Clouds of fragrance floated through the dimly lit room while rhythmic chanting of some unpronounceable eldritch words seemed to drive nails into Ethan's ears, while the sigils and shapes drawn out in tier 2 beast blood decorated most of the floor did the same to his eyes.

  And yet, he stayed perfectly still, supporting a very green Ermina on his arm and simply waiting.

  The chanting began to slowly rise in intensity. The incense clouds twisting and pulsing in time with the sharp-edged words, until it reached some unhearable crescendo and the room shattered.

  Up and down switched; the lights became beams of solid shadows and he drank the very air.

  For a moment. Then it ended and the ceiling was a ceiling, and the floor a floor once more.

  A floor decorated in splattered blood and ashes and, Ethan winced and moved to pat her gently on the back, the contents of Ermina’s ever more delicate stomach.

  Muttered oaths and complaints bubbled at the edges of the polished stone floor, but none loud enough for him to do more than guess at their contents.

  “I did warn you.” Ethan said, offering a flask and a clean cloth, and immediately regretted it.

  Ermina glared, but still took the offered handkerchief, making a point of ignoring the tea. “Don’t give me that! This is your fault!”

  Ethan sighed. That was true, from one perspective at least. That didn’t mean she couldn’t have taken it a bit easier on herself. He let it go. That wasn’t a fight he was likely to win.

  Not now, and perhaps not ever.

  Instead, he turned back to the purple and vivid gold drape that slid through a bit of residual smoke and transformed into a truly hideous robe. Ceremonial Blake called it.

  Ethan called it a crime of fashion. But only internally.

  “And?” He asked, offering his brother the clay flask his wife had just rejected. And getting an elbow in his side for it. He glanced at her averted eyes but stiff shoulders and held back a sigh. He was doing that quite a lot recently.

  “The ice serpents will coil firmly yet for a time, awaiting through the unborn moon. Unwilling to give way before the crescent gives her blessing. And yet, the auspice of winter shall pave the way, fleeing before the harvest of the waning sickle. In time they will reunite and the eternal hunt will begin once more.”

  He stared at the dark bearded figure, nonplussed.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  “Fine. You always have to strip the mystery from the sacred art! A terrible personality flaw that is.” Blake muttered almost petulantly. “A few days into the new moon, the river ice will soften enough to make crossing a danger. But in the 3rd quarter of this moon-” Two and a half weeks, near enough Ethan mused. “- warmer winds will blow and we might even describe it as warm. I’d not go out unclothed to greet it, but a simple cloak instead of fur swaddling will do.”

  He looked positively giddy at the thought. Huh. Didn’t he like being cooped up in the dark with his scrolls, mixtures and portents? Ethan mused uncharitably. But it was an idle thought in the corner of his mind, the rest was twisting through the plans long made and checklists of what each would need.

  Nearly three weeks? Easy!

  They would be ready!

  ___

  “Brunti’s grace be upon you, Sir Leosige, sa-Sir Miro. Go swiftly, and return safely!” He offered the mounted pair, Miro on Ermina’s palfrey, the stirrup cup himself. And if it was hot tea instead of wine, no one mentioned it.

  “My Lord.” The scout barked, slapping a fist to chest before taking a deep drought and passing the hot cup to Miro, who did the same, if with a much gentler chest tap. Then they turned and with a click of teeth, the horses moved off at a rapid walk across the lake.

  Drifts six to ten feet tall lined most of the banks around them. All but the shoveled bare section behind him, and a well-packed trail up the valley road to the Stone above. But the lake, and the river below and above it, were mostly free of such.

  A ready-made road, of a kind, waiting for use. If for a very limited time.

  And if it was ice they walked on, it wasn’t as slippery as that might imply. Wind-blown ripples and eddies gave both lake and river a loose tread. And for the rest? The tier 1 horses had their own skills. Sure-footed being one of them. They’d walk the animals once they drew beyond site, but 27 armed and armored riders, and one well swaddled Lady, made for an impressive showing as they pranced across the lake to loud chorus of cheers.

  He glanced nervously at the large snow-clad cliffs to either side. Perhaps too loud, though, he turned his eyes to the Stone itself behind him and the good third of his subjects that stood atop it, he wouldn’t damp their spirits for anything.

  This was the first day those with lower stats could enjoy outside in near enough four months without risking their lives! He turned his head and kept waving as the line of horses moved across the lake, and eventually disappeared behind trees and snow drifts. He turned back towards the bank behind him, and most of the other two-thirds of his subjects.

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  “Are we ready?” He called, pitching his voice to carry. An easy trick on a cool, clear morning like this. The fur and leather-clad workers and armsmen roared back their approval, hoisting weapons, tools or just their mittened hands above them. Hard work wasn’t scary. Boredom was. A bland, never-changing diet was. Narrow rooms and breathing your neighbor’s breath was.

  This? This was practically a holiday.

  “Good. It’s time to make our valley a little more comfortable! Get to it.”

  With the organized chaos so much a part of large troop movements, or labor battalion movements for that matter, they scattered into blocks.

  Near 200 men heading across the lake towards the stand of half-buried trees, while as many as three times that number curved around the Stone’s eastern edge and headed up river. If only for a short distance to where ramps of packed snow led up into the north-east meadow and the second timber stand.

  Axes, shovels, mallets and chisels were everywhere. In men’s hands and in the sleds, made from breaking down the cheaper wagons often enough, they were towing behind them.

  Ethan nodded, then reached a gauntleted fist out. “Brunti’s grace on all of us as well.”

  Conner and Andrew struck their gauntlets to his, and the older Bandsmen spat to the side. “Wes won’t need it.”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow at the man. That was the most accent he’d heard out of him in quite some time and he was damn lucky Ermina was stuck inside for this. “Theys-“ He gestured to the ordered blocks of troops behind him and, emphasizing the accent, continued “- don’t need da fancy talking noble.” He let it drop. Continuing in a more normal tone. “They need the old warrior again.” He said it with a visceral relish that Ethan couldn’t help but grin at.

  “Welcome back then, Old man.”

  “And don’t you forget how I got to be this old.” He fired back. And that was a truth, Ethan mused. Still, “Keep an eye on him will you, Adelbert?” He forwent the title. The poor brat still flinched when he heard nir-. “Catch him should he collapse into senility.”

  The lad blushed but offered a fist to chest “Your will, My Lord.”

  Conner casually swung a fist at the boys arm. A swing he casually stepped around, with the ease of long practice and the confidence his close acquaintance with the older man afforded. And while a youth he might still be, having celebrated his 15th birthday not a month earlier, there was nothing immature about the quality suit of armor he wore, nor the fancy yet still serviceable and certainly well-practiced blade at his side.

  Ethan hadn’t paid much attention to the lad during the winter, though perhaps he should have. Still, he’d seen him on the practice grounds often enough and very much approved of what he’d seen. He was fast and skilled despite his skills and stats, not because of them. What’s more, his noble education and training shone through even the humility he’d taken to wearing like a shroud of honor.

  Send him off with a decade of random men and he’d be leading them come dinner. And leading them well at that.

  “And you Sir Andrew. Bring your command home victorious. And if you can bring yourself home undamaged in the process, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I certainly don’t intend anything else!” The younger man offered with a wide, confident smile.

  Good.

  “I’ll keep the young’n safe.” A new, boisterous voice called out as a tall, red-headed figure moved through the crowds, a stick of fresh wood in his hands and a carving knife already working at it. So that’s where he went. Ethan hid a chuckle.

  “You do that.” He offered his hand to the taller man with a grin. They stuck together with a light clang then turned away.

  “Then be off. Master Ranier, I trust you can handle this, yes?” He gestured to the Labori and the Timbermen that led them.

  The man stepped forward and saluted, fist to chest then flaring outward with his fingers spread. Elegant and graceful, but without the impact a warrior would have included. “Have no fear My Lord. We’ll have a fair bit of lumber for the woodworkers by the time you return.” And a great deal else if things went as planned. Young evergreen fronds to eke out the forage, tapped trees for sap and even the inner bark of some to add to the everbubbling soups.

  Ethan nodded, then brought up a specific screen.

  Yes.

  He closed it easily, smiling as the man's eyes darted upward to the screen only he could see. A second later he was back, bowing slightly and turning to follow his charges.

  Ethan, with one last look at the men before him, turned away. “Let’s go Centurion Sigismund.” He offered quietly.

  And near a hundred and twenty men turned with them.

  They had Minor Rifts to close.

  “Move out!” He started out following the hoofprints across the lake and blessing Ventara of the Winds for the warm spell as a gale blew, unobstructed across the ice to whip his face wrap about like a pennant.

  For all that the snow to either side was intimidating, it wasn’t a bad march. A short jaunt to the entrance of the valley, a short bit with shovels to break a walkway in the overblown bank, than trooping through and over the snow to the west. Following the waiting scout up a narrow and snow-choked draw, switching out the trail breakers every five minutes for most of an hour as they climbed ever upwards.

  It was a harsh, steep climb. And warmer winds or no, the snow chill was no picnic. But despite all that, every man with him was at least Tier 1. They had the stats, the willpower and the gear to handle it. The ending was never in any doubt.

  The ravine petered out at last and they emerged into a bracing crosswind as they took a short walk along a bare ridgeline before ducking into a minor fold in the rough terrain, barely visible before Ethan was stepping into it, and into a small wooded, hidden draw.

  Ethan followed the scout through cut in a snow drift, a dozen feet having already packed down a pathway, and around a few evergreens, before a familiar reddish-brown pulsing mist drew his eye.

  The rift didn’t look right.

  Well, they never did, somehow too alien, too unreal… he brushed the familiar thought away his eyes drifting between trees and the small depresion that contained…

  Huh.

  The depression wasn't natural. It wasn't a hole, nor a valley. Not with the way he could see trees sticking up through the snow. He took a step forward and kicked an oddly shaped lump partially sticking out of the visible, regular edge between the rest of the draw and the rift.

  Then swore as it didn’t move, but his toes certainly did.

  “Decurion Walgrave, grab shovels and dig this out if you please.”

  “My Lord!” He saluted and barked a command. Ten men made quick work of the dig, mounding up the snow to one side and swiftly revealing why the 'lump' didn't move. It wasn't a stone, nor a snowball, but a small part of something else. Something long, scaled and quite completely frozen.

  “Is that a snake?” It had to be 4 feet thick around and over 20 feet was already visible, with no head or tail in sight.

  He considered the beast for a moment, then shrugged. “Leave it-” There would be plenty more where it came from and forewarned was forearmed. “- and find your positions.”

  The men quickly formed a wide ring, staying inside the rift distortion, and with a handful of sleds and the Labori who’d drug them along at the center. Good enough.

  As promised, and at the low end of the tier according to the scouts. How that worked with a snake this large? We’ll they’d have to see.

  Yes.

  ___