Another victorious hunt. Sergrud strode back to Frostwood with the stag over his shoulders, head of the hunting pack returning with the rising sun. Gannuk was sulking to the side, still angry that Sergrud had “stolen” the kill. His fault for not finishing the beast off. Gannuk may have drawn first blood, but it was Sergrud’s spear that finally took the beast’s heart. Gannuk wasn’t even the one to deal the debilitating wound. That feat went to Iskir, newest of their hunters. The former prisoner of Hellfrost was even more than Sergrud had hoped, rage against the empire turning to zeal for Frostwood’s cause - or Sergrud’s, at least. He would make a fine lieutenant. A good, loyal follower. Not the smartest, but reliable.

  Clouds were gathering overhead. Storm coming. Blizzards out here could last for more than a day at a time. Even with all the snowfall, they hadn’t had a proper blizzard yet. That would put more attacks against Hellfrost on hold for a few days. Fine. Let the bastards freeze, huddled in their walled city like rats in a cage. They could wait for his wrath a bit longer.

  Frostwood came into focus. The palisades on the south and east sides were coming along. Not that they were really needed; Hellfrost wouldn’t dare attack, not after losing Frostclaw. The coward executor would hide away and put up defenses, praying the walls would save her. Sergrud already had a dozen schemes ready to crack those walls again. If they didn’t just surrender. That scribbler had steel, but she was no warrior. Beat a rod enough and even steel will bend. The trick was knowing the right timing to strike.

  Still, getting the people to work on the palisades gave ‘em something to do. Besides the hunts. Worst thing for an army was inaction. Especially one cobbled together from barbarians. Too long idle, and their bloodlust would turn on each other. From Gannuk’s growls, the Ragashars were already getting antsy.

  When they drew towards the village, a bit of annoyance surfaced. No guards to greet them. Damn watch was slacking again. As hypocritical as Frostclaw was, the old wolf’s obsession with discipline at least had a point to it. The guards here could be lax. Too much of the old Frostwood spirit, the idea that the wilderness itself would keep them safe. For all the good that’d done when the Vulgares came marching in.

  Sergrud would be sure to correct that mistake. A good beating should do the trick.

  There were the expected crowds, though. Ready to greet the returning hunters with cheers.

  Except they weren’t cheering.

  A chill fell on the gathering crowd. Sergrud looked at the faces. Not cheering faces, but fear. Fear from some, a tension in the air. What in hells was this?

  Some of the standing Frostwood huts were boarded shut, faces peeking out from behind shutters.

  “What’s all this?” Sergrud demanded at the faces he passed. Stone-faced Rocksmasher ogres looked back in silence.

  “What’s wrong, Khon? Speak up!” Sergrud called out to the ogress, the only Rocksmasher that had joined the hunting party. “Why’s the village like this?”

  “Hells if I know,” the tusk-faced woman looked around, puzzled.

  There was only one explanation. Some idiots finally mustered up the stones to challenge Sergrud’s authority again. Not a surprise. These tribes lived by law of the strongest. That meant regular challenges from fools who didn’t realize the pecking order. Hells, he’d assumed Gannuk would have already tried it.

  The timing, though...that was a surprise. Just after he’d shown them all his strength by killing Frostclaw. Should have put them off challenges for weeks at least.

  And Mensikhana should have heard of any challengers. No word from her.

  “Get ready to kill,” Sergrud said, loud enough that both his following hunters and the surrounding crowd could hear.

  Iskir and Gannuk were already raising weapons. The crowd was pulling away now. Clearing space. Good. The idiots were at least being courteous in their stupidity.

  “Whoever challenges, I’ll tear their arms and legs off and beat their family with them,” he added.

  There. Right at the entrance to the longhouse, Mensikhana stood in the doorway. Teja sat on the steps. Teja’s eyes were the only ones not on Sergrud, her gaze on her dagger as she whetted it against a stone.

  “Khana! The hells is this?” Sergrud demanded. “You supporting a challenge against me now?”

  Finally, her mental voice reached his head, echoing as it did when not directed only to one mind but to all present, “You are leading us to our doom, Sergrud. You direct us against a false enemy. The true enemy is not the empire but the void. you waste our lives for your vengeance when we should be fighting the void.”

  This again?

  “I’ve told you a dozen times,” Sergrud tightened his spear grip, letting the stag fall from his shoulders. “The empire supports the void! Strengthens it. Cultivates it for their own power. By fighting the empire, we are fighting the void-”

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  “LIES.”

  The resonance wasn’t only Mensikhana’s. There was another presence here. The dezar’s. The dual presence rippled through Sergrud’s skull, echoing a conviction. Two minds pulled into Sergrud’s, reflecting his own feelings.

  It wasn’t a lie. They had dogs turned into voidspawn; they had a voidtouched leading their legion!

  “Freed prisoners of Hellfrost, answer this: does the empire fight the void?”

  Images flashed, dezar and ogress joining together. A legion standing against the might of voidspawn. That voidtouched at the head, tearing through voidspawn. Memories drawn from the prisoners of their fights.

  “You swore to fight against the void.”

  A voice echoed out in their minds. The voidtouched’s voice.

  “We are the defenders of Hellfrost. We shall stand against the voidspawn. We shall stand against all enemies who dare threaten your lives.”

  Mensikhana tore the memories out of the prisoners, “Did you not swear that same oath? We did as well. The Rocksmashers have fought the void for centuries. We have stood against the true enemy of the abyss.”

  Conviction blazed through their minds. Mensikhana’s. The rest of the ogres. Sergrud glanced to Khon among the hunters. The ogress wavered, eyes wide, locked on Mensikhana. Hells.

  “For centuries, you fought a losing battle!” Sergrud roared. “You fought and died fighting scrabbling bugs when the empire’s riches were mere days away! You wasted away in the tundra, too cowardly to fight for a better life for yourselves. If not for me, you’d still be there!”

  A voice rose above the crowd, “If not for you, a hundred of our warriors would still live!” Tulun’s voice. The singer strode to the front of the crowd, at the head of the pitiful remains of his warriors. Thirty of the tribe left, the rest dead. Dead by their own weakness. They had the audacity to put the blame on Sergrud instead of their own failures?

  “You let them die,” Tulun accused. “We have fought for you. We followed you into battle, fought the void and the empire’s beasts both, and we have bled. We have died. And you have taken our homes from us, murdered our chieftain, drawn us into this fight to die for your vengeance! We have had enough of you!”

  The accusation in their hearts. So strong. How could so many be so wrong? The Rocksmashers too, all of them caught in the wave of conviction, swept away in a sea of emotion. So easily swayed.

  The empire’s dogs had done a hell of a job on these fools. Made them doubt themselves. Doubt the true fight.

  The empire. That was it.

  “This is the work of that dezar!” Sergrud said. “She’s tricked your minds! Are you stupid enough to fall for her petty tricks? Are you-”

  A mental blast flooded his mind. All the anger, the hatred, the resentment that they all felt. Their own. Not the dezar’s. Against his fire, his might, each was only a drop of water. Now, twin Mindspeakers combined each of those into a deluge.

  The dezar emerged from the longhouse, standing beside Mensikhana.

  Mensikhana spoke aloud now, voice amplified by the mindspeaking so that all could hear, “This is the vision that Esharah and I share, a chance for peace. Standing together against the void.”

  The images flashed as she spoke, painting the picture in saccharine tones. How could anyone fall for such tripe?

  “You believe this shit!” Sergrud snarled. “Open your godsdamned eyes! This is war! Us against the empire! It ends in blood!”

  “Yes,” Mensikhana’s voice echoed. “I see how it ends. I was too blind to accept it before. I knew all along, but I foolishly turned my eyes away. Now I see clearly, and so shall everyone else.”

  Twin vis once again forced the image upon everyone’s minds. Hellfrost burning. Mountains of bodies, Vulgares and Hellfrost alike. Sergrud alone atop the walls, staring down an approaching army, the winged figure of a dezar descending to fight him.

  “This is the only way your path ends, Sergrud,” Mensikhana said. “We will not fight just to be the last to be destroyed by your ambitions. You have always left others to die. Always sacrificed others for yourself. Is it not so, Teja?”

  New images. Memories. Thirty prisoners escaping Hellfrost together, led by Sergrud and Teja. Some crippled by arrows as they fled. They left the fallen bodies behind, even as they screamed for help, begged him not to abandon them. More bodies falling as cold and starvation claimed them. Three survived. Sergrud, Teja, Patz. The only ones strong enough.

  “They died for their weakness!” Sergrud roared. “Tell them, Patz! Tell them, Teja!”

  Patz was on his knees, mumbling and clutching his head. Goddamn useless.

  Teja looked at Sergrud for the first time. She smiled. She winked.

  The memory sharpened, viewed through Teja’s eyes. One particular prisoner. Karronos. Tarnis mercenary alongside Patz. Some magistrate’s private guards, using their brutality and strength to enforce the empire’s will. Too brutal and strong for the empire to stomach, they were both condemned to Hellfrost. Both escaped.

  Karronos was weakened, slowing them down. His hand clutched Sergrud’s boot as he pled.

  “Don’t leave me!” Karronos sobbed, a proud, strong warrior reduced to a blubbering mess. “Help me! Please!”

  Through the eyes of Teja’s memories, all of Frostwood watched Sergrud’s spear take the life of a devoted follower. Watched him turn away from his dying companion to continue his escape.

  Silence fell as the memories ended and reality returned. Sergrud turned to see the same eyes staring back at him from a hundred faces. Eyes filled with fear, hatred, anger, disgust, betrayal.

  “I did what I had to!” Sergrud bellowed out, spear outstretched, daring any to challenge him. “To survive the Empire! I survived, and I grew stronger! Me! No one else could do what I did! I broke Hellfrost’s chains, conquered your tribes! I killed Wulfred Frostclaw! If any of you dare challenge me, then step up. You ‘re afraid of being the last to die for me? Then step forward and be the first!”

  No one stepped forward. Fear paralyzed them. Good. That’s how it should be.

  Pain exploded through Sergrud’s back. A spear, digging deeper, forcing its way right through his hide armor and into flesh.

  He whirled, lashing out. Gannuk ducked away, ripping the bloody spear free. Sergrud’s own blood.

  “Gannuk, you bastard!” Sergrud spat at the retreating backstabber. “You serve me!”

  Yellow canin eyes lit up, “The Ragashar serve no one.”

  “Kill him!” Sergrud roared to the shocked warriors around them.

  “Kill them all!” Gannuk howled back. “Fight, brothers! Kill all and let this blood feast be the greatest we have ever seen!”

  Alarm pulsed through Mensikhana’s mental connection, “No! Sergrud has harmed our tribes equally. He is the true enemy-”

  “You do not tell us who our enemy is!” Gannuk laughed. “The Ragashar do not follow empire! We do not fight for ogres or humans! We alone are the strongest! Kill, my brothers!”

  Howls arose in answer.

  The blood feast began.

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