Aven looked around the room at the group gathered for the mission to Frostwood. Eight of them in total. Ouron and Logash as muscle. Katrin and Wally for their senses. The scout Shevi for her knowledge of the terrain. Janaya as their last resort if things needed to burn. The boy Ouron had brought with him from Agenthus, Sunshine, who had to be useful for something. And Aven himself. This was the force that would infiltrate the Vulgares, rescue Esharah, and kill Sergrud.

  Or all die horribly in the wilderness. Either seemed realistic possibilities.

  Their core advantage was surprise. Largely because the plan was, perhaps, too stupid for anyone rational to consider. A desperate suicide mission that Aven himself would not have attempted were his head not on the line anyway.

  They gathered in the keep, in the small, dark chamber where Yvris had tested Aven’s abilities, where Aven had trained with Logash. A suitably dim, oppressive space for planning such a reckless mission.

  “To begin bluntly,” Aven said. “There is a reasonable chance that all of us will die.”

  Not the most inspiring way to begin, but honesty seemed the best policy at this point. Only Wally seemed shaken by the declaration, but even the canin boy gulped and nodded.

  “For those of us who are former prisoners of Hellfrost...well, it might be death either way,” Aven said. “Vestra vis Nightblood and Governor Iraias promised as much. Either we prove ourselves assets to be preserved, or we’re liabilities to be erased. This is our chance to prove we’re assets.” He looked to Sunshine and Shevi. “You two...aren’t under that same blade. For us, death is a possibility either way. For you...you can still back out and live on.”

  “And miss the performance of a lifetime?” the red-haired boy grinned brightly. “Never!”

  Aven glanced to Shevi, “Runner?”

  The wolf-eared woman gave Aven a hard glare, “Sergrud killed my dog.”

  That seemed to be a complete answer in her mind, so Aven took it as one.

  “It isn’t just Vulgares, either,” Aven said. “Some among them are former prisoners. We’ve fought alongside them before. Now, we may face them. Are you still willing to fight?”

  Seven voices sounded in affirmation. Many hesitant. But still affirmation. Aven nodded. No more objections, then. Onward with the mission.

  “Our objective has three parts,” Aven continued. “We must first make it to Frostwood undetected. We find a place to strike. Shevi, you know the terrain. Where are we headed?”

  “There’s a mountain pool just north of Frostwood,” Shevi said, claw stabbing a point on the map spread out in front of them. Thankfully, imperial runners kept excellent maps. “Used as a fishing camp during the summer. Overlooks the village. They’ve no reason to expect an approach from the north. If we start the attack there, it should give us some cover to take out sentries and move in. There’s no road, though. So, it’ll be slow going. Especially in snowpack. The mountain path is often blocked, even this early in winter.”

  “I have trod similar paths before,” Logash said mildly. “We can make it through.”

  “And I doubt we’ll be in danger of freezing when we have Janaya at our side,” Aven grinned.

  Janaya looked at him incredulously, “That’s why you invited me? Not to burn our enemies in the fires of judgement but to...keep warm? You would use the very fires of hell as a campfire?”

  “Sure,” Aven said. “And maybe to bring a bit of judgment too.”

  Janaya grunted and crossed her arms. Still, her lips quirked up at the end of that.

  “After that, we figure out where they’re keeping Esharah,” Aven said. He nodded to Katrin, “That’s where Vili comes in. You delivered Etrani’s message to Sergrud before, right? So we know Vili can get into the village.”

  Katrin’s head inclined a few degrees. Vili, at least, was more demonstrative, throwing up a fingerless arm in a salute.

  “Do we-“ Wally’s voice interrupted the planning. But he fell silent immediately when everyone turned to face him, face nervous.

  “Go on,” Aven encouraged.

  “Do we...” the canin boy gulped, “know if Esharah is still alive?”

  It was a question that Aven had avoided asking too deeply. If she wasn’t...

  Another bridge to cross when they came to it.

  “Killing Esharah would remove any leverage or value they could gain from her,” Aven said, with more conviction than he felt. “And from everything we’ve seen, I doubt Sergrud would miss a chance to flaunt her corpse if he did kill her. But yes, it is possible she is already dead.”

  “If so, she’ll be repaid in blood and fire,” Janaya said, flames lighting up around her at the same time, prompting everyone else to take another step back from her.

  “But, on the assumption she is alive,” Aven continued. “This is our plan. When we know where they’re keeping her, we can plan the details of her rescue. But no sooner. This mission...will largely be improvised. We won’t know our next step until the one before it is finished. There are too many unknowns as of now.”

  “I take it killing Sergrud is one of those unknowns?” Logash said.

  “Right,” that was the rather important detail hanging over the whole thing. “So if we don’t get a clear shot on him, don’t risk it. Focus on Esharah’s rescue first. That’s first priority.” He looked around at the assembled group, “Questions?”

  No one raised a hand or a voice. So, Aven looked around the assembled team and nodded.

  “Then we leave in one hour,” Aven said. “Meet me at the gate out to the quarry. We won’t be getting a procession or anything. The rest of Hellfrost will carry out the defenses as normal. If you have goodbyes, say them quickly.”

  The group shuffled out one by one, murmuring among themselves. Except Sunshine who was decidedly not murmuring and was instead waxing poetically in loud tones. Something about a “hero’s quest.”

  All departed. Leaving Aven alone in the darkness. He closed his eyes. One hour left before marching to death, victory, or something in between.

  One hour to keep some solution other than death in the recesses of his mind. Aven breathed deep, opened the Flow of power to the Battle Mind and split himself. In an hour, Aven could simulate a hundred battles. A hundred confrontations with Sergrud. A vis more powerful than Aven. Faster. Stronger. More experienced. More skilled.

  In the darkness of that chamber, seeking an answer, Aven died a hundred times.

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  * * *

  After a hundred imagined deaths in the dark, even the setting sun was almost blinding when Aven emerged. His head pounded, but he thrust that aside. The rest were already gathered at the gates. Apparently, their goodbyes had been short. Or still ongoing from the looks of it - Tanya was among them, passing out small bundles.

  “Ah, there you are,” Tanya waddled over to him and pressed one such bundle into hands. “No use going to a battle on an empty stomach.”

  Aven unwrapped it and found several slices of bread and cheese and a thick sausage, still warm from the kitchen fires.

  Tanya’s hands rested on her hips, and she gave a satisfied nod. “Best go prepared.”

  Aven bowed, “Thank you as always, Tanya. Your kindness is beyond measure.”

  “Ain’t kindness keeping people fed,” Tanya smiled, patting his shoulder. “It’s only practical.”

  “Practical as well as lovely!” Sunshine chimed in. “Truly the gods showed favoritism when bestowing beauty and brains alike in such generous measure!” He lifted the food bundle in toast, then took a large bite of sausage. “Ahhh, yes, I feel the warmth and vigor returning already! Such blessings from an angel are to be cherished forever!”

  “You boys are all alike,” Tanya rolled her eyes at Sunshine’s demonstrations and walked over to Logash, clasping his hand tightly. “Be safe, love.”

  Logash knelt, bringing his seven-foot high self down close enough to kiss her cheek, “My path has never been one of safety, but it may be that I will still return on this path. I shall hope to see your smile at its end.”

  Tanya chuckled and shook her head, giving Logash’s shoulder a pat before returning to the kitchens.

  “Well said!” Sunshine was still watching, looking delighted at the scene. He grinned broadly, “How delightful it is to see two souls joined by fate across the vast gulf of the world!” He sidled up close to Logash, elbowing the ogre in the side, “You must tell me more! My song of your love will need copious details!”

  Logash gave the smaller boy a bemused look.

  “Just as long as your song doesn’t alert our enemies,” Aven said.

  No more stalling. Time to go.

  Aven glanced up to the tower where Etrani’s office lay. It was a silly notion, but it was rewarded anyway. The executor was there, at the window. Looking out at them. At Aven.

  He lifted his hand. She raised her hand as well.

  Then Aven turned and started towards Frostwood. Seven figures followed behind. Eight souls against the hundred Vulgares. They marched to the north, into the mountains.

  To victory or death. Whichever came first.

  * * *

  Esharah had a novel experience: rather than keep her in the tent, Sergrud chose to parade her around the camp. Apparently as a symbol of the Vulgares’ triumphs over Hellfrost. Mensikhana blocking Esharah’s mind, guards on either side, Esharah was no threat, they must presume.

  Finally, Esharah saw Frostwood with her own eyes. In the isolation of the tent, she’d seen snatches, glimpses through the eyes of the villagers. But that was far too incomplete. It hadn’t prepared Esharah for what she saw.

  The village was in ruins, the damage far worse than what she’d gleaned from the villagers’ thoughts. Some houses had been burned down. The Vulgares were crowded in the mishmash of tents, clusters of distinct styles showing the different clans, clearly divided. Esharah had never been to Frostwood before, duties always keeping her in Hellfrost itself. She’d seen many of Frostwood’s people, though, those few who came to weekly market days and larger numbers who travelled to Hellfrost for certain festivals.

  Frostwood was a village of hunters and fishers, hardy souls who could survive in the harshest climates. Rather than cultivate large fields, they only had small gardens between the houses. Those gardens were now trampled, despoiled, stripped clean of whatever food could be harvested. Frostwood was a place where a little less than two-hundred people made their home in the mountains. Now there were more than twice that number, crowding in every available space.

  And the Frostwood people themselves? The children were glimpsed only through windows, huddled indoors away from the raucous, shouting warriors. Some of the men were among the Vulgares, seated at the far ends of the tables in places of dishonor. The women wandered about, bringing food and drink to the feasting warriors. A girl who couldn’t have been older than fourteen or fifteen caught one canin warriors eye, the warrior grabbing her wrist and dragging her into his lap until the girl’s mother sprinted over and scooped the terrified girl away, earning spit and shouts from the warrior.

  “This is what you promise?” Esharah reached out to Mensikhana. Even blocking Esharah from speaking to the surrounding warriors, Esharah could still send the message to her. “You wish this future? Terrified children, burned homes, lecherous beasts grasping at whoever they wish?”

  “Frostwood surrendered willingly to us,” Mensikhana said shortly.

  “How many did you kill before they surrendered?”

  The answer didn’t come for a long while.

  “And how many has your empire done just the same to?” Mensikhana asked.

  “Millions,” Esharah answered. “You don’t need to preach to me of the empire’s sins. I’ve felt them more keenly than you ever could. You’re right, the empire is no better. So why are you aiding Sergrud in bring that same misery to others?”

  Mensikhana wavered, “Sergrud fights the empire-”

  “Sergrud is the empire,” Esharah snapped. “The empire is evil because it conquers, it destroys, and it grinds everything else under its heel. And Sergrud is doing the exact same thing. He’s just a different face. He wants to be an emperor in miniature. You’re a Mindspeaker. Look into the minds of those you have conquered. See their fear. Feel their suffering.”

  Mensikhana closed the connection, throwing up a wall to shut Esharah out.

  The guards shoved Esharah along. To where Sergrud sat at the head of the feast.

  The warlord sat upon a throne of furs, his back to the hollowed-out remains of the village’s main hall. Sergrud laughed and gestured to his right side.

  “Esharah, our guest!” he raised a mug in a mock toast. Jeers and howls rang out from the warriors around the table.

  Esharah swept her gaze round the crowd. Settling on twelve faces she recognized. The warriors of the Hellfrost Legion, traitors who stabbed Frostclaw in the back and joined the Vulgares. Iskir at their head, the ondrar woman Gretchen at his side.

  Sergrud laughed, gestured for the guards to bring Esharah closer.

  “So,” Sergrud said. “Do you think you can talk the Vulgares into betraying me as well? I know you’ve been whispering, spreading discord among us. For all the good your whispering has done. We are seated in victory.”

  Esharah looked at the smug warlord. She looked around at the Vulgares who were all staring at her, hatred burning in their hearts.

  “Convenient that any discontent among your warriors can now be blamed on me,” Esharah said. “Convenient that it isn’t the dead bodies you leave in your wake, the burned homes of those who surrendered to you, or the suffering you cause to the innocent. Convenient to blame everything on an enemy, rather than acknowledge your rotted, twisted heart. You’re Tarnis to the core. You should have been a governor; you have a talent for passing all your failures onto others.”

  Sergrud raised his fist and slapped Esharah across the face. She saw it coming miles away. At the same time, Esharah rammed past Mensikhana’s barriers, reaching into others’ minds. Dozens of Vulgares around felt that slap as their own. Felt the snarling anger, the petty, self-serving ego and pride that raged at the slightest insult. All the Vulgares felt their powerful leader stung by mere words.

  Sergrud felt the slap too. A powerful blow, struck by his own hand, stinging his own cheek.

  The revelry fell silent. No more laughter. No more jeers. Only silence as they stared at Esharah.

  Esharah spat blood and smiled. “No wonder my sister liked you. She always said men were best when they were stupid.”

  A canin warrior stood up and dumped a flagon of wine over her head. The shocked silence gave way to peals of laughter. It was almost pathetic, how quickly they moved to juvenile acts when their leader couldn’t even control himself enough to speak.

  Esharah stood in silence, dripping with red wine. She glanced to Mensikhana. The ogress mindspeaker blocked her thoughts. Unable to speak mind-to-mind, she let her eyes deliver the message: this is what you place your faith in?

  Mensikhana was silent as the Vulagres splashed Esharah with more wine, threw scraps of food at her, chanted insults. Silent and still, the ogress stared at Sergrud as if she were seeing him for the first time. Sergrud himself just sat on his makeshift throne of furs and stared at Esharah with seething hatred. The Vulagres laughed.

  “I hope your sister arrives soon,” Sergrud said. “I’ve been dreaming of how I’ll kill you right in front of Vestra’s eyes.”

  So lost in dreams of vengeance. So caught up in thoughts of revenge for someone who had never mentioned his name to anyone else. The depths of self-absorption were as fascinating as they were revolting.

  “You’ve never been in her thoughts,” Esharah said. “You’re a footnote, at best. Something that she would kill without hesitation if you crossed her path. You are a nothing. She didn’t even consider you worth chasing down to kill.”

  “Or she feared me too much to chase me down,” Sergrud smirked.

  Delusion. Delusion was what Esharah saw when she looked at Sergrud. And this delusional fool had a small army. An army he was ruining with every day. He was a fire, raging until he burned himself out. The other Vulgares were only fuel for the fire. How many more would Sergrud bring down with him before he finally burned out?

  The thoughts were Esharah’s own. But when she glimpsed Mensikhana’s mind, she found mirrors of such thoughts growing clearer every day.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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