”

Her words were in drastic contrast to those of the Dragon, and felt far more substantial than those of Master Tian. Zu Chiru’s mind told him that the Dragon’s words made more sense, but, somewhere in his heart, he wanted Lady Gagnier’s words to be true. His whiskers twitched as the words tugged at him. In the end, however, he could not forget the Crimson Harbinger and the day of sorrow. The world was a cold and brutal place, and it was better not to be drawn by such warm and comfortable feelings.

“A-anyways,” he dipped his head, “you have my gratitude. I will work hard to repay your favour some day.”

Zu Chiru looked down at the four ore-bearing rocks, trying to figure out how to carry them home with a paw full of coins.

“Hold up.”

He looked up at Lady Wagner.

“We’re not done with you yet,” she told him.

His hesitant gaze went from Lady Wagner to Lady Gagnier, who only beamed back at him.

Several hours later, Zu Chiru shuffled back home. Along the way, he crossed the elder watching over the disciples and their training.

“Oh, Chiru, you’re back – rumor is that you were eaten by a Dragon.”

“Ehm…not quite, Zu Loru,” he replied.

“Well, that is good. Will you be joining us now?”

Zu Chiru looked over at the group practicing up on the terrace, then shook his head.

“It has been a long night, honoured elder,” Zu Chiru said. “I should go home and rest.”

The elder waved him off, and he continued on his way. He entered the clan warren, closing the stone portal behind him. After following the winding tunnels for a few dozen metres, he entered his family’s den. His sister looked up from tending to her children.

“Chiru!” She said, “You’re home early – you better not be slacking off…what’s that on your back? The odour will disturb the babies.”

Zu Chiru walked to the middle of the den, working the burden off of his shoulders. His sister came forward curiously.

“This is, um, a ‘wicker’ basket?” Something made out of woven surface plants, “I bought it from the market to help carry things.”

He undid the cover and laid out the stones between them. His sister leaned forward, sniffing at each.

“This is…how did you get these, brother?” Her voice was tinged in disbelief, “Did you find more work somewhere?”

Zu Chiru looked down at the row of stones, scratching his chest in thought over the night’s events. After making up his mind, he gathered his courage and looked back up.

“Sister,” he said. “This Zu Chiru will become a merchant.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Banking to align herself with a clear section of the city wall, Ilyshn’ish alighted in front of the entrance of the Frost Dragon pens. To her great discomfort, she discovered Lady Shalltear at the front desk, issuing instructions to two of the Vampire Brides. The third appeared out of the back somewhere, making her way up to unfasten the Infinite Haversacks about Ilyshn’ish’s body. Further in, she could see Hejinmal already slipping into his alcove.

She eyed the Demihuman Quarter stretching out below the wall. Once again, it seemed slightly busier compared to the previous week. In addition, new sets of hovels had appeared along the temperate band stretching between the icy inner wall and the sunbaked second wall. As her gaze wandered, it eventually fell upon the unassuming Justice Dragon Dojo on the east end, and a sigh escaped her jaws.

After gaining nothing but a harrowing ordeal during the last visit, Ilyshn’ish was no longer so eager to see what Master Tian had to offer. She wanted to finish exploring the rest of the city and start investigating the surrounding countryside. The town along the river to the south was rapidly coming into existence, and her curiosity over it grew with every trip back and forth to E-Rantel. Unfortunately for her, the instructions to report to Master Tian were still in force.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Lady Shalltear’s silvery voice drifted up towards her after the Vampire Bride was done.

“I-I was thinking that I should just take a nap today,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “I haven’t slept in six weeks…”

“Oh no you don’t,” Lady Shalltear told her. “You’ve yet to complete your training.”

Ilyshn’ish turned her head down to look at the diminutive Vampire.

“Just what are you expecting out of this ‘training’ anyways?” She asked, “Master Tian’s instruction focuses on abstract, nonsensical concepts. He lectured me for eight hours after what happened last week – I think I might have preferred being tossed about after just an hour of that. I personally have no idea about any of it, and his insistence on adhering to his ‘goodly’ ideals means little to nothing for me.”

“I suppose I can agree with the latter part of that,” Lady Shalltear answered. “As for his methods of instruction…you should just tell him that Frost Dragons don’t learn like that, yes?”

“…just how much do you know about us?”

“Don’t underestimate the wisdom of Lord Peroroncino~” Lady Shalltear stuck out her chest proudly, “Albedo might have put your head on a spike over the desk here, but I know better.”

Her words made Ilyshn’ish realize that Lady Shalltear was actually extraordinarily effective at getting her point across whenever something about the Frost Dragons’ conduct displeased her. Unlike the other beings in the city who constantly yelled and bickered and berated one another to no end over their faults and failures, Lady Shalltear appeared to understand that Frost Dragons only needed a single strong experience to nudge their behaviour in a given direction.

Did it mean that all of the circumstances surrounding the Frost Dragons were the result of careful calculations which accounted for their very nature? That their present situation was truly inescapable? Ilyshn’ish recoiled from any consideration that this might be the case.

“So you’re saying that I should just tell him how it is,” Ilyshn’ish stated dubiously, “and he’ll just listen?”

“Being what you are,” Lady Shalltear said, “you should have already gathered enough to understand this. He’ll certainly not cease with his whole goodly outlook on things, but his instruction should become more practical to you, at least.”

Maybe it was worth another try. At least she would know if it was working right away. Ilyshn’ish stretched her neck out over the edge of the wall, looking for a place to land.

“You have the ability to change yourself, do you not?” Lady Shalltear asked from behind her.

“Yes, but I don’t see a point in that,” Ilyshn’ish answered. “Being a Dragon is best, unless there’s some objective better accomplished as something else.”

“Don’t you think that an Adult Frost Dragon walking around on the street is a bit of an imposition?”

“Not really,” Ilyshn’ish located a clear space on one of the terraces. “I haven’t had a single accident yet. My senses are far superior to those mortals down there, and I’m far more maneuverable.”

Despite her reply, Lady Shalltear only looked up at her expectantly. Ilyshn’ish sighed and started making her way towards the pens.

“Where are you going?”

“Changing.”

She walked past the broom closet and into the closest alcove.

“What are you doing?” She turned around and asked Lady Shalltear, who had quietly followed her.

“Watching.”

“…”

“What? I want to see.”

Sighs were quickly becoming the hallmark of her life. Ilyshn’ish turned to face the wall, and her voice quietly rose in song. Given that she had essentially vanished after her performance in the Frosty Beard, Ilyshn’ish settled upon becoming a Human rather than a Dwarf. She produced a small hand mirror from her bag and checked over her appearance.

After ensuring that nothing was amiss, she walked past Lady Shalltear, whose crimson gaze pointedly followed her. A startled noise escaped Ilyshn’ish’s lips when a hand gripped her rump and squeezed. She glanced over her shoulder with a hunted look.

Lady Shalltear bore a lascivious smile, fingers of her open hand playing lightly in the air.

“This appearance feels much better,” Lady Shalltear said.

Ilyshn’ish suppressed a shiver and scurried away.

She wove a spellsong to conceal her presence before coming out into the open wall, then dropped down into an alley near the Frosty Beard. After looking around to see if there was anyone nearby, she dispelled the concealment and slipped into the modest pedestrian traffic on the main street. Ilyshn’ish felt numerous stares upon her before she realized that she was the only Human present, as far as she could tell. In hindsight, she should have chosen a Demihuman race to alter herself into.

Unable to do anything about it for the moment, Ilyshn’ish preoccupied herself with looking over the market stands along the street. They were only partially occupied, which could be explained by the fact that many Demihumans were not active during the day, or at least preferred darker environments. Those out in the sun were cold-blooded, like Lizardmen, or those without superior night vision. The quality of the goods were mostly unchanged, however, being simple crafts at most, and raw commodities piled haphazardly on the tables.

Without anything of interest for her to linger over, she soon found herself on the other side of the Demihuman Quarter, in front of the Justice Dragon Dojo. She poked her head into the open entrance.

“H-hello?”

Positioned as it was, the morning light did not penetrate the darkness of the hall. She sensed Master Tian near the back, examining a wall hanging – it seemed he had gotten another one from somewhere. Like the other, it seemed of little value. The old Human turned around and strode towards the entrance at the sound of her voice.

“A new student…?”

“I-It’s me, Master Tian – Shiver.”

Despite the fact that he could not tell who she was, Ilyshn’ish did not consider lying to him. That particular option had been beaten out of her the last time she was present, so she would not conceal the truth from Master Tian for the foreseeable future. Fortunately, he did not react in a violent manner when she was being candid…at least as far as she knew.

Master Tian furrowed his brow, raising a hand to stroke his beard.

“I wasn’t aware that Frost Dragons could alter themselves.”

“I can’t speak for all Frost Dragons,” Ilyshn’ish told him, “but I am certainly capable of doing so. I came over immediately after I arrived today, so I’d like to get started right away. Lady Shalltear suggested that I ask you to employ purely practical methods of instruction.”

“Is there a specific reason for this request?” Master Tian asked.

“Frost Dragons learn far faster that way.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Lady Aura’s new companion quite enjoys reading, and has learned much from it.”

“Now that he’s out and about,” Ilyshn’ish told him, “my brother has recently realized this truth of our kind. I enjoy reading as well, but I still learn much faster through personal experience. It is a trait of Frost Dragons – we have a perfect memory for what we experience, so the way our minds work centres around this quality.”

“I see…I believe something related to this was mentioned the last time you were here,” Master Tian nodded. “Allow me a moment to retrieve a uniform.”

“A uniform?”

“Yes,” Master Tian replied. “Membership with the dojo comes with a uniform – I didn’t offer one previously since I had none that were Dragon-sized.”

“Dragons don’t wear uniforms,” Ilyshn’ish told him, “or body armour of any kind, for that matter. Accessories are fine, but the rest is an unnecessary impediment.”

“At the risk of sounding untoward, you appear to be wearing something right now.”

“This isn’t actually clothing,” she said. “It’s me. What you see before you is a result of self-alteration, creating a parallel of my Dragon self with a Human body.”

Ilyshn’ish turned and held up portions of her ‘garb’ for Master Tian to examine as she explained herself.

“Then…if I display one of our uniforms to you,” Master Tian said, “would you be able to alter the appearance of this attire?”

“You’re awfully insistent on having me wear one of these uniforms…”

“It is an appropriate representation of your status as a disciple of this dojo,” Master Tian said. “Do you not believe that one’s appearance should suit the atmosphere of their circumstances?”

“Fine,” Ilyshn’ish huffed, “go get one of your uniforms.”

Master Tian turned to walk off towards a side room, and Ilyshn’ish went to the head of the training hall. The Dragon-sized hole in the wall had been repaired, as was all the other damage that came with her being thrown about. She walked over to one of the wall hangings, trying to figure out what compelled the old man to collect such low-value articles.

The sound of Master Tian clearing his throat behind her drew Ilyshn’ish’s attention away from the drab landscape. Over one of his arms was draped a uniform in two main parts, fashioned out of moderately thick fabric. The items seemed no more than what they appeared, without even a hint of enchantment.

“Is there a name for these items?” She asked.

“The white tunic is called uwagi,” Master Tian said as he handed it over. “The bottom, hakama. These socks are tabi. When I last visited Re-Estize, I found that there was a place with similar aesthetics to this dojo, so the garb should not be entirely unknown.”

In addition to the described articles, he handed over a belt made from the same, dark grey cloth as the hakama.

“Is there a name for this belt?”

“It is an obi,” Master Tian replied. “They come in many forms, so you may see others described as such.”

Ilyshn’ish examined the garments from every which way before going into a side room and adjusting her own. She returned to Master Tian and held her arms out to the sides.

“How is it?”

Master Tian walked slowly around her once, returning to stand in front of her.

“You should close the neckline of your uwagi to the collarbone, at the least,” he said. “The colours should not be changed, either. Aside from that, I see no problems…so this ‘clothing’ you currently wear is actually a part of your natural armour?”

“That’s right,” Ilyshn’ish replied, returning the uniform to its boring colour scheme. “Though I’m currently Human, I retain most of the traits of a Frost Dragon. Generally speaking, if I lack the associated appendages associated with certain functions, I cannot perform them. I have no wings at the moment, so I cannot fly naturally.”

“I believe I understand,” Master Tian nodded. “It is not too dissimilar from how some Heteromorphs function in their different appearances. If that is the case, I should worry less about damage to you and more about damage to the hall.”

“W-wait a minute. Why are you worried about that?”

“You requested purely practical instruction, did you not?”

“Uh…”

Master Tian folded his hands behind his waist.

“Now then,” he said. “I shall gauge your technique. Strike me in the abdomen with all of your might.”

“A-are you sure about that?”

“Of course.”

Ilyshn’ish frowned slightly at the old Human. Hitting a stupendously resilient Vampire was one thing, but, as far as she knew, Humans did not possess any durability of note. Though it might not be much since the apparent difference in their power was vast, something would always get through unless Master Tian possessed some other means to prevent it.

With a tentative expression, Ilyshn’ish drew back one arm, then sent her palm streaking forward into the centre of Master Tian’s torso. The shock of the impact traveled up her arm, but the old Human did not budge. She withdrew her palm – even the fabric of his garb under her nails remained undisturbed.

“Is that all you can do?” Master Tian was entirely unperturbed.

“I-I was holding back a bit, I think…”

She struck him again, this time without any reservations. A dull thud that reverberated throughout the hall. Again, Master Tian did not shift even one millimetre. A furrow appeared over her brow.

“May I go out into the back, Master Tian?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “I’d like to confirm something.”

Master Tian nodded slightly, and Ilyshn’ish went out into the backyard. Stepping up to the wall, she reared back to hit it.

“You will damage the wall if you strike it with the same force as previously.”

Ilyshn’ish looked around. In the end, she settled on giving the ground a good whack. The ground shuddered slightly, and a web of cracks emanated from where she left the deep impression of her hand. There appeared to be nothing wrong with her – if anything, she thought she was a bit stronger now. Master Tian spoke when she returned to the hall.

“You have the strength that would be expected out of a Dragon of your level,” he said. “But it is only raw strength. You lack any technique in your form and movements.”

“…are you saying that I’m capable of doing more than that?” Ilyshn’ish perked up as she heard something useful.

“I believe so,” Master Tian said. “There is something I need to confirm first, however: when you attacked me, you did so with your palm, in a manner reminiscent of a Dragon Claw striking forward. Did you naturally do this?”

“I suppose I did?” Ilyshn’ish replied, “I didn’t think about it, at any rate.”

“This should prove quite useful,” he said. “When humanoids with no prominent natural weapons on their hands – like claws – strike for maximum damage, they will tend to naturally form a fist. Does this mean your current movements will translate in a similar fashion regardless of the appearance you assume?”

Ilyshn’ish considered Master Tian’s observation. It was not something that she had really noted on her own, but as far as she could recall, he was correct.

“Initially, yes,” she replied. “Movements that are natural to other races would require some practice to adopt convincingly. I would need to factor in differences between species, like the shorter neck of a Human, or lack of a tail. Also, there are various things that influence balance and posture that need to be addressed.”

“Excellent,” the strange gleam in Master Tian’s eyes resurfaced. “Since this is the case, we may proceed onwards with confidence. I will now demonstrate your last strike with proper martial technique – please pay close attention.”

“Alrig–blorph!”

Master Tian’s palm made contact with her stomach for a split second before she streaked backwards. The world tumbled around her as she bounced off of the floor, glanced off of a pillar and careened through the air before landing with a thud on the opposite end of the hall. Ilyshn’ish lay with her cheek on the polished floorboards for half a minute, staring at nothing in particular.

“Are you alright?” Master Tian asked from the head of the hall.

“…maybe.”

“It was just a tap – there was not much force in it at all. Between your damage reduction and the Ring of Regeneration, you should be perfectly fine by now.”

“Yes, perfectly fine,” Ilyshn’ish said. “But I have the suspicion that I will become un-fine if I get up again, so I’ll be laying here for a while. Have you thought of using platinum for your floors, by the way? It would feel much better than cedar to rest on.”

“You should be focusing on what you’ve observed,” Master Tian told her, “and striving to perfect it yourself.”

“So you’re saying that you’re going to be hitting me until I’ve memorized everything you want me to?”

“Effectively, yes.”

“I knew it,” Ilyshn’ish sighed.

“Well, it was by your request.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ilyshn’ish was sent bouncing around the hall of the dojo more times than she cared to count. She did remember everything, however, so she was never sent flying in a certain way more than once. A part of herself grumbled over the fact that she had settled on that particular benefit.

Her leg swept out, landing solidly against Master Tian’s ribs. As always, she noticed no effects from her attack. Just what was this Human’s clothing made out of? There should have been some signs of wear by now…

Maybe it wasn’t his clothing, but some sort of ability. Monks were known to have bodies that could become as hard as various metals, based on how powerful they were. It was something like the strengthening of natural armour and weapons that many Demihumans and monsters enjoyed. Or perhaps he possessed an item that conferred regeneration like her own, and he was just so strong that any scratches he might have taken healed instantly.

“That should be sufficient for this strike,” he told her with a nod. “Though you have mentioned it to be the case, it is quite startling how quickly you learn.”

Ilyshn’ish whimpered inside, waiting for the next attack to send her on some new and unwelcome trajectory. Master Tian, however, instead turned to look towards the open entrance of the dojo. Evening was fast approaching, and the scenery outside was shadowed over by the inner wall.

“Now that the Quagoa are no longer harassing you,” she said, “why is it that no new students have enrolled?”

“I admit that this is something that has been troubling me,” Master Tian replied. “I even had advertisements posted on billboards around the city.”

A shadow appeared in the entrance. Ilyshn’ish looked over to find one of the Humans that she saw in the market the previous week.

“Good evening, Lady Wagner,” Master Tian walked over to greet her, “is there something I may assist you with?”

“Nah, just stopping by to see how you were doing,” she said, glancing around the interior. “Looks like most of your students have gone home for the evening?”

“Truth be told,” Master Tian gestured to Ilyshn’ish, “she is currently my sole student. Though the local interference was cleared away with her a week ago, the continued lack of interest persists.”

“Uh…you’re kidding me, right?”

“My words are not in jest, Lady Wagner,” Master Tian said. “I even went so far as to have these made and posted on the city billboards.”

Master Tian reached into his coat and withdrew a sheet of paper. Lady Wagner leaned forward to peer at it, and her cheery expression was subjected to a dire transformation.

“I, uh…hate to break it to you, Master Tian,” she said after she straightened again, “but your poster sucks.”

“I-is that so?”

“Your crappy advertising aside,” Lady Wagner’s voice rolled right over him, “it’s impossible for you to not have more students when you have that here.”

The Human female pointed towards Ilyshn’ish, and Ilyshn’ish looked behind her.

“Oh, don’t give me that!” Lady Wagner scowled, “We already have one Florine Gagnier in the city. She might do something to you if she finds out you’re trying to muscle in on her territory.”

Ilyshn’ish glanced nervously about. Was the other Human that she saw really so powerful? She didn’t even know what she might be doing to displease her – hopefully her current training would be enough to fight her off and escape.

“I am afraid I cannot follow your reasoning, Lady Wagner,” Master Tian said from the side.

Lady Wagner peered tiredly from Master Tian to Ilyshn’ish, then frowned down at the sheet of paper in her hand.

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” she told Master Tian. “I’ll fix this ‘problem’ of yours, guaranteed.”

With that, she turned around, muttering darkly about something. Rather than wanting to help, she seemed more angry than anything else.

“D-did I do something wrong?” Ilyshn’ish asked Master Tian.

“Not that I am aware of,” he replied. “I did not think the poster was so horrible either.”

“The Quagoa perform their instruction outdoors,” Ilyshn’ish offered. “They seem to add a few more students every time I arrive for a delivery at night.”

“Yes, I have noticed that,” Master Tian nodded, “and I also believe it to be an excellent method to showcase the quality of the Justice Dragon Dojo. My hope was that we could conduct similar demonstrations once I trained a handful of students; little did I know that finding those first few students would be a problem in itself. Since you’re doing well so far, I thought that we might perform a small public demonstration the next time you’re free.”

Ilyshn’ish tried to imagine what such a demonstration would entail, but she only saw herself being launched over the rooftops, smashed into the surroundings, and striking Master Tian to no effect. Not many races were anywhere near as durable or strong as Dragons, so it would probably close the doors of his dojo for good.

“Well, we still have a bit of time before that Human comes back with whatever she’s scheming,” Ilyshn’ish bumped their conversation into a different direction. “Is there some greater objective to learning all of these techniques?”

“There is,” Master Tian nodded. “The purpose of what you’ve experienced thus far is to lay a foundation for the next step of your training – something that will be far more difficult to achieve.”

“Why would that be?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Because I am a Monk,” Master Tian answered, “and not a Dancer. I have no qualms instructing you in the aspects of the class that are most similar to my own, but you must figure out the rest as a Bard.”

“You don’t have any hints whatsoever?”

“What I do know is that Dancer’s fighting form is an expression of their art; the flow of their attacks and movements akin to the steps of a dance. How this is accomplished, however, is beyond my area of expertise.”

“Does that mean my training is complete?”

“Oh, no,” Master Tian chuckled softly. “You still have much to learn. I have simply demonstrated a few of the basics. As I said, it is merely a foundation: something that I believe you will be able to build upon as you explore the artistic elements of your class. The journey to mastery will be long, and I will be here to provide instruction on what I can. You should also consider what avenues of research that might provide you with insight towards your goals; Bards who fight in this fashion are quite rare, but Bards as a whole exist in many walks of life – the ones who might point you in the right direction may be slipping beneath your notice, working in unassuming vocations.”

Lady Wagner returned right when she said she would, holding a large sign under one arm.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

She beckoned Ilyshn’ish over, and stuck the sign in her hands. Master Tian leaned over to read what was painted upon it, a small frown forming behind his beard.

“Um, just us,” Lady Wagner told him. “You’ll need to stay here to welcome your new students.”

Lady Wagner pulled Ilyshn’ish away before Master Tian could say anything, leading her out of the western exit of the quarter. They crossed over into the common area of the city, following the stream of Human pedestrians through the busy streets.

“We’re not staying in the Demihuman Quarter?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“Heck no!” Lady Wagner replied, “There’s way more people out here, and we’re gonna be targeting Humans anyways. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Shiver.”

“Shiver…?” Lady Wagner glanced briefly over her shoulder, “Well, whatever. That some sort of stage name?”

“Yes, I’m a Bard.”

Lady Wagner stopped on the street and turned around to face her. She peeked over Ilyshn’ish’s shoulder before speaking.

“I just had my people run around the city looking for a Bard to make that sign,” she said, “and he had one right there in his dojo? This is wrong on so many levels…”

“What’s so important about the sign?”

“You’re joking, right? Have you seen that poster of his?”

Ilyshn’ish shook her head. Lady Wagner walked off again, leading them to a small plaza. Near the centre, there was a large billboard with a few of the city folk gathered around. Lady Wagner gestured for her to take a look. Ilyshn’ish scanned through the myriad of colourful sheets with their exciting contents. When she finally found the poster for the Justice Dragon Dojo, her nose crinkled reflexively.

“I know, right?” Lady Wagner muttered from behind crossed arms.

Upon a severe piece of uncoloured parchment were two blocks of equally severe black text. One consisted of what Lady Shalltear had read out loud after she teleported Ilyshn’ish to the dojo. The second block, directions to the building. If she hadn’t actively been looking out for it, she would have assumed that the ad was some old, washed out article from months past. It seemed that some mistook it for just that, pasting their own posters partly overtop.

“This…this sucks!”

Ilyshn’ish felt the sheer dullness of the poster reach out and slap her in the face. How could she be associated with something so bland?

“You can help make a better one later,” Lady Wagner said, “but, right now, you have a job to do.”

Lady Wagner brought her to the side of the street, gaze sweeping over the plaza. After a few minutes of meandering, they ended up standing close to the main thoroughfare, partly facing the traffic.

“Stand as straight as you can,” she said.

Ilyshn’ish did so, and Lady Wagner circled around her, brows drawn together as she focused on Ilyshn’ish’s appearance. She pulled at bits of Ilyshn’ish’s outfit from behind before coming back to the front. Cradling an elbow in one hand, she tapped her chin in contemplation. Then, she reached up and started pulling open the front of her uwagi.

“Um…”

“What?”

“Master Tian said that this uniform should be closed up to the collarbone.”

“Don’t you think it’s better like this?” Lady Wagner asked.

Ilyshn’ish quickly scanned the plaza, comparing the female Humans going about their business. After a brief assessment over how well they were received by other Humans, she nodded.

“Yes, I believe this is superior.”

“I knew ya would,” Lady Wagner. “Bards wouldn’t be caught dead looking all drab. Now, that signboard has some stuff on the back for reference – all you have to do is hold it up above your head and attract attention while saying something along the lines of what’s written there. Hmm…actually, raise that signboard right now.”

She did so, and Lady Wagner started adjusting her outfit again. Ilyshn’ish did another comparison to the females around the plaza, and some uncertainty started to well up within her.

“A-are you sure about this?” Ilyshn’ish asked tentatively.

“Sure am,” Lady Wagner said. “This body of yours is a lethal weapon – that’s how Monks work, right?”

Her statement sounded right, yet wrong for some reason.

“I’m training to become some sort of Dancer, I think.”

“In that case, you’re definitely perfect for this job,” Lady Wagner gave her a wink. “Just do your thing and your dojo will have plenty of new disciples.”

Her thing? Maybe Lady Wagner thought she had already embraced the mysterious art of a Dancer that Master Tian described…or maybe her work here would be a key to unlocking their secrets?

Lady Wagner pulled out a band from somewhere and tied Ilyshn’ish’s long hair into a tail.

“Wha–”

“Your hair’ll be all over the place if we leave it loose like this.”

The Human brought Ilyshn’ish’s hair over her shoulder, scratched her chin, then put it back. After a moment, she pulled her hair over her shoulder again. Ilyshn’ish wondered if she should let Lady Wagner know that parts of her body wouldn’t fly around so loosely.

“Great,” Lady Wagner said. “I’ll be standing across the street between those boxes over there. Go ahead and start when you’re ready.”

Lady Wagner walked away before Ilyshn’ish could reply, and she frowned down at the text on the back of the sign. There was nothing about discipline written there. The front had a drastically more eye-catching appearance – leagues better than the plain poster that Master Tian had come up with. When she looked back up again, Lady Wagner was pushing up the edges of her mouth with two fingers.

Smile? Got it.

Clearing her throat, Ilyshn’ish smiled and held the sign over her head.

“Justice Dragon Dojo...” Her voice floated out over the street.

Lady Wagner motioned for her to keep going.

“…fun and exciting sessions for men and women! Grappling…um, holds, throws…get the body you want!”

Several passers-by slowed, turning their eyes on her. Despite it not sounding like much of what she did in the dojo, Ilyshn’ish supposed it was getting attention. Maybe Humans liked getting tossed around?

Across the way, Lady Wagner was making gestures with her hands, but Ilyshn’ish couldn’t figure out what she wanted. An annoyed look formed on the Human’s face. She glanced back and forth briefly before hopping in place several times.

“Justice Dragon Dojo,” Ilyshn’ish hopped several times. “Fun and exciting sessions for men and women! Grap–”

A metallic thunk sounded from nearby. Ilyshn’ish looked over to find a Human sprawled on the ground in front of a Death Knight's shield. Dozens of Humans had stopped around her, but they paid no attention to the fallen man.

I see…

Ilyshn’ish’s lips formed into a slow smile, and she adjusted the timbre of her voice.

Thirty minutes later, Lady Wagner motioned for her to stop. She walked east, back towards the Demihuman District, motioning for Ilyshn’ish to follow.

“Did something happen?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “Why did we stop?”

“That was plenty,” Lady Wagner said. “I think you started using magic part way through there, too. Just a bit of advice: you should keep a handle on that sort of thing – especially when you’re dealing with crowds. A few weeks ago, I think there was some Bard spreading rumors about Frost Giants and the Royal Court got all up in arms about it.”

“I-is that so?” Ilyshn’ish turned her head away, “I never realized…well, thank you for the help – do you think Master Tian will have some students now?”

“I got a decent count,” Lady Wagner said. “A bunch might be too scared to go through the Demihuman Quarter, but we should still have a few. Just gotta get back to the dojo before Master Tian loses ‘em.”

They entered the gatehouse, crossing from the brightly lit streets of the common area to the shadowed gloom of the Demihuman Quarter. While activity in the Human part of the city was slowly winding down, the opposite was occurring in the Demihuman Quarter as residents came out of their shelters and merchants started to fill their stands.

“Y’know…you’re pretty amazing, Shiver,” Lady Wagner said as they made their way up the lane to the Justice Dragon Dojo, “in various ways. You lookin’ for work? I could always use a woman with your skills.”

“I already work for Lady Shalltear,” Ilyshn’ish replied.

“No kidding?” The Human raised an eyebrow, “I do some stuff for her from time to time. Sometimes things can get pretty crazy, but, overall, it’s not bad.”

Ilyshn’ish looked over in surprise. Lady Wagner did not look particularly strong – certainly not enough to survive Lady Shalltear. Still, she felt a small sense of kinship knowing that the Human had also been subject to the callous Vampire’s whims.

“Really?” Ilyshn’ish said, “I feel like she’s squeezing me for everything I have.”

Lady Wagner snorted.

“Yeah, I bet.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“YEEEEEEEEAAAAARRRTT!”

Ilyshn’ish jumped in fright as a burly man bore down on her, fist flying forward. Stepping aside as she gingerly grasped his wrist, she flipped him with a twist of her hand. He tumbled in midair and her foot kicked out to launch him down the hall. The man flew ten metres, then skidded another five.

She tentatively peeked over at the result. He didn’t die, right? He probably didn’t. Though Master Tian’s instruction was refining the control that she had over her own strength, it was still difficult to gauge how strong one was when they were all so pitifully weak. If he died, Ilyshn’ish would probably be dragged away by the authorities and sentenced to some grim fate.

After a few moments, the man rolled onto his back with a groan. Ilyshn’ish released a relieved breath and looked over to Master Tian, who nodded at the head of the hall. Voices of wonderment rose from the students seated along the sides of the hall. The man who she had sent flying stood up and returned to face her, bowing once before returning to his place on the sidelines.

When Ilyshn’ish returned to the dojo with Lady Wagner the previous week, they found that two dozen young men had made their way there in the brief time spent advertising in the plaza. Lady Wagner crossed her arms with an I-told-you-so smirk plastered on her face. Needless to say, Master Tian was pleased to finally have a batch of students to train.

The new disciples were dismayed to find out that Ilyshn’ish would only be present roughly once a week, but resolved to show her what they learned when she returned. On her next free day, they had all reappeared: filtering in and out of the dojo at various hours. While sparring with her, they were quite enthusiastic: rushing at her gleefully much like the man she had just sent flying across the hall. As for how much they had learned…this was her first time practising with them, so she left it up to Master Tian to make the assessment.

Since she was the senior disciple – she was quite pleased to be treated with some of the respect that was due her age, for once – it was her responsibility to help Master Tian with practical instruction. As long as they didn’t scare her half to death in the process, demonstrating her superiority to the others was quite enjoyable: it was almost as pleasant as bouncing Zu Chiru back and forth between her claws. The brave little Quagoa never reappeared, but Ilyshn’ish supposed that it was just the way of things.

“I believe that is the last of those present who have yet to show their progress for the week?”

Master Tian looked around, waiting for anyone to say otherwise. As he did so, Ilyshn’ish felt the threads of her spellsong dissipate. Even when performed in a fashion more regular to Bards, songs of healing required an active performance. She had learned how to sustain them for a short period after ending her performance, but it still only amounted to half a minute or so. Fortunately, this technique was also applicable to spellsongs rendered through her newly-realized Dancer abilities.

The brief outing with Lady Wagner had allowed her to grasp a thread of the expression that Master Tian had described and, with not much else to do while performing deliveries, she pondered its application while testing out ideas during the long flights back and forth between E-Rantel and Feoh Berkana. Hejinmal became greatly confused as their flight path became more and more erratic with her maneuvers, so she told him to just hold a straight course while she continued to experiment. Over the course of her shift, she steadily gained an understanding of how things worked, and she was ready to put what she had learned to the test.

With all of the bumps and bruises that the students were taking, Ilyshn’ish decided that it was an ideal opportunity to adapt an area healing effect through her new class ability. Songs of healing were some of the most basic spellsongs that Bards could perform, but it still took her most of the morning to figure out the basics. The first class – Master Tian had three classes of eight students each, which attended in the morning, afternoon and evening, respectively – had to make do with her singing, as she wasn’t able to grasp it before the session started slowing down.

The afternoon was filled with continued trial and error as she fumbled her way through the appropriate martial forms. The spellsong expressed through her movements would start and stop, though it was still helpful to the students. She wasn’t certain if they were aware of what she was doing, or if she just appeared like a crazy person flowing through all manner of random – yet graceful – movements. Whichever it was, they all continued to steal glances at her throughout the day. At some point, Ilyshn’ish decided that she was thinking too much about it and just went with how she felt, which ended up working out far better.

By evening, she was finally able to maintain the effect even while sparring. The other students could train far more vigorously with her enchantment filling the hall, since it gradually healed any and all of the bodily injuries they sustained. After a demonstration between Master Tian and herself, she found that the dance’s effects were cumulative with her Ring of Regeneration. It still wasn’t enough to keep up in a pitched battle against a powerful opponent, but little things added up – especially with the methods that Frost Dragons employed in combat.

As the students had remained silent after Master Tian’s question, he divided them into pairs, walking up and down the hall to provide instruction as they practised. Since they were all so tremendously fragile, even broken bones were mended within a half hour. Though the healing effect was no different than when sung, Ilyshn’ish basked in the sense of power that she held over these Humans. She continued working through her drills, refining her form, and satisfaction mounted when she considered all of the advantages she had gained.

The greatest was that she no longer needed to rely on her voice or an instrument to perform spellsongs. Her body was now an instrument – or a lethal weapon, as Lady Wagner had so nicely pointed out. As long as she maintained her artistic form, she could do whatever she wanted: striking at her opponents, flying around, or even just strolling down the city streets. The form exuded her art through movement, and as long as she adapted all of her activities into that form, the tapestry of enchantment that she wove would follow her wherever she went.

As a supplement to her newly developed expression, the techniques that she had learned from Master Tian allowed her to harness the destructive potential of her draconic nature in ways she had not imagined before. While not everything the old Human taught here translated well to her Dragon body, he was still correct more often than not. It was quite uncanny, and Ilyshn’ish wondered if the reason Lady Shalltear had sent her to him was because he had instructed Dragons – or at least some race of Dragonkin – in the past.

Overall, his style of instruction was broadly coherent, and what he conveyed to Ilyshn’ish opened a sea of possibilities before her. A part of her hoped she would be able to find a Frost Giant when she returned to work, just so she could explore what came with her newfound strength.

As the hours passed, the Human disciples gradually left the dojo until only Ilyshn’ish and Master Tian remained. They sat across from one another, the old Human at his customary place at the head of the hall.

“You have been a great help today,” Master Tian said, “and it appears that you are beginning to grasp the fundamental elements of your Dancer class. Considering that you’ve been on the job since then and now, when did you begin to realize your abilities?”

“It was the last time I was in the city, actually,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “Lady Wagner provided some pointers that proved most useful.”

“Truly?” He raised an eyebrow, “I was not aware that she had any experience at this sort of thing.”

“She must have some intimate knowledge of it, at least,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Everything came together so nicely with just a few hints – something about my body being a weapon and learning how to express myself through actions…anyways, I was able to work out the basics shortly after that.”

Master Tian rose from the floor, straightening his garb.

“I am intrigued about your rapid progress – you were improving your form all throughout the day, even when attending to your fellow students. It was quite remarkable when you were finally able to consistently maintain that healing enchantment during the last class. At a certain point, you started replacing conventional Monk elements entirely, replacing them with others I’ve not seen before. Dancers are rare in this city, so there must have been little in the way of any point of reference that you could work with.”

“Once I really started to get a feel for it, I just moved in accordance to what suited the form through intuition. The one I’ve been working on today only expresses one of the songs that I’ve developed as a Bard. It is a simple piece that I thought would be the easiest to work with, and its effect on the other disciples allowed me to observe its effects.”

“Yes, I recognized that part – first level Bards often choose a song of healing as their first spellsong. It is common even amongst the Bards in the citizenry here.”

“First level?”

“Ah, hmm…it is the way that servants of His Majesty tend to measure the basic capabilities of an individual. As I understand it, a Bard is capable of learning one new spellsong every level. At higher levels, they may learn even more advanced spellsongs.”

Ilyshn’ish had developed seven spellsongs…did that make her a seventh level Bard? Perhaps she was higher than that, and could learn more. Actually, that didn’t make much sense – why would there be a limit to how many spellsongs one could create? Or was it that coming up with a new song made one a higher ‘level’?

“Do these ‘Dancers’ you’ve referred to also have these ‘levels’?”

“Indeed,” Master Tian said. “All vocations have levels, regardless of martial or civilian nature. Dancers qualify as a Bard class, and thus give Bard levels. Speaking of which, congratulations are in order for obtaining this prestige class – you should have gained a number of benefits, as well.”

“You know what these benefits are?”

“Loosely speaking, it should amount to being able to perform using your body – which you have already started to harness – increased proficiency and potency with your natural weapons, improved defences and maneuverability, as well as several abilities analogous to those in your Bard levels. In addition performances that are not available to regular Bards should become available to you.”

“When you first brought up this Dancer thing, you sounded like you didn’t know much about it…”

“Compared to more well-known classes, I do not. Dancers of the martial variety are rare in the Sorcerous Kingdom – you may in fact be the only one, as I have not seen any others at all in my time here. There is also the matter of your pursuit of a racial prestige class unique to Dragons. What I’ve outlined are those traits that I’ve found to be common between all Dancer class variants, so I’m sure there will be some things you find unique to your own.”

Ilyshn’ish squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stuff Master Tian’s words into her head. Why did Humans have to convey knowledge in such a difficult way? In the end, she discarded everything that she thought she would be able to quickly figure out for herself and made a mental note about new spellsongs that could only be achieved through dance. Hopefully she wouldn’t forget.

“Now,” Master Tian continued, “I would like to gauge your improvement directly. I believe there is at least one important lesson I should teach you, as well.”

“Directly…? Oh, you mean by fighting.”

“Indeed. That is how you learn best, is it not?”

She wasn’t sure whether she should voice her appreciation for his consideration, or prepare herself for the inevitable experience of being tossed about. Ilyshn’ish placed ten metres between Master Tian and herself, entering into her provisionally-named Form of Restoration.

“I assume you understand that the effects of your form are also being applied to me.”

“Eh?” Ilyshn’ish frowned, “I-I don’t want that – how do I make it work on who I want?”

“It is one of the downsides to spellsongs of this type,” Master Tian told her. “Much like certain area effect spells, all who fall within its radius will be influenced. It may still be used to your advantage, however: as a Frost Dragon, your maneuverability allows you to put yourself out of range of your opponents, gaining you an advantage over a series of hit and run attacks.”

“That was one of the first things I thought about, actually…I wasn’t aware about that one particular downside, though.”

“I suppose it is all in how you apply yourself,” Master Tian said. “If you inflict greater damage to your opponents than they do to you, this spellsong becomes a stabilizing effect. With the strength and durability of Dragonkind, it should be the case more often than not – scratches and nicks inflicted upon you will heal quickly, allowing you to sustain combat indefinitely against the swarming attacks of much weaker opponents.”

“I-it’s still not a situation I’d like to find myself in,” Ilyshn’ish shivered at the thought of being buried in tiny humanoids, “and if I can control who is affected by my spellsongs, then all the better.”

“Spellsongs unique to Dancer classes address your concerns somewhat,” Master Tian said, “as they are primarily direct combatants rather than the Bard classes that more commonly serve a distant supporting role. Now, then: go ahead and strike me.”

She gave him a hesitant look, but Master Tian only raised a hand and beckoned to her with his fingers.

Ilyshn’ish exploded from her position, closing the distance to Master Tian in a blink. Her palm landed solidly in the centre of the old Human’s torso, enhanced through Master Tian’s conveyed techniques and the additional power provided by her new class. The air, violently disturbed by the force of the attack, whipped over the old Human and jostled the hangings off of the wall behind. Master Tian grunted in approval.

“You’ve improved much since the initial assessment,” he said. “The dedication to your training and your natural talents have brought you far.”

Improved? He had moved no further than before, neither did his suit have any sign of damage, or even wrinkles. It certainly did feel more powerful, but, measured against Master Tian, it appeared pitifully impotent. Just how strong was this old Human?

“I shall now demonstrate a critical weakness in your training today,” Master Tian told her.

“Wha–eep!”

Master Tian grabbed her arm and flipped her over his shoulder. She smacked into the floor with a hollow thud, and spots danced in her vision. The effects of her spellsong scattered away.

“Your training partners today consisted of Humans incapable of harming you,” he spoke down from above, “and thus incapable of breaking your form. You must realize that it can be broken, and you must be able to maintain it even when your opponent attempts to do so through special skills or sheer force.”

Ilyshn’ish sat up and rose to her feet, reestablishing her Form of Restoration. Master Tian walked up and booted her across the hall. Her form shattered again. Sitting up against the pillar that she had rolled up against, Ilyshn’ish wondered just how in the world she was supposed to be able to maintain anything against such disruptive attacks.

“The critical importance of this should be clear,” Master Tian said. “The Dancer forms that you assume will fall apart against every attempt at interruption, should you lack the discipline to maintain harmony between mind, body and spirit.”

Maybe that was why Dancers were so rare. Shouldn’t he have warned her about this first? Ilyshn’ish rose to her feet again, frowning at Master Tian.

“You’re so powerful that I doubt that I can maintain my form through any of your attempts at interruption.”

“That may be the case,” he replied, “but it should make for excellent training, yes? Opponents at your level will be simple to manage by comparison.”

She supposed he had a point. After a moment of thought, Ilyshn’ish reached up and started to loosen the front of her uwagi.

“What are you doing?” Master Tian asked.

“This is how I first grasped the ability that led to the development of this form,” Ilyshn’ish answered. “Since you insist on this impossible exercise, I’ll need every edge that I can get.”

A frown formed over Master Tian’s features, growing deeper the more her garb fell loose. The door to the dojo slid open.

“Lord Sebas,” a woman’s cheerful voice sounded from the entrance, “I’ve brought some late dinner for us to…”

A sharp look briefly rippled over the newcomer’s otherwise unperturbed features. She went in a straight line to Master Tian, placed her basket on the ground, and wrapped a hand around his elbow. Strands of golden hair fell over Master Tian’s arm as she leaned against him.

“Sebas,” she asked in a tranquil tone, “who is this woman?”

Though Ilyshn’ish had not spent so much time amongst the Humans that she could understand the full range of their expressions, she could still tell that the smile on the female’s face was probably not the usual sort. She tried to get a sense for her strength, but the woman attached to Master Tian’s arm appeared no stronger than most of those dwelling in the city. Beyond several articles of value upon her person, there was nothing special about her.

“Ah, allow me to introduce you,” Master Tian said, “This young lady goes by the name of Shiver. She is the senior disciple of our Justice Dragon Dojo. Shiver, this is Tsuare – Head Maid in E-Rantel, and a member of His Majesty’s household staff in the city.”

“What makes her a ‘senior disciple’, Sebas?”

While they spoke, Tsuare’s deep blue eyes traced over Ilyshn’ish. Ilyshn’ish furrowed her brow. This person was a personal servant of the Sorcerer King? Since Tsuare was openly doing so as well, Ilyshn’ish attempted to gauge her strength once again. She had little success – this Tsuare must possess some ability or item that masked her true power.

“She was the first student to enroll in the Justice Dragon Dojo,” Master Tian explained, “and has attended lessons for some weeks now.”

“…weeks?” Tsuare fixed Ilyshn’ish’s gaze with her own. “Does she come to see you often?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “She has invested all of her free time here since she joined.”

“Hehhh…” Tsuare’s voice wavered slightly.

“In fact,” Master Tian went on, “Miss Shiver has shown remarkable progress in her time here. It would not be wrong to call her a prodigy.”

Ilyshn’ish allowed a pleased expression to suffuse her features upon hearing Master Tian’s praise. Despite the rocky start to their relationship, he obviously recognized talent when he saw it.

“Oh, that’s amazing!” Tsuare exclaimed, “In that case, you should definitely send her to the Adventurer Guild.”

Ilyshn’ish’s smile froze on her face.

“The Adventurer Guild, you say?” Master Tian stroked his beard, an ominous gleam in his eye.

“Aren’t they still looking for people like her?” Tsuare said, “This seems like the perfect opportunity to send them someone from your dojo, don’t you agree? A woman of her…quality will be useful for their expeditions, far, far away from here…”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Ilyshn’ish shuffled despondently down the street, bitter thoughts forming a cloud in her mind. What was the point in becoming so pleased over her progress today? Gleefully rubbing her claws together over the pittance of power she had gained, only for Tsuare to appear and show her what the exercise of power truly meant.

Within five minutes of the female’s entry, she had twisted Master Tian’s will to her whims and sent Ilyshn’ish to the chopping block. Never mind being powerless, Ilyshn’ish didn’t even realize it was coming. She collapsed onto the floor, uwagi hanging over one shoulder as she sat frozen in shock.

Master Tian left for a few minutes and returned with a plain envelope, offering it to Ilyshn’ish before sending her on her way. As she walked down the lane to the street, Ilyshn’ish saw Tsuare clinging to Master Tian, gazing down at her with a smug look of superiority.

Ilyshn’ish retrieved the letter from her Infinite Haversack, clutching at it desperately. It was a letter to inform them that Master Tian had sent her – perhaps she could turn it to her favour somehow and prevent being slaughtered by vicious Adventurers. No matter how high quality of an item; no matter how useful, she didn’t want to become some trendy article that they displayed to impress others in far-off places.

“Ah, there you are…what in the world happened to you?”

Ilyshn’ish looked up. In her stupor, she had somehow meandered her way back to the Frost Dragon pens. Lady Shalltear stood before her, arms folded over her stomach.

“Lady Shalltear,” Ilyshn’ish asked, “are you stronger than Master Tian?”

“Master Tian…?” Lady Shalltear furrowed her brow for a moment before answering, “Ah, yes I am.”

Should she throw herself at Lady Shalltear’s feet and beg for her intercession? It might be the only way to escape Tsuare’s machinations. She thought of how Pe Riyuro groveled before her father…no, Zu Chiru should be a less outdated form. Ilyshn’ish lowered herself to her knees, bending forward until her forehead touched the frozen stones of the wall before the hem of Lady Shalltear’s dress. She resembled nothing more than a lump of weathered earth before the pinnacle of power.

“Lady Shalltear,” her heartfelt plea rose up into the night sky, “this lowly one begs for your forgiveness.”

“I can’t say I expected Sebas’ instruction to be so effective…”

“Please!” Ilyshn’ish sobbed, “Please forgive me, Lady Shalltear! Please grant me your mercy…”

Her shoulders quivered as she begged. She didn’t want to die – she had barely lived a century, and had barely experienced anything beyond her tiny home. Lady Shalltear gazed down upon her prostrate form, her face an unreadable mask.

“Well...it appears that you’ve learned your lesson,” she said after several moments. “From now on, keep in mind that I show no mercy to those who should know and do better, and only one of my vassals is permitted to voice her opposition to my directives – you’re not her, just to be clear on that.”

Ilyshn’ish wondered what sort of person could possibly stand up to Lady Shalltear…no, that wasn’t important right now.

“Thank you, Lady Shalltear! Thank you!” Her forehead hit the ground repeatedly, “If this lowly one has received my lady’s mercy, then perhaps you might allay the evil scheme that has been laid against me as well…”

“An evil scheme?” Lady Shalltear frowned, “From Sebas?”

“No, my lady,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “It is the ploy of another – a Human female called Tsuare.”

Actually, she wasn’t sure if Tsuare was a Human at all. To be able to turn the powerful Master Tian against her so easily, Tsuare was probably some powerful being who was merely veiling herself behind the weak Human guise. There were so many powerful beings hidden around the city, so it was not improbable. Certainly, one who personally served in the Sorcerer King’s household must be yet another unfathomably powerful being.

“Tsuare?” Lady Shalltear furrowed her brow in thought, “Oh, that one.”

A glimmer of hope rose before Ilyshn’ish, and she dared to peek up at Lady Shalltear. If the powerful Vampire referred to Tsuare in such an offhand manner, then she could surely reverse Ilyshn’ish’s ill fortune. She poured her heart out, conveying her dire situation in a torrent of words. Lady Shalltear tapped her cheek in silent thought.

“Hmm…so Tsuare encouraged Sebas to deliver you to the Adventurer Guild,” she said. “Does she mean to have him claim all the credit for a valuable contribution? Sebas is quite austere and humble by nature, but I’ve never considered Tsuare’s influence on his actions.”

“She didn’t mention you at all, my lady,” Ilyshn’ish said. “Master Tian scribed a letter for me to present to the Adventurer Guild in person, but I would rather not go near any Adventurers at all…”

“I see,” the ghost of a smile traced over Lady Shalltear’s lips. “Well, I will consider your request.”

“Thank you, my lady!”

“Before you head north again,” Lady Shalltear told her, “we have a quick delivery scheduled – Mare wants to test our delivery systems. Head to the front desk for details.”

“Of course, my lady,” Ilyshn’ish rose to her feet and bobbed her head several times. “Thank you, my lady.”

Ilyshn’ish made her way over to the Vampire Bride at the front desk, returning to her Dragon self along the way. On the counter was a row of eight Infinite Haversacks.

“Eight?” She looked around, “Is Hejinmal coming?”

“You alone will suffice,” the Vampire Bride replied. “It’s not too far; here’s a map with your destination marked on it.”

Ilyshn’ish looked down at the map spread out over the desk. She recalled the features around the city that she had flown over directly, but, beyond a certain point, things became unrecognizable. She looked back over to the Vampire Bride.

“I-I don’t recognize this location,” she told her. “What if I get lost?”

“It’s not much to remember…”

“Nonono,” Ilyshn’ish shook her head, “Frost Dragons don’t work like that. Our recollection of past experiences is perfect, but the rest pales in comparison. Trying to remember things we’ve only read about takes a lot more work to retain.”

“Hejinmal seems to read quite a bit,” the Vampire bride looked over to Hejinmal’s pen.

“There are some tricks that can help,” Ilyshn’ish said, “but it usually takes us a few read-throughs to even partially remember what we’ve read if the subject material is entirely foreign. The more abstract it becomes, the worse it gets. Hejinmal is no exception.”

“How in the world did you manage to learn so much cooped up in the mountains?”

“We’ve had a century to read everything remaining in the ruins of Feoh Berkana,” Ilyshn’ish explained. “I’ll admit that it's a bit addictive when you find a good book – the first few times you barely remember, so it’s like having four or five in one…please don’t give me that ah-this-one’s-an-idiot look…”

“Then...can you understand the map?” The Vampire Bride asked.

“If I have a chance to reference it to what I see,” Ilyshn’ish answered.

“Then take the map with you: you’ll recognize that everything is the same from above.”

The Vampire Bride rolled up the map and offered it to her, but Ilyshn’ish only looked down at it dubiously.

“I doubt I can hold this open in my claws while I’m flying around…”

“You could land once in a while to reorient yourself,” the Vampire Bride suggested. “It’s not far, so you should be able to see E-Rantel from above the location.”

Ilyshn’ish hesitantly added the map to her bag and waited for the Vampire Brides to finish strapping on her cargo.

“Um…is there anything dangerous there?”

“There’s nothing that could remotely threaten you at the landing zone,” one of the Vampire Brides told her as she hopped off of Ilyshn’ish’s shoulder.

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

Ilyshn’ish launched herself from the wall, gaining altitude with powerful strokes of her wings. After about five minutes making her way southwest, she already felt somewhat lost. Frowning down towards the ground, she circled upwards until she gained a broad vantage of the surrounding area. South of the city was the town that she wanted to visit at some point, being built on the bank of a large river.

Was there a river on the map? She couldn’t recall. The one below flowed from west to east, coming down from some unseen location obscured by the northern spur of the nearby mountain range.

Ilyshn’ish descended, landing ten minutes later near a bend in the river. Finding a suitably large rock, she carefully unfurled the map. More of the map seemed familiar now, and she put it away before taking off in the direction of the marker. After repeating the process one more time, she cautiously glided over what she was reasonably sure was the delivery location.

A small forest stretched northwards until it met the cultivated lands west of the city. A long valley extended to the south. Across the river to the west were the mountains that she noted from the city, which connected to a massive range that stretched beyond the horizon to the west. Ilyshn’ish idly wondered if she was permitted to hunt in this area – the alpine valleys between the peaks looked lush and green, likely filled with all manner of tasty things.

She looked back down again, trying to figure out exactly where the delivery location was as she descended in wide circles. Unable to find an opening in the trees, she settled for the bare northern slope of a small ravine nearby. There were trees above and below, and alarm arose within her over potential ambushes. She entered into her Form of Restoration, just in case something jumped out and bit her.

After a brief search, Ilyshn’ish found a small trail leading up to a ledge overlooking the ravine, and she followed it to find a camp with several Humans inside a perimeter of sharpened wooden stakes. She padded up to the nearest Human.

“E-excuse me…” She barely managed in a tiny voice.

The Human screamed. Ilyshn’ish screamed. Then the Human struck her squarely on the nose with his sword. The blade glanced off harmlessly.

“Hey!” Ilyshn’ish whimpered.

He looked at her and screamed again. Why was he screaming? She was the one being assaulted.

The camp exploded into activity, and a half dozen Humans scurried about in the firelight. In the span of a few seconds, Ilyshn’ish found two crossbows and a longbow raised against her. It was probably safer for her to just go away.

“The hell is going on here!” A gruff voice shouted from inside the camp, “And who the fuck just squealed like a stuck pig?”

“It was Henrich!” A woman said.

“Wha–no, it wasn’t!”

“Which genius put a Fighter on watch?” The gruff voice sounded angrily.

“I told you, it wasn’t me!”

A portly Human male, half-dressed in armour, walked out towards the edge of the camp. He peered over at the man with the sword, then to Ilyshn’ish.

“A Frost Dragon?”

“Y-yes?”

“You’re the scheduled supply drop, then?” The gruff man asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” Ilyshn’ish nodded.

Ilyshn’ish tried to ignore the various weapons brandished against her, slowly withdrawing a clipboard from her Infinite Haversack. She carefully read through the notes on the front page.

“Um…please verify the contents of your delivery,” she held out the clipboard between her claws.

The man took the clipboard, reading over the contents. Ilyshn’ish lowered herself closer to the ground.

“Could someone help me with these, please? It’s hard to undo the buckles myself.”

A pair of the Humans came forward, but the one that had taken a swing at her hung back. A female came right up to her snout and leaned over.

“Man, Henrich,” she said, “you screamed like a bitch, but you didn’t even put a scratch on her nose.”

“Dammit, Mag,” a voice drifted over the tents, “I’m on the other side of the camp!”

The woman let out a snicker before reaching up to undo the first bag. She stopped to stroke Ilyshn’ish’s side.

“Oooh…I never thought I’d be able to touch a real Dragon…”

Ilyshn’ish tried her best to ignore the stroking and poking. Five minutes later, the bags were off and lined up on the ground, with the Humans in the camp emptying their contents. The man holding her clipboard handed it back, and Ilyshn’ish went through the list again.

“Were there any problems with your delivery?”

“No.”

“Did you sign...?”

“I used an official stamp.”

Ilyshn’ish carefully flipped to the end and saw a strange, unknown symbol. She hoped it would be enough.

“Then…um, thank you for using the Vampire Post…”

Ilyshn’ish turned back around, going down the trail a ways before taking flight. Fearing that she had taken too long, she layered a few spellsongs over herself before winging it back to E-Rantel.

Back at the wall in front of the pens, Lady Shalltear awaited, tapping her foot impatiently.

“That took much longer than expected,” she said as Ilyshn’ish settled onto the wall in front of her.

“I-it was a new place, my lady,” Ilyshn’ish explained. “I got lost – twice.”

“Twice?” Lady Shalltear frowned.

“The delivery area wasn’t clear, either – it was in a forest, so I had to land elsewhere and crawl up there. Then one of the customers hit me right on the nose with a sword!”

Ilyshn’ish pointed at her snout tearfully, and Lady Shalltear frowned up at her, hands on hips.

“I don’t see anything…”

“It still happened!” Ilyshn’ish cried, “Ah, that was so scary…what sort of crazy person just randomly swings their weapon at others like that?”

Lady Shalltear pulled out an azure notepad from somewhere and started writing something inside.

“A-at least it only took me ten minutes to get back…”

Lady Shalltear continued writing. Ilyshn’ish shifted uncomfortably in the silence for several minutes before addressing Lady Shalltear again.

“Lady Shalltear, about the Adventurer Guild…”

“I’m still thinking about that,” Lady Shalltear told her. “Prepare for your regularly scheduled flight – you’ll need to make up for lost time along the way.”

A tendril of worry rose from the depths of Ilyshn’ish’s mind. Did she do something wrong? Was the task she had just completed a test that she failed? She didn’t know how she could have done better. Slinking past Lady Shalltear, she could only hope that her fate in the hands of the Adventurer Guild next week would be averted.

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The blinding glare of the midday sun filled the powder-blanketed landscape of the alpine pass. Below the craggy face of a towering cliff, under swirls of loose snow driven by the frozen winds, a cold and dark presence stirred.

The presence thickened, coalesced, manifested…and a skeletal wing broke through the surface and into the sunlight in a spray of icy crystals. Through the hole, another wing followed. The wings thrashed about and, when the hole was finally large enough, a bony caricature of the living clumsily flapped its way out. Torso wrapped in a tattered black robe, it settled on the snows nearby, and a pair of bright crimson points looked about its surroundings.

The light was bothersome, but it did no physical harm. It was inside a wide bowl, where the tongues of massive glaciers loomed from between the peaks high overhead. As its nascent personality established itself, the being looked down at its bony talons poking out from the tattered black hem of a robe. It lifted a foot to work experimentally in the air, grasping as it gained comprehension and self-awareness.

What am I?

An Elder Lich.

The answer drifted to the forefront of her mind. Though recently risen, she already knew what she needed to do. She needed to grow more powerful; learn more magic; develop her abilities and make her environment more hospitable to proper and respectable persons such as herself…but first things first: she needed a base to work from, and she should probably leave to find a suitable location. Being newly brought into existence, her selection of spells was scarce, so she would need to collect some minions to better protect herself.

The Elder Lich looked around again. The pass was filled with a throng of lesser Undead: Skeletons, Zombies, Ghouls and Wights. She went around, using her innate ability to dominate lesser undead, collecting a small following. A few minutes later, she paused and turned to appraise her new entourage. Two dozen Skeletons and the same number of Zombies. There were two Ghouls and a Skeleton Mage as well. It wasn’t enough – they were weak, and would pose little threat against something that could actually give her any real trouble. Everything in the bowl was just as weak; she needed another way.

She spotted several corpses nearby. That would work. As an Elder Lich, she could create a handful of Undead per day with her innate abilities, and they would be far superior to the ones that had manifested in the icy pass. A part of her wondered how she knew all of this. She vaguely understood that it shouldn’t be so; that the study of the arcane and the harnessing of powerful abilities were usually the result of long years of study. She knew language – both spoken and written – yet she could not recall learning it.

Such things did not come together randomly, there should be a reason…a reason. A grin appeared over her desiccated features: a row of pointed teeth appeared from behind tattered, ruined lips. A mystery to study; one with a sense of grand destiny. Perhaps some great will had brought her into existence; imparted knowledge and power into her being. She would find a cave in the valleys below. Ages would pass and she would grow strong enough to strike out at those nearby, spreading the dark energies that fueled her being. Along the way, she might attract the attention of that great will once again, discover the roots of her genesis, and propagate more like herself. New colleagues…or perhaps new servants.

She erratically hopped around the collection of corpses, examining them with a discerning eye. Something told her their condition didn’t actually matter, but she wanted the best subject possible anyways. The first time should be special, after all. Why was that anyways? She tilted her head curiously. Well, whatever.

The Elder Lich waved away the ravens pecking away at the remains. Finding a mostly intact body, she raised her wings with dramatic flair.

“「Animate Un–”

The ground shuddered. Half of her minions vanished from her awareness.

Looking behind her, what could only be described as a giant scuff mark marred the ice. Bits and pieces of Skeletons and Zombies littered the slope. Further down, she spotted a boulder, still bouncing its way downhill.

Her mind raced as she spread her wings. It took a split second for the sharp mind of an Elder Lich to deduce what was going on. The corpses lay under a thin film of powder, as if recent, yet there was no sign of their trek there, or how they had all died. They had been placed on purpose: a trap. She looked up in the direction of her assailants, and a second boulder smashed into her just as she took flight.

Far above on the mountain face, a pair of figures watched the Elder Lich disperse into ash-like fragments – its Undead life snuffed out.

“It never ceases to amaze me how they all fall for that,” Sten remarked.

“It’s not as if they know any better,” the Huntress nearby replied. “They pop up and go to the nearest group of bodies we toss down there. They say that the Undead are unnatural, but it may as well be an instinct to them. You owe me, by the way.”

“What! That was a Harpy-type – cut me some slack here. The thing wouldn’t stop hopping and fluttering around.”

“Nuh uh. An Elder Lich is an Elder Lich. We score ‘em all the same.”

“If we get a Spectre next,” Sten muttered, “I don’t care how much you cry about your shots passing through it.”

“Oh don’t you worry about that – one shot is all I’ll need.”

The Huntress – a woman by the name of Ulfhild – gave him a cocksure smile as she casually hefted the boulder on her palm. It wasn’t exactly a fair contest, as Hunters were superior at ranged attacks even without using skills or Martial Arts, but her swaggering bravado was an alluring thing nonetheless. Sten’s own smile grew as he watched her survey the pass below. She was counted a veteran Huntress, but she was still young – perhaps only 50 or 60 years of age, not too much older than himself.

A new Undead popped out of the snow, but it was merely a Ghoul. Sten frowned down at the landscape below.

“Say, why don’t we just wait for something stronger to pop up?” He asked.

“These weak Elder Liches are about the limit,” Ulfhild answered. “Once they start thinking, these Undead just wander off to do whatever they do – they don’t stick around to make anything stronger pop up.”

Sten edged closer, and Ulfhild looked over her shoulder at the sound of his approach. Her eyes widened momentarily.

“You’re supposed to be keeping watch,” a deep voice sounded from behind Sten, “not flirting.”

He turned awkwardly to face the source of the new voice.

“Thegn,” Ulfhild started to straighten her furs, then stopped to give him a flat look. “You got another one. I don’t know why she even puts up with you. You’re the last person who should be calling us out.”

Sten peered at the approaching Sigurd more closely. The Thegn had a fresh mark near his ear, and Sten could only shake his head in admiration and envy. Some day, he would achieve great feats that drew the adoration of women, just like him.

“How were things up north?” Sten asked him.

“Changing,” Sigurd replied. “The Dwarves have come alive again, and the Dragons have been subjugated by someone recently.”

“Someone?” Ulfhild furrowed her brow, “How does someone subjugate a colony of Frost Dragons without our noticing?”

Sten silently agreed. Such an abrupt takeover should have been accompanied by a great battle that anyone would have noticed.

“You tell me,” Sigurd shrugged, “I’m not a Hunter…well, none of the Hunters in any clan noticed, either. First sign that anything had happened was the Dwarves coming out of their holes to travel back to their old capital – they were using some sort of Undead horse to haul their cargo. After that, the Frost Dragons joined in, flying back and forth. Since nothing happened aboveground, people thought that some ancient necropolis had conquered them from underground – maybe some tomb or city that was disturbed somehow. Then, an army of powerful Undead soldiers arrived from lowlands in the east.”

Sten’s expression twisted at the thought of an Undead ‘warrior’. While they were tireless, and could possess extraordinary strength and agility for something of their size, there was little to be said of them in terms of skill. Still, it sounded like a welcome change overall: they had little to do recently besides smashing hapless Elder Liches that spawned in the southern pass and raiding the weak Demihuman tribes that dwelled in the valleys. If the Frost Dragons had a new master, then maybe that master had many other interesting minions to fight.

“How much does the Jarl know?” Ulfhild asked.

“Enough,” Sigurd replied. “The real question is if he’ll do anything about it.”

“He can’t just sit there,” Ulfhild frowned. “We’ve someone new to fight – his council will surely push for something. There’ve been no new sagas in the feast halls for decades.”

“They’ll try, I’m sure,” Sigurd’s look told them all they needed to know about how he felt about the Jarl’s council. “Problem’s that everything that’s going on isn’t in Frostreaver territory.”

“The others won’t demand we stay out of this, will they?” Sten asked.

“They might,” Sigurd answered, “it’s their territory. Pickings have been so slim in the last century that their greed might blind them.”

“Greed?” Interest rose in Ulfhild’s voice, “Who are these newcomers, then?”

“We’re not dealing with the local tribes here, that’s for sure.”

"Did you try them?” Sten asked, “How were they?"

“I didn’t,” Sigurd answered.

Sten furrowed his brow in confusion. That didn’t sound like Sigurd at all.

“You didn’t?”

Ulfhild’s surprise mirrored Sten’s own. Sigurd was a great champion of the Frostreaver Clan, whose exploits had gained him peerless renown amongst all of the Frost Giant clans of Azerlisia Mountains. He had earned the title of Dragonslayer, personally felling over a dozen Frost Dragons in the last century alone.

“They’re all along the old trade spine between the Dwarf capital and their easternmost city,” Sigurd told them. “Attacking at any point along the road would send a dozen or so running your way. I might be able to take on two directly – well, they look sort of oblivious, so maybe three – but if we’re to have a successful raid, we’ll be needing all of the clans in on this.”

Sten’s grip tightened on his axe. If these newcomers were that powerful, then a great war was sure to come. There would be chances aplenty to prove one’s worth as a warrior. Ulfhild looked over at him and laughed.

“What are you getting all excited about?” She asked, “We’re too far south to join in, and we can’t leave the pass unguarded.”

“A few loose Elder Liches aren’t anything to cry over,” Sten answered. “It’s not as if they’ll come around to bother us.”

“Hah?” Ulfhild scowled over at him, “You never listen to the sagas, kid? We’re not here for the Undead. We’re here for the past – and the future.”

Sten turned his face away before rolling his eyes. Ulfhild was from a different tribe in the clan, so he didn’t know her very well, but her response marked her as one of those. The sagas were the sagas, worn by time and patched up by bluster and fancy. As much as any enjoyed a good tale, few believed them as any accurate account, never mind that the renderings of a Skald could be considered prophecy. He looked at Sigurd, whose face was a neutral mask. He didn’t believe any of it, did he?

“The Frostreaver Clan guards the southern approaches,” Sigurd told them. “Even if some of us get to head north, we’ll still need to hold this pass.”

“There’s nothing but us and the Undead in this pass,” Sten grumbled. “No one else has come through here for centuries.”

“Maybe you’ve been looking down for so long that you’ve forgotten to look up?”

Sten glanced at the sky, then back to Sigurd.

“What do you mean?”

“The other clans have been eyeing all of the Dwarf caravans headed out of their Kingdom,” Sigurd said. “They’re following the road down east into the lowlands. The Undead came from that direction, as well. The Dragons that leave from there, however, do something different. None of them fly out east, but a couple have been going south.”

Sten looked up again. He hadn’t noticed any Dragons flying overhead for the weeks he had been here.

“Which ones were they?” Ulfhild asked.

“The sneaky female,” Sigurd said, “and a fat one I’ve never seen before recently. It’s the same ones every week, since near when all this started.”

The sneaky female…it took several moments for Sten to realize who he was referring to, and then he glanced upwards again. There was a report from weeks ago that someone had been killed getting too close to the southernmost Dwarf city, but he hadn’t considered who might have done it. They were probably lucky after being so oblivious: when the ‘sneaky female’ was around, Frost Giants tended to die in the most ignominious of ways.

They thought further on Sigurd’s words, then Ulfhild looked back at him.

“So you’re saying that the new master of the Frost Dragons is actually to the south, while the other clans think that our newcomers are from the east?”

“That’s right,” Sigurd nodded. “If the Dwarf road is attacked, chances are high that any additional retaliation will be going straight under this pass. If they intend to bring war to all of the clans, they very well may be coming up this pass instead.”

“Sounds like we might get a taste of prophecy after all,” Ulfhild mused.

“If it’s the prophecies,” Sigurd said, “I’d rather skip all that and get to the end.”

“Really?” Ulfhild raised an eyebrow at him, “That’s the second thing coming out of you today that’s out of sorts.”

“Well, keep in mind what happened the last time something like a prophecy came through here. Our clan has never been able to recover from that debacle, so I’d rather not add to it with the other clans as they are right now.”

Sten exchanged glances with Ulfhild. What Sigurd spoke of was at least one thing that everyone in their clan knew to be true. A cold anger rushed through him at the thought of the aftermath.

“That…that blame is wrongly placed!” His voice rose angrily. “We were the ones who stood to fight, yet how is it that those that did not decide our shame?”

“Hmph,” Sigurd snorted. “Earn a place in the citadel and you’ll learn exactly why. Or better yet, become strong but stay out here – the truth is not worth knowing.”

Sigurd turned away from them after his bitter retort. After a few steps, he looked down into the bowl.

“Better get to work,” he said. “You’ve brought yourselves some friends with all that noise.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sigurd stomped away from the two young watchers over the pass, kicking up clouds of loose powder that were snatched away by the howling wind. The grim frown under the Frost Giant’s ice-caked beard marred his features more than any of his scars.

It was not their fault, but the brief exchange had soured him – no, it reminded him of something he had long been dissatisfied over. After returning from the Dwarven passes, he reported his findings to Jarl Erik Frostreaver. It was all he could stand just answering their questions as the council of clan elders deliberated. He was dismissed, long past the point of his being sick of standing around, so that they could deliberate further and consult with the other clans, presumably so they could deliberate some more.

He didn’t have to wait for longer than a week; he was not the only one sent to see what was going on above the Dwarf Kingdom, and those representatives had far less of a distance to travel. Any reply from the other clans would most likely be immediate, as they should have received their own reports days in advance of his arrival at Frostreaver Citadel. The response should be obvious – or so he felt – but his sarcastic reply to the young warrior at the southern pass was about as close to reality as he was willing to openly admit.

Disgusted by the tepid reaction displayed by the Jarl and his council to his report, he left to make his rounds, hoping that familiar routines would put him in the right mind again. Reminders only followed him, however, as he trekked over their greatly diminished holdings. Sten was right about one thing: the Frostreaver Clan should hold the greatest place of honour for their deeds, but instead they had been cast down and shunned. Now, they were considered nothing more than a small clan on the southern fringe of Frost Giant lands.

He stopped to gaze down at the pass, sighing wistfully over the past. Though he received the reaction that he did from the youths of the clan, they probably didn’t even know the half of it.

Their kind was forged from ages of conflict: far beyond the climactic confrontation with the Demon Gods. Their mighty ancestors – legends of measure beyond the reckoning of those who lived today – warred in frozen climes the world round. Time and again they stood tall against all who came, until the ruinous powers of the south set the world aflame and cast down the great powers of old. None of the present day wanted to hear those stories, however.

Sigurd’s lips pulled back in a sneer as he turned and continued on his way. No one wanted to hear those stories, but they should. Sigurd loved the ancient sagas – those legends of mighty deeds that challenged all who heard them to strive for those very same heights of glory. The stories that taught them how to live and how to die; that drove him to become one of the greatest warriors of his time.

Yet many others did not share that same appreciation. It reminded them of what they could never be and never achieve, the spectre of untouchable glories past. Better to compare themselves to something more reasonable, they thought – as if setting limits for themselves would prepare them for the next time tumultuous events came their way.

And come they would, Sigurd firmly believed. Every century or two, the winds of change and chaos came, and it was now two centuries since the coming of the Demon Gods. He looked up, past the clouds to the azure skies beyond: the Frost Dragons were the first hint that something was happening, for the true harbingers always came from the south. Would they be able to meet the next challenge to their strength? It was a needless line of thought, for the unsettling idea that they were almost certainly not had already entrenched itself in his mind.

Their blood had thinned, strength and bravery supplanted by weakness, passive thinking and deliberations. He knew the arguments, presented time and again: they needed to be cautious, to preserve and grow their strength. Sigurd, however, disagreed. The Frost Giants could not sit idly by as the ages withered them away. They needed to fight; needed the strife of war and mighty deeds to surpass the legends of old. That was what made them strong, not the endless idling that turned them into shallow husks of their former strength, unfit to enter the glorious halls of their ancestors. All they were doing in their current state was passing on weakness.

Through fields of ice and sudden storms Sigurd walked on, stepping over crevasse and stream. Over day and night he skirted the southern borders of their territory, contemplating the future as he looked on past the borders: to the emptied ruins overlooking glacier and vale. Two other clans once existed in the south, two of the nine that made up the Frost Giant population of the Azerlisia range. The three clans in the south – the Frostreavers being the third – banded together to meet the Demon Gods in the southern pass, yet their strength failed.

The devastation had been so great that they were forced to consolidate their numbers and, with the southern clans no longer presenting any challenge to them, the Demon Gods moved on to invade the Dwarf Kingdom. The worst part of it was that the Demon Gods appeared to care more for the Dwarves than they, bypassing their remaining strongholds in favour of an uninterrupted route to Feoh Berkana.

It was an event that brought great shame upon the survivors. To suffer trespass, unable to bring down the foes who tread freely through their lands. The clans to the north believed little of their account – why would such a mighty enemy simply fight them and leave? Distasteful rumours grew, transforming into truth in the ears of many.

In the aftermath of the invasion, the Dwarven capital lay in ruins, and their kingdom fell into decline. The Frost Dragons – who had flown away over the northern seas to avoid the Demon Gods – returned all at once and demolished the Frost Giants’ northern fleets and coastal settlements along the way. For the next two centuries, a period of relative silence fell over the Azerlisia Mountains, marked by the quiet stalemate between the Frost Giants and the Frost Dragons. The latter part was slowly being remedied but, then, changes came once more. Slow and methodical planning was no match for decisive action and overwhelming power; it was as if their long-cultivated victory was snatched away to remind them of this, though he felt that very few saw it that way.

When he finally tired of brooding over the southern border, he turned back – the days that had passed should have been enough to send word back and forth to the central clans. Scaling the great glaciers that flowed from the southern icefields, he made his way north, circling around a towering massif that jutted from the ice. A third of the way up the massive peak, Frostreaver Citadel loomed, perpetually hidden from the light of the sun.

It had the look of having been grown from the cliff face, wrought from enchanted stone and ice drawn forth by the mystical might of their ancestors; shaped into an existence that stood for centuries. Its outer walls were melded with the mountain itself, spanning most of its northern base. Stairs and spires of blue-grey ice twisted and rose, appearing and disappearing into the stone hundreds of metres above.

Sigurd strode up the ramp to the main gate, a cavernous maw over three times his height. He entered into the main corridor, the sound of his boots echoing up and down its length until he arrived at a door crafted entirely of shimmering black ice. Two Blackguards in dull midnight plate stood on either side, hands rested upon the pommels of their Frostreavers – massive greataxes forged from enchanted ice – nearly identical to Sigurd’s own. They nodded grimly at his approach, but did not voice any welcome.

“Housecarl,” he spoke to the Blackguard on his right, “are those old wretches in?”

“When aren’t they?” He replied with a smirk and jerked his head, “They’re expecting you.”

Sigurd grunted in response, and placed his hands on the doors to the great hall. Jarl Erik Frostreaver and his council turned their heads as he threw them open, walls of enchanted ice shuddering in the wake of his entry. The old ruler was seated on a throne covered in the furs of ancient and mighty beasts, and he looked down at him from the head of the hall. His council, seated at a long table between the throne and the door, glared sourly at his brash entrance. Sigurd ignored their unwelcoming expressions, striding forward to stand in the icy blue glow that permeated the chamber.

“What has been decided, my Jarl?” Sigurd asked.

“The clans are divided,” Jarl Frostreaver answered. “Literally. Four lie north of the dwarven highway; three south – including us. What sort of response are you expecting in this situation?”

“A proper one,” Sigurd told him. “These newcomers bare their teeth at us, so we should provide them a welcome befitting those who would challenge us on our own land.”

The Jarl exchanged looks with the men at the table. They were all old – well past two hundred years of age. A bearded elder with a scar that ran across his face drummed his fingers on the table.

“Did you yourself not give the report of their strength?” He asked, “Or was it a fanciful exaggeration?”

“It wasn’t, Halstein,” Sigurd answered. “Each one of those Undead soldiers standing along the road was roughly as strong as an acclaimed veteran warrior.”

“Yet you expect us to hurl our strength at so many,” Halstein told him. “It wouldn’t even be our own warriors, for the most part.”

“Why does it matter?” Sigurd clenched a fist at his side, “Unless they plan on doing nothing at all…”

“It matters because the other clans do not consider us in the same manner as their own,” Jarl Frostreaver’s voice rumbled over the table. “We are weak and shamed in their eyes, and our numbers weigh poorly on the scales of strength.”

“This again…” Sigurd said, “How long must this farce go on for? To dishonour the clans of the south is to dishonour themselves – by Thrym, we fought while they did nothing!”

His voice boomed across the chamber, but the Jarl snorted in the face of Sigurd’s ire. Sten was not the only one who shared this opinion in the Frostreaver Clan – most of the younger generations did. It had become a sort of common gripe that had lost most of its effect over the years, even when voiced by a champion of the clan. Even Sigurd himself felt that, with the accompanying inaction, it smacked of whining.

“The difference between us only grows wider,” Jarl Frostreaver stated, “and they will press their advantage for as long as it suits them.”

“Then perhaps it’s time to cut them down to size,” Sigurd spat. “They won’t be so proud once we tear their strongholds down around their ears.”

“We’ll do nothing of the sort,” the Jarl told him. “The clans have agreed that something must be done, and are even now making preparations.”

“What was the point of this entire discussion, then?” Sigurd scowled, “Why would you make it sound as if nothing was being done?”

Halstein stirred from his pile of furs, eyeing Sigurd pointedly.

“A demonstration,” he said. “A test to determine whether you could be sent or not…”

“And?”

Jarl Frostreaver looked around to his councilors, who each shook their heads in turn.

“We cannot,” he said. “You’re too strong.”

“Too strong?” Sigurd’s face twisted into confusion, “What kind of–”

“Too strong,” the Jarl cut him off sternly, “too impulsive, and too charismatic. The clans have decided that, given the strength of our adversary, we should conduct warfare using a more…strategic approach. Your presence will almost certainly disrupt order as you draw brash young warriors into your camp. Gunnar will be sent to lead our warriors instead.”

“Gunnar…”

“You believe this to be a poor choice?”

Sigurd and the Jarl’s son had very different views on how to carry out their battles, but he was no weak fool. If he was entrusted with the command of some of their forces, he might just be able to put an end to the other clans’ delusional stance against the southern tribes.

“No, Jarl,” Sigurd replied. “If war is to be waged in the fashion you suggest, then Gunnar is the obvious choice.”

“Good,” Jarl Frostreaver grunted, “I’m sure that Gunnar will be delighted that you approve.”

The council turned their attention away from him, seemingly satisfied that his audience had concluded. Sigurd, however, remained standing where he was.

“What about the other part of my report?”

“Other part…?” The Jarl frowned for a moment, “You mean your warning about Frost Dragons flying south?”

Sigurd inclined his head slightly.

“Do you truly believe it means what I believe you’re implying?” The Jarl asked.

Erik Frostreaver’s long frown was mirrored by those in his council. They had all been children at the time of the Demon Gods’ invasion. Sigurd trembled from the effort of keeping himself from smashing the table before him. There it was: more plainly than he had ever seen – the spectre of the past that prevented their kind from claiming the future, consigning them to the stagnant spiral of decay.

The south stirred, offering them the chance to redeem themselves from the failure of the past. Yet what was their response? Hesitation. Weakness. Fear. He brushed aside his anger – he would do what needed to be done, regardless of the Jarl and his cowering council.

“I do,” Sigurd said. “Many pay no heed to the old sagas, but I find this timing just a bit too uncanny.”

“And if it is, what do you think we can do about it in our condition?”

“We will do what we must,” Sigurd told him. “I know that if we do not ready ourselves at all, the outcome will be far worse.”

“Fine,” the Jarl blew out a long sigh. “You may make your preparations. Just don’t get ahead of yourselves.”

“I hear you, Jarl.”

Sigurd turned on his heel, striding out towards the entrance of the great hall. As he placed his hand on the door, the voice of the Jarl came over his shoulder.

“I don’t know how you can cling to this hope of yours,” his tired voice betrayed the long passage of years.

“Hope? Nay,” Sigurd pulled open the door and looked back over his shoulder at the council. “Glory. Gods, Demons, Dragons – come what may, we will be chosen to take our place in the halls of the slain.”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 13

Chapter 13

“Ilyshn’ish…Ilyshn’ish!”

Ilyshn’ish wobbled slightly as she glided over the Great Forest of Tob, startled into alertness by Hejinmal. She blinked slowly, then released a despondent sigh. Hejinmal eyed her worriedly from the side.

“Are you alright, sister?” He asked.

Ilyshn’ish sighed again. She wasn’t alright; she was an absolute wreck.

The last seven days had steadily piled her mind high with worries for the future – about whether Lady Shalltear would give her a favourable reply, or if she would be fed to Adventurers. She spared no thought to her newly discovered Dancer class, nor did she express any interest in anything else. The days passed, and the world turned, uncaring of her plight. She was just a tiny thing of little consequence, no one cared, and she would not be missed.

“Ilyshn’ish=Verilyn!”

Her right eye turned back to glance at Hejinmal.

“What’s wrong, sister?” He asked, voice laced with concern.

“…you’re a good brother, Hejinmal.”

“Wuh?”

“I-if something happens to me,” she swallowed painfully, “you…you…you can have my stuff. I never disliked you, brother.”

Various expressions crossed over Hejinmal’s features, finally settling into a worried look. He truly was a good brother. Hejinmal didn’t complain too much and always listened to her. He would never rise to oppose her and was also useful in various ways. Someone would probably take her stuff from him shortly after, but that was just the way the world worked.

“Is something going to happen to you?” He asked, “I-if it’s really bad, maybe I could talk to Lady Aura…”

“You would talk to her?” She looked back at him again, “For me?”

“Ehm…yes, if it’s that serious,” Hejinmal answered. “It’s not really that big of a deal – pets can communicate telepathically with their masters.”

Ilyshn’ish went over what she knew of Lady Aura. Supposedly, she and Lady Shalltear were the Sorcerer King’s attendants at the time that her family was subjugated and flown away. Did that mean they had comparable power? Lady Shalltear also referred to Lady Aura in less than formal terms…

“Would…would becoming Lady Aura’s pet save me?”

“Save you? I haven’t any clue what’s going on, sister. Why would you need saving, of all people?”

“Adventurers…”

“A-adventurers?” Hejinmal looked around nervously, and he lowered his voice, “You got in trouble with Adventurers? Just what have you been doing in the last few weeks?”

“I was trying to cultivate some strength by studying how to become a Dancer, but then I got caught up in some scheme and was sent to the Adventurer Guild! I don’t even know what I did wrong…”

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, inflicting her with a sensation she had never experienced before. She was barely a century old, alarming signs of her deteriorating health were becoming more frequent.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hejinmal frowned. “You’re one of the most valuable Dragons in the transportation network. Why would Lady Shalltear send you to the Adventurer Guild?”

“It wasn’t Lady Shalltear,” Ilyshn’ish told him. “It was some woman named Tsuare. She walked in on my training, and five minutes later I was consigned to the Adventurer Guild! I was so shocked I couldn’t even say anything…”

“That’s horrible, sister!” Hejinmal said, “Did you ask Lady Shalltear about it? She’s the one in charge of the enclave – except for me, of course.”

“I did,” Ilyshn’ish said. “I begged and I pleaded and all I got from her was ‘I’m thinking about it’.”

“I can’t imagine that she would actually agree,” Hejinmal told her. “Lady Aura says that she’s just a bit of a sadistic predator, but Lady Shalltear does put a lot of consideration into our work, and she doesn’t treat her subordinates unfairly.”

“Really?”

“Really!”

“Thank you, big brother.”

“B-big brother…”

She clung to the thread of hope offered by Hejinmal, and a half hour later, they arrived over E-Rantel.

Circling twice as they descended to the wall, she nearly missed her landing. Something was happening to the pens and it was noticeably different from what was in her memories. They waited near the front desk for the Vampire Brides to come and unload their cargo. Only two came out to do so, while the third was busy dealing with the queue of customers. Ilyshn’ish tried to pick up her spirits again by looking around at the changes to the city.

The market in the Demihuman Quarter had been moved over to the terrace just off from the main street, and appeared to be taking on many of the features familiar to the plazas throughout the city. Several Humans could even be seen browsing through the stands in the morning gloom. The hoardings and buttresses that supported the Frost Dragon pens were covered in scaffolding. Several Dwarves could be seen working around and inside the building.

“What’s going on here?” She asked the Vampire Bride working to remove her Infinite Haversacks.

“Renovations,” the Vampire Bride furrowed her brow as she worked on a particularly stubborn buckle. “Lady Shalltear has ordered the space to be reorganized and expanded a bit, based on the data we’ve collected so far. New post offices are being built across the network, including those for E-Rantel.”

Ilyshn’ish looked out at the tools and materials sorted into piles on the wall. Hejinmal, freed of his burdens, slowly made his way in, looking around at the work being done. After the Vampire Bride was done unfastening all of her bags, Ilyshn’ish followed after him. Halfway through the partially torn-down pens, they found Lady Shalltear frowning down at a huge roll of parchment unfurled over a table. She raised her head at their approach.

“Um…if everything is being torn apart,” Hejinmal said, “where do we stay?”

“The one room at the end is untouched for the time being,” Lady Shalltear told him.

Ilyshn’ish opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her tail twitched anxiously as she hesitated over learning of her fate.

“What are you squirming over?” Lady Shalltear did not miss her discomfort.

“L-Lady Shalltear,” Ilyshn’ish forced the words out of her mouth, “about what we discussed last week…”

“Ah, yes,” Lady Shalltear said. “After some thought, I’ve decided to take advantage of Sebas’ momentum. You will go to the Adventurer Guild.”

Ilyshn’ish’s thoughts froze, and the world turned bleak and desolate. Her vision blurred, and great tears fell from her eyes to land upon the stones.

“Sister?” Hejinmal said in alarm.

“Uwehhhh…”

Ilyshn’ish sobbed, hiding her face in her claws. Her body heaved and her wings drooped; a sorrowful wail rose and echoed through the corridor. Several Dwarves looked up from their work, and the customers at the front desk leaned over to see what was going on.

“H-hey, what’s all this now?”

Lady Shalltear stole furtive glances at the bystanders. Ilyshn’ish continued to cry, the pool of frozen tears growing wider at her feet.

“It’s because you’re sending her to the Adventurers,” Hejinmal said. “What did she do wrong? There must be some way she can make up for this…”

“What in the world are you two going on about?”

“They’re Adventurers, Lady Shalltear,” Hejinmal explained. “They kill people like us, right? This is a tragedy – she’s going to be turned into boots before laying her first clutch. Lady Aura even said that you wouldn’t do this to your subordinates…”

Ilyshn’ish wailed even louder. Everyone along the wall had stopped by this point to gaze upon the spectacle of a weeping Frost Dragon.

“Hah? Just wha–quiet, you!”

“I can’t, my lady,” Ilyshn’ish sniffed, “I don’t want to dieeeeee…”

“You,” Lady Shalltear told Hejinmal, “contact Aura and tell her to have Mare waiting at the Adventurer Guild. He’ll be able to explain things better.”

What was the point of that? She didn’t need an explanation about how she would be slaughtered and turned into expensive equipment.

Ilyshn’ish continued to weep, body wracked with sobs. Lady Shalltear floated up and alighted on her nose. Ilyshn’ish’s head was suddenly forced down to the floor, and her jaws closed around her cries. Her cross-eyed gaze centred on Lady Shalltear.

“You’re crying for absolutely no reason, you ridiculous lizard,” Lady Shalltear told her. “Mare will be waiting: all you need to do is listen to what he says.”

Lady Shalltear stepped off of Ilyshn’ish’s nose, looking down at her as she sniffled daintily.

“Do you know where the Adventurer Guild is?”

Ilyshn’ish gave a shaky nod of her head before turning around and shuffling away.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Lady Shalltear’s voice stopped her after a few steps.

“Going to the Adventurer Guild?” Ilyshn’ish replied.

“Not like that, you aren’t,” Lady Shalltear told her. “You’ll be going as a Human.”

“A-a Human?”

“Yes, the same as last time. What do you think will happen if a Dragon just walks into the Adventurer Guild unannounced?”

Lady Shalltear had a point. They’d probably slaughter her on the spot. She wouldn’t even have a chance to persuade them to spare her. Actually, Humans couldn’t even tell she was a Dragon, so maybe she still had a chance? Ilyshn’ish walked to the back end of the hoardings.

“Sister, what–”

“Move over, Hejinmal, I have to change.”

“Change…”

“Don’t look!”

Ilyshn’ish appeared in the corridor once again, stepping out before Lady Shalltear. The Vampire ran a critical eye over her.

“You’re not wearing that plain old training uniform to the Adventurer Guild, are you?”

“I-is there something wrong with it?”

“People are going to think that you’re some sort of meathead in that thing. That’s not the appeal that I’m aiming for.”

“Appeal…”

“That’s right – appeal. Those associated with myself or the transportation network have an image to uphold.”

Lady Shalltear started to pace around her, a look of extreme focus on her face. She felt her arm, then reached up and poked her shoulders. Ilyshn’ish twitched in alarm when a hand pressed her belly, then another felt her ribs.

“Don’t move!” Lady Shalltear told her, “This is important…”

Ilyshn’ish tried her best not to squirm as Lady Shalltear’s hands continued to roam around. Two hands grasped her buttocks and squeezed them several times, then Lady Shalltear slapped them for some reason.

“Hmm…your proportions are weirdly perfect, but they’re still very convincing,” Lady Shalltear circled around to the front of Ilyshn’ish again, eyeing her breasts. “Considering you’re not actually wearing that uniform, do you keep your natural armour and damage reduction with this?”

“I-I think so?” Ilyshn’ish said, “Hitting me right now would almost be exactly the same as me as a Dragon, if that’s what you mean…wait, don’t hit me, please!”

Ilyshn’ish raised her arms to cover as much as possible while bracing herself. One notable thing that didn’t come across to her Human self was the mass of a Dragon, so if Lady Shalltear hit her as hard as Ilyshn’ish thought she was able to, she would end up in a field halfway to Carne Village. After several moments of not being blasted out of the city, she peeked over her right arm at Lady Shalltear. Rather than preparing to hit her, the Vampire’s brow was set with the same focus as before.

“Hm…another thing – dance over to that wall and back.”

“Huh?”

Lady Shalltear crossed her arms with an expectant look, and Ilyshn’ish let out a sigh as she complied.

“Oh…”

“That’s beautiful, sister!”

Ilyshn’ish’s nerves were too frayed to tell her brother to be quiet. Lady Shalltear frowned after a moment.

“It was nice,” she said, “but I didn’t feel any effects from that.”

“I just learned the basics recently – I haven’t figured out any working dances yet…”

“Well, you should keep at it,” Lady Shalltear told her. “Mmh…I think I have just the thing for you. I’m going to make a call and pick up something from home - don’t go anywhere.”

Lady Shalltear teleported away, and Ilyshn’ish exchanged looks with Hejinmal.

“W-what is she going to do to me, brother?”

“I haven't a clue, sister, but can you do that dance again?”

Ilyshn’ish glared at him, and Hejinmal turned his attention back to his book. Several minutes later, Lady Shalltear popped up in front of them again. She took Ilyshn’ish by the arm and dragged her into the broom closet on the opposite end of the hoardings. Several articles of clothing appeared over her arm. Ilyshn’ish’s nose was drawn to their extraordinary value.

“If you can imitate the uniform that Sebas is using for his dojo,” Lady Shalltear said, “you can do it for this as well, yes?”

“What is this?” Ilyshn’ish replied, “I’ve never seen anything like it before…”

The more Ilyshn’ish looked at the garments, the more she wanted them. The only thing that kept her from trying to snatch them away was the fact that Lady Shalltear would probably react by burying her headfirst in the wall.

“This is an armour set called Fuyutsuki,” Lady Shalltear told her, “it’s mid-level Battledancer equipment. I thought the design would suit you perfectly, so hurry up and start replacing that dreary outfit.”

“This is really complicated,” Ilyshn’ish’s eyes traced over the intricate design of the items, “m-maybe I should just wear it?”

“Dragons don’t wear body armour, do they?”

“Well, no…”

“Then that would be pointless,” Lady Shalltear told her. “We’re going purely for looks here, and it should be a fantastic fit.”

She picked up and studied each piece, trying to make sense out of the whole. There was an open topped bodysuit that went down to the upper thigh, and a short-sleeved white shirt that hugged her figure in the same way. The bodysuit was a solid midnight blue up to the waist, where swirling wisps of icy white traced up to blend with the shirt.

“The shirt should be under the bodysuit,” Lady Shalltear said. “Actually, never mind – I’ll just equip it and you’ll see how it goes together.”

The black ballroom gown shimmered, replaced by the clothing she was presenting in her arms. Ilyshn’ish blinked several times, trying to figure out what exactly had happened.

“I’m waiting…” Lady Shalltear placed a hand on her hip.

Ilyshn’ish went back to adjusting her appearance. A short coat with long sleeves of diaphanous white gossamer went over the shirt, while a solid white half-cloak split into sections in the lower third was drawn over her right shoulder. Long white gloves with dark palms and fingers hugged her arms to the elbow. The edges of the lighter portions of her garb took on a frosty blue tinge as she adjusted the fine details to suit her tastes.

Ilyshn’ish held up a hand, flexing her fingers experimentally.

“Do your natural weapons work the same way as well?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“I’ve never ‘worn’ gloves before, but, yes, they should. If I damage a claw, it should appear as a hole in these gloves or something along those lines…oh, I see,” Ilyshn’ish suddenly realized the reason behind Lady Shalltear’s question. “Sebas asked me the same questions, and I didn’t realize why until now.”

Ilyshn’ish turned her attention away from her outfit to explain what she knew to Lady Shalltear.

“There are spells of the transmutation school in tier magic that allow the caster to alter or add to portions of their bodies,” Ilyshn’ish said, “and might seem similar to what I am doing to take on my different appearances. There are also many races who can alter their appearance to various degrees through specific innate abilities. I am not using one of those abilities, however, and I am not casting magic – not in the sense that a tier magic caster casts magic.”

“You’re not?” Lady Shalltear furrowed a brow.

“It’s true that we Frost Dragons naturally begin to harness our innate spellcasting ability as we reach adulthood, but what I am employing to facilitate my various appearances is spellsong. Spellsongs are performed and require no mana – it is a Bard’s skill to manipulate the threads of magic inherent in our world through artistic expression. This alteration is a composition of my own making.”

“I’ve never heard of any spellsong like that,” Lady Shalltear said. “The Bards around here also appear to play the same ones I’m familiar with.”

“This is something I’ve noticed as well,” Ilyshn’ish agreed. “The literature from Feoh Berkana that I used as a reference to first learn how to perform spellsongs also suggests as much. There are several dozen spellsongs that appear to be common to all other Bards I’ve observed so far. The very idea of one composing new spellsongs is entirely unheard of, and I’m uncertain why that is. Maybe they’re just unskilled, while skilled Bards keep their own developments secret.”

“That seems wise,” Lady Shalltear nodded. “So you’re capable of performing spellsongs as a Bard, and innately casting tier magic as a Dragon…”

“Yes, my lady,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “We Dragons are something like the Sorcerers when it comes to our innate casting ability. Upon reaching adulthood, Frost Dragons can cast first tier magic – I haven’t learned anything yet, however, as most of my studies have revolved around being a Bard. Higher tiers of magic become available as we grow, but, unfortunately, there are various difficulties with learning tier magic. Most of my family just learns a few spells that they find useful and rely on physical strength instead.”

“So you don’t intend on learning any tier magic?” Lady Shalltear asked.

“I imagine that I will at some point, my lady,” Ilyshn’ish answered. “I’d just like to see what sort of magic is out there before spending the time to learn anything.”

“I see. I should take note of all this: it appears to be quite a handy thing for the transportation network if we can have everyone learn certain spells. Anyways, you should complete your outfit – you need to get to the Adventurer Guild soon.”

The thigh-high stockings came next, of the same shade as the lower portion of her bodysuit. She furrowed her brow while trying to figure out the shoes.

“The heels are a single piece with the stockings,” Lady Shalltear pointed out.

Last came what appeared to be decorative bits: a dark collar, dark straps that she thought were supposed to support her form, intermittent silver lining that traced over her body, as if to suggest the glimmer of snow in the moonlight, or stars in the night sky. A pin with a pale white blossom was fixed on the left side of her hair, which fell in frosty blue waves down the centre of her back. The same light fabric as her coat sleeves formed a flowing half skirt that exposed her right leg and waist.

Ilyshn’ish studied her appearance as best as she could. Even after a brief glance, she grew enamoured with it. The colour scheme suited her tastes, and the flowing cloak and half skirt left a sense of the wings and tail she lacked in Human appearance. She turned and twisted and leaned in different ways to take it all in, making slight adjustments to streamline her look.

“I knew it would work,” Lady Shalltear smiled as her black ballroom gown shimmered back into existence.

Ilyshn’ish adjusted the strap of her Infinite Haversack so it looped around her waist and the container rested on her left hip, overtop of the skirt. She looked back at Lady Shalltear, who opened the door and waved her out. The customers at the front desk immediately turned their attention to her. Lady Shalltear peeked out from inside the broom closet to take note of the people watching Ilyshn’ish.

A figure further out along the wall stirred and approached her.

“Shiver?” Lady Wagner peered at her as she came close.

“H-hello, Lady Wagner,” Ilyshn’ish replied.

“Good Morning, Lady Wagner,” Lady Shalltear walked out from behind the door.

“Oh, good morning, Lady Shalltear,” Lady Wagner lowered her head in a curtsey. “I take it that this is what you called me here for?”

“That’s right,” Lady Shalltear replied. “I would like your professional opinion on her appearance.”

“I’m actually scared of what will happen if she turns things up,” Lady Wagner said. “She’s a Dancer, right? If she uses her abilities…”

“Walk halfway to the end and back,” Lady Shalltear instructed Ilyshn’ish. “Make it look as good as possible – use your abilities, too.”

Ilyshn’ish turned around, taking a deep breath. She entered her Form of Restoration and drew out all of the grace and charm she could muster. She took one step, then another, walking down the long corridor. Each step was in measure with her Dancer’s expression, weaving the enchantment that billowed out around her. Wistful sighs from the spectators filled the air.

When she came back, everyone was openly staring at her – except for Lady Shalltear and her Vampire Brides.

“C-can I have her, my lady?” Lady Wagner said, “Any business I add her to will quintuple their profits.”

“No,” Lady Shalltear smiled lightly, “but I can see how this can be dangerous: only the Undead, who are immune to mind affecting abilities, were able to ignore her just now. She’s so high level compared to the average citizen that they wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“Um…yeah,” Lady Wagner agreed. “Even though the effect isn’t inherently belligerent, the disruption caused is to the degree that it would qualify as a magical attack if it’s not performed in an appropriate locale. It sure was amazing, though…this going to be the uniform for the Vampire Post?”

“No,” Lady Shalltear answered. “I had something more formal in mind for the office workers. This outfit was what I had in mind for her specifically – she’ll be wearing it when she’s not on the job.”

“When she’s not on the job?” Lady Wagner said with some confusion, “She mentioned that she worked for you when we first met, but I couldn’t figure out what she did.”

“She’s a delivery worker.”

“I didn’t know you’ve started going into land transport, my lady,” Lady Wagner rubbed her chin. “The local transport companies might start screaming about that.”

“Shiver is air transport, actually.”

Lady Wagner looked at Ilyshn’ish, then back at Lady Shalltear.

“Air transport?”

“Yes,” Lady Shalltear nodded, “she’s a Frost Dragon.”

“Eh…”

Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ilyshn’ish and Lady Shalltear watched Lady Wagner meander away in a stupor. After she disappeared down the stairs to the Demihuman Quarter, Lady Shalltear brought Ilyshn’ish back into the broom closet again. She closed the door behind them, then looked over Ilyshn’ish with an elbow cradled in hand.

“Maybe that was a bit too successful…” She muttered.

“Should I change back, my lady?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“What?” Lady Shalltear answered, “No, the impact is great – you just have to control it. Just hold off on your abilities unless you need to use them. Hmm…Frost Dragons are ambush predators; doesn’t that mean you’re naturally stealthy too?”

“I haven’t seriously put it to the test as a Human,” Ilyshn’ish replied.

“Well, find out when you’re on your way there,” Lady Shalltear said. “Now, since you seem to have been trained to an acceptable degree, I’m entrusting you with some very important work.”

“Important work? Me?”

“That’s right. Be on your very best behaviour…you do know what I mean by that, yes?”

“I-I’m not sure, my lady…maybe?”

Lady Shalltear peered up at her with a frown.

“Do not break any laws,” she told her, “do not say or do anything that will bring shame upon His Majesty or myself, and do not spread any tales or rumors amongst the population. As my subordinate, your conduct reflects upon me – if you do anything inappropriate, you will not enjoy the consequences…”

Ilyshn’ish swallowed. She had developed a vague idea of what was appropriate and what wasn’t, but it was always the things she didn’t know about that got her in trouble.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Ilyshn’ish said. “What if I do something unintentionally?”

“If you feel that it will be a problem, then keep quiet, be polite, and cooperate with Mare…grr, this would be much easier if Ludmila was available…”

“Who is that?” Ilyshn’ish

“A vassal of mine,” Lady Shalltear answered. “She’s also an Adventurer, so she’d be able to show you around as her junior, and ensure your conduct is appropriate. Unfortunately, she’s seeing to important duties in her territory at the moment.”

Lady Shalltear reached into a strange hole in front of her, withdrawing a pair of items.

“Since she’s not available,” she said, “you’ll just have to make do on your own. Take these.”

Ilyshn’ish looked down at the midnight blue notepad and pen held out to her. The notepad was plain, but the pen seemed valuable.

“What’s this for?”

“Can you write?”

“I’m good at Dwarf – at least the language of the ones that live in the Azerlisia range. There’s Draconic…also I’ve learned a bit of the local language.”

“Good, keep learning,” Lady Shalltear said. “This is to help you keep track of things. Anything you think you’ll have trouble remembering, just write it down in here.”

It would help, as Lady Shalltear said. As her experiences and knowledge expanded, she would need to rely on it less and less as the right connections would more often than not be made, but she should always run into something new once in a while. She tested the pen, watching the black ink flow smoothly onto paper.

“Lady Shalltear…”

“Hm?”

“I thought you were angry at me.”

“I will be angry at you if I have reason to be, just like with any of my subordinates. Since I have you within arm’s reach, is there something you’d like to inform me about so we can get it over with?”

“N-no, my lady,” Ilyshn’ish tensed. “I…I just thought you hated me for some reason.”

“Hate?” Lady Shalltear furrowed her brow, “You’re mistaking me for some other Undead race, I think. I have neither the time, energy or care to hate perpetually for such unimportant incidents – I reserve my true ire for His Majesty’s enemies. If you do something you should not be doing, then you will be punished. Since I enjoy that sort of thing, I will make you suffer in interesting ways if I can. If you wish to avoid this, then avoid committing any conduct that requires punishment. Simple, no?”

“I feel like punishments are inevitable, the way things are going.”

“Well, that’s just how it is,” Lady Shalltear told her. “Service to His Majesty demands perfection, but everyone eventually makes mistakes. We are fortunate that, in His mercy, He only asks that we learn from them so we may improve ourselves, but it is still proper to offer recompense. Now, get going – Mare should have long arrived by now.”

Ilyshn’ish concealed herself and left the broom closet, sneaking past the queue of customers at the front desk. She made her way along the wall until she reached the southern gatehouse, pondering how she would proceed. In the end, she decided to leap across the busy street to the rooftops. Looking around herself, it appeared that no one had noticed – or cared – not even the Elder Liches patrolling over the city.

She dropped down into the alleys, taking the shortest route to the main plaza. Ilyshn’ish fretted in the shade of a tree standing across the way from the Adventurer Guild. The pleasant mood that came with her new garb and the new insight on Lady Shalltear’s actions faded away and, no matter how much she tried to calm herself, her nerves grew more ragged with every breath.

Adventurers. Mysterious beings who sometimes appeared on the administrative ledgers in Feoh Berkana. Accompanying their entries was always some mark of dead violence: tribes exterminated, monsters slain, long lists of materials brought in from their merciless massacres. It didn’t matter whether one was innocent or not; Adventurers were always willing to hunt you down, for a price. As a Dragon, Ilyshn’ish was keenly aware that her kind was hunted for trophies and materials – hides, meat, horns and other parts of the Frost Dragons who lived in the same area were often on those lists, commanding a high price – so it was always a risk that Adventurers would come after her for her body.

According to her mother, the local Adventurers were especially on the lookout for higher quality equipment – though they all seemed to have a perpetual hunger for this – so an innocent Frost Dragon like Ilyshn’ish would be an irresistible target if they caught her in a vulnerable position. Zu Chiru also mentioned that they wouldn’t die even when they were killed, like some relentless Undead horror that kept rising from the grave no matter how many times it was put down.

Ilyshn’ish reviewed her options for what would most undoubtedly be the most dangerous trial in her all-too-brief life. She had the letter from Master Tian: it was a simple note that marked her as one of the Justice Dragon Dojo’s students, so its role in ensuring her safety would be entirely contingent on his reputation…which appeared flimsy, at best. There was also a certain Mare, who she assumed was the Dark Elf of the same name who sometimes came to the Demihuman Quarter. Establishing contact with him appeared to be the most direct method of gaining protection. If it came down to it, she might also be able to leverage the fact that she worked for Lady Shalltear.

Three lifelines; three chances to stave off a grisly fate if things should go awry and the Adventurers detected the presence of crafting materials in their midst. She took several deep breaths, then scanned her surroundings before sneaking up to the door. Should she knock? No one had come in or out of the building in her memory, so she wasn’t sure what the correct procedure was. She couldn’t find any sort of chain to pull for a bell, so she knocked lightly, just in case. This was supposedly the polite thing to do in this city.

No one answered…maybe she could go back now? If no one was home, then it couldn’t be helped, right? To her dismay, vibrations came from the other side of the door while she was considering retreat: the steady sound of footfalls coming ever closer.

“I don’t think it’s locked, Ishpen…”

A muffled voice came from the other side, and the door opened a crack. Ilyshn’ish swallowed, taking a few steps back.

“Yep, it's not locked…”

The door opened the rest of the way, and a Human female looked up at her, eyes growing wide.

“Oh…oh…ohh…” The woman spun on her heel and hastily withdrew into the depths of the building, “I-Ishpen, b-b-big catch! We got a big one!”

Ilyshn’ish steadied herself against the doorframe, feeling faint. A second set of steps joined the first, rapidly approaching the entrance.

“A big one?” A second voice said, “What do you mean…oh.”

A second Human female appeared, followed by the first. Her lips formed into an ingratiating smile.

“Welcome to the Adventurer Guild,” she said. “There’s no need to knock – please, come in.”

The two women coaxed her into the building, leading her around the stairs inside to a broad counter. Ilyshn’ish looked around nervously, trying to examine everything at once. The two leading her were the only others she could sense so far, which made her nervous over what powerful beings were hidden from her notice.

“So, what brings you to the Adventurer Guild, Miss…”

“Shiver,” Ilyshn’ish replied in a small voice.

“Miss Shiver?” The smile plastered to her face did not fade, “Then, have you come to register?”

“I…”

What was she supposed to be doing here, anyways? Something about representing both Lady Shalltear, the Justice Dragon Dojo, and finding Mare. She needed to be quiet and polite to maximize her safety. She retrieved Master Tian’s letter from her Infinite Haversack, placing it on the counter with a trembling hand. The woman across from her – Ishpen, she assumed – unfolded it and read over the content.

“It says that she’s from a new school for Monks in the city,” Ishpen told the other woman. “Does it mean that they’re trying to use the Adventurer Guild to market themselves?”

“That’s, hm…” The other women paused in thought, “I guess there aren’t any rules about that? It’s happened in the past several times, at least.”

Ishpen turned her attention back. to Ilyshn’ish.

“So Shiver is fine?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re representing this ‘Justice Dragon Dojo’,” she muttered as she wrote something down behind the counter.

“And Lady Shalltear,” Ilyshn’ish added.

Ishpen looked up at her with a frown, and Ilyshn’ish took a half-step back. Did she say something wrong?

“Isn’t Lady Shalltear Ludmila’s liege?” The other woman asked.

“She is,” Ishpen nodded. “As I recall, Ludmila was sent here by Lady Shalltear, too.”

“Hum…then which one is it? She can’t be under both, can she?”

Rather than helping to ensure her safety, the information only left the two Humans confused. Ilyshn’ish panicked and desperately played her final card.

“I-I’m supposed to see someone by the name of ‘Mare’, too.”

The two women turned their heads to look at one another.

“Is he still in the back?” Ishpen asked.

“I served him tea about half an hour ago…” The other woman answered.

“Go ahead and let him know, Wina,” Ishpen said. “I’ll get this done quick.”

Wina left the desk, ducking through a curtained frame leading into a back hallway. Ilyshn’ish’s brief sense of reprieve was pushed aside as Ishpen continued with her questions.

“So…what do you do, Shiver?”

“I’m a Bard,” Ilyshn’ish replied.

“Well, I guess that figures, going by your outfit…what sort of Bard are you?”

“I’m training to become a Dancer.”

“A Dancer,” Ishpen raised her eyebrows. “That’s pretty rare…most of them work as members of theatre troupes or as uh…private contractors. Anyways, it’s not something you usually find in any Adventurer Guild.”

“I-is there any particular reason for that?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“I guess you could say it’s difficult to make work,” Ishpen said. “Be it for the Dancer themselves or for their party. Now, if you’ll–”

A shadow appeared in the back hallway, and a Dark Elf appeared, accompanied by Wina. Mare rubbed his eyes as he walked out, yawning widely.

“Are…are you the one Shalltear sent?” He asked.

“Yes…yes, that’s right!” Ilyshn’ish nodded energetically.

Was she safe now? She examined Mare carefully – she had only ever seen him from a distance. She couldn’t gauge his strength, which she supposed shouldn’t be a surprise at this point. His garments smelled exquisite – it was the richest scent she had ever experienced. Her gaze wandered over his panoply of astounding equipment, until a certain detail raised alarms in her head. It couldn’t be…could it?

“M-mare…”

“Y-yes?”

“Your shirt…what is it made out of?”

“This?” He looked down and pulled lightly on the deep blue leather, “It’s dragonscale.”

“NOOOOOO!!!”

With a cry borne of sheer terror, Ilyshn’ish turned to flee. Lady Shalltear had betrayed her. Tsuare must have gotten to her too…or maybe they were in league with one another from the start? Ilyshn’ish thought that maybe – just maybe – she and Lady Shalltear had started to get along a little bit, but it was all some sick game to them. Maybe she thought it an interesting way to suffer? It was mentioned in passing. Ilyshn’ish had been wrapped up in fancy packaging and delivered as a gift to the Adventurer Guild.

“Um…where are you going?” Mare’s voice said from behind her.

Ilyshn’ish looked back. The Dark Elf had grabbed her wrist. She pulled as hard as she could, but he wouldn’t budge. Not again. It always started like this – no, this was probably the end for her. She whimpered as she pulled in vain: some new and unpleasant sequence of events was surely imminent.

The door to the Adventurer Guild opened, and a pair of shadows stretched past the stairs.

“Mare,” a girl’s voice called, “what’s taking so long? It’s been over thirty minutes already…”

Two female Elves walked around the corner, furrowing their brows at the scene. The taller of the two was fairly strong, though still comfortably below Ilyshn’ish. The shorter one was the same size as Mare, sharing many similarities…including the appearance and value of their equipment. Her eyes threatened to roll out of their sockets when she saw the shirt of red scales.

“Hiiiieeee!!!”

She turned around and darted to Mare, throwing her arms around her only hope.

“Eh?” Lord Mare’s muffled voice rose up from her chest.

The two female Elves’ expressions turned aghast, mouths falling open. The shorter of the two pointed a finger at her.

“W-w-what are you doing to my little brother?!”

The taller Elf female sprung into action, leaping forward and grabbing Ilyshn’ish around the waist.

“Unhand Lord Mare, you skank!” She yelled as she pulled, “Hnnnnng! She won’t budge, Lady Aura – this is...she’s in the realm of heroes!”

“Mare! What are you doing? Don’t let her rub herself all over you like that!”

“B-but big sis…”

“Don’t ‘but’ me!” Lady Aura said, “Out of the way, Merry: I’ll handle this…”

The arms around Ilyshn’ish’s waist released themselves, and she stepped around Lord Mare, putting him between herself and the advancing Lady Aura.

“W-wait – you’re Lady Aura?”

“Hah?” The Dark Elf scowled at her, “What about it?”

“Please…please make me your pet!”

A look of disgust flickered over Lady Aura’s face, replaced by a vehement glare.

“Mare…” She said in a deadly calm voice.

“Big sis?”

“Move out of the way – I’m getting rid of this dangerous woman.”

Ilyshn’ish’s knees buckled, and she hung off of Lord Mare’s shoulders weakly.

“W-w-wait!” Lord Mare exclaimed. “She’s here to help us! Why are you trying to get rid of her?”

“She is?” Lady Aura didn’t look convinced at all.

“She is!” Lord Mare nodded.

“I am?” Ilyshn’ish had no idea what she was actually supposed to be doing.

An exquisite bow materialized in Lady Aura’s hand.

“I-I am!” Ilyshn’ish ducked behind Lord Mare’s shoulder, “I’m here to cooperate!”

“She was sent by Shalltear to help with some things.” Lord Mare explained, “I-I don’t know what happened, but she’s trembling so much…she’s so scared that she’s making me scared!”

“She’s the one that Shalltear sent?” Lady Aura’s voice turned incredulous, “That idiot…hey! How long are you going to hang off of my brother for?”

Ilyshn’ish looked over at Lady Aura fearfully. She still looked quite cross, and Ilyshn’ish let out a helpless whimper.

“I-I’m scared, my lord…”

Despite her admission of fear, the two other Elves bristled at her words. What did they want from her? Everything she did made them angry.

The door to the building opened again, and a Human male appeared. Much like the two elves, he stopped and furrowed his brow as he came around the corner, bushy moustache stirring as he spoke.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Shalltear sent her to help out, Mister Ainzach,” Lord Mare replied.

“She did?” Mister Ainzach’s expression did not change. “I’m not sure if we need this kind of ‘help’ – why is she clinging to you like that?”

“Um…a-a few things happened?”

Ilyshn’ish felt a light touch on her forearm. Lord Mare peeled her off, despite her clinging onto him with all her might. She felt his hand squeeze hers lightly, and she felt some small comfort through his grip.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lord Mare said. “We’ll head to the back, and I can explain everything there, okay?”

Table of Contents

- Table Of Contents -
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 11
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 12
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 13
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 14
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 15
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 16
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 17
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 18
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 19
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 20
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 21
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 22
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 23
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 24
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 25
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 26
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 27
Birthright: Act 5, Chapter 28
Birthright: Afterword
Winter's Crown: Arrival and Departure
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 1
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 2
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 3
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 4
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 5
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 6
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 7
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 8
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 9
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 10
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 11
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 12
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 13
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 14
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 15
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 16
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 17
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 18
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 19
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 20
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 21
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 22
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 23
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 24
Winter's Crown: Act 1, Chapter 25
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 1
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 2
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 3
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 4
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 5
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 6
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 7
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 8
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 9
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 10
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 11
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 12
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 13
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 14
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 15
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 16
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 17
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 18
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 19
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 20
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 21
Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 22
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 1
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 2
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 3
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 4
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 5
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 6
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 7
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 8
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 9
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 10
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 11
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 12
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 13
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 14
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 15
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 16
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 17
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 18
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 19
Winter's Crown: Act 3, Chapter 20
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 1
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 2
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 3
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 4
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 5
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 6
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 7
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 8
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 9
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 10
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 11
Winter's Crown: Act 4, chapter 12
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 13
Winter's Crown: Act 4, Chapter 14