Valkyrie's Shadow

Winter's Crown: Act 2, Chapter 16

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 anymore, 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 are 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 anymore.”

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’re 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 travelled 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; overflowing 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 sceptical 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 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.