The crunch of fresh snow on the cliffside was amplified by the legion of soldiers following behind Rontori. Despite being the primary contact with Rontori so far, Anton and Charles were not high-ranking members of the force sent to assist the dwarves. The soldier put in charge of the force was General Athias. He met with Rontori at the base of the mountain path and greeted him. He inquired about the specifics of Rontori’s plan, to which the dwarf replied, “see that mountain, sir? We’re going to scale it and get inside ‘fore the beastmen do.” Athias had hoped for a more concrete plan but appreciated the dwarf’s honest admission of being just as lost as they were.
The first stretch was smooth enough. Many of the militia had never been in the frigid southern mountains of the lands. They were a plain folk in both meanings of the word. Rontori kept a wandering gaze behind him as he set out the trail before them. The army’s ranks were too numerous to navigate many of the narrow ledges the dwarf would nimbly scoot across but not large enough to storm the canyon valley below and attack the beastmen from the rear. Athias beckoned his men to push onward and Rontori made the promise of full steins in the drinking halls. Rontori tried to dismiss the thought of many stone tables stacked with towering plates of well-earned feasts and splashed foam as cups flew across their smooth surface.
A sickly-looking recruit began to stray from the swarm and peered over the edge of the cliff. Snowy whirlwinds raged about below and the recruit could barely make out the jagged rocks below. He carefully shifted to his knees, squinted his good eye and clenched the other closed tight. Amid the white tempest, he made out a flickering orange dot. The wisp bobbed in and out of the snowstorm like driftwood at sea and the recruit hailed Athias. The general did not hear the recruit’s call but Rontori, trained to hear the slightest change in the sounds of his domain, heard the shout. The scout raised a hand to halt the march and backtracked to the recruit.
“What is it, lad?” Rontori peaked over the edge and caught the orange flicker. “That’ll be them.” The scout pulled the recruit away from the ledge and shuffled him back into rank. “We’ll beat them to the hold if they’ve setup camp now. General Athias, a word if y’will.” The General pulled aside from his men and met with the scout.
“Worries, envoy?” Rontori glanced over the edge once more to size up the forces below.
“I believe this is just a detachment of the main raiding party. Only noticed a scattering of torches through the cover, if it were the main force they’d have a proper pyre going to keep warm and keep on the lookout for ambushes.”
“You think it wise to descend to the lower path and cut down the forces before they regroup?”
“Nay,” Rontori shook his head and fresh clumps of snow flicked from his face,” but I do agree that we should pick off these troops while we have the advantage.” The dwarf examined the pass ahead and assessed the surroundings. “An unstable ledge is coming up soon. Far too risky to traverse it en masse. But if you know a handful of stable bodies that would be able to embark on a mission then we could take out the beast encampment and deal a valuable blow for the time lost in holding the men up here.”
“Fill me in on the details of the plan and I’ll find the best in my ranks for the job. And try not to be too coy this time. I’d like to know enough before I’m knee deep in snow again.” Rontori cracked a grin and stroked his beard.
“I’ll need someone light of foot to cross the ridge with me and two able bodied volunteers to hack away at some ice. We’re going to lure a much more fearsome beast onto our attackers, assuming my ears didn’t deceive me on my way to your camp.” Rontori pointed into the blizzard brewing ahead to a place indiscernible to the eye, but clear in his memory. “I’ll need the first recruit to cross the ridge ahead with me and scale a slight incline. From there, we’ll secure a hook and rope for you lot to ascend and search that ledge for any potential burrow or cavern. It is unlikely, but perhaps a wyvern fledgling is tucked away in a birthing chute carved into this cliff. It would need to be above us though, any lower than the ledge above us and the draft in the canyon would dislodge the eggs from the burrows.”
“And what will we do if we find this fledgling?” The general’s brows pinched inward towards the bridge of his nose and his breaths was puffing from his frost bitten lips.
“We’d have to distress it. I don’t like it, and I know you lot won’t either, but the only way we can take out that camp below is to pry the fledgling from its dig-in so that the mother’ll swoop down from the roosts higher up and survey the canyon below.”
“What stops her from hearing the fledling’s cries and coming after us?”
“The nature of the beast. While your drakes are vicious and calculated beasts, the southern wyverns are trained to live without unnatural disturbances. It’ll hear the calls and rush to the lowest point to catch its young before it focuses on the sounds around it. While your thinking is solid, that she’d be rushing to the sound of the cries, it’s really the cries that trigger the response that the wind knocked her young out of the roost and that she needs to swoop as low as she can as quickly as she can. It’s the most illogical decision made on logical ‘ssumptions, general.”
“Quite.” Athias had removed a pale pink herb [AL1] from his overcoat and begun to chew it satisfied with the plan so far.
“Alright then, if there’s no objections or questions, I’ll be preparing the tools to climb and you go find me some crew.” Athias nodded to the scout and rejoined his soldiers to brief them on the new plan. During their aside, Anton had managed to find his way within earshot of the pair.
“So, you’re looking to bother a dragon I hear?”
“A wyvern lad, no dragons to be seen unless you head out to the far west.” Rontori chuckled to himself, “And even then, no way to know what’s rumor and what’s fact. A beast with rage to match Baldir would be a sight to see though.”
“Who’s Baldir?” Anton had planted his feet firmly wanting to stay and learn more about his new dwarven companion.
“Baldir’s like your goddess, only his way in life was to plant his axe in anyone and anything that looked to cross his clan. T’was long afore my days, but I was told that Baldir was the child of an Emberheart and a True Iron, before True Iron meant a damn. Now, our stumpy scholars debate whether Baldir was a true Emberheart or simply from the surrounding clan, but the story’s better if he’s the angry spawn of a family at the short end of the maul of luck.” Anton had struggled to follow so far, but politely nodded all the same. “So Baldir sought to protect his kin, but due to the nature of his birth, he couldn’t choose a clan to pledge himself to. Since this was a time when the traditions were law in dwarven holdings, Baldir was turned away from both clans initially. But then he wandered into the furthest reaches of the frozen north and found the guile drake known as Ortunjur. This drake had not been a true menace to the dwarves like some had, razing and infesting their holdings, no, rather Ortunjur would use his gifted tongue to whisper delusions into the minds of the nearby Patrons and convince them to war against one another and shed blood while he stayed in his lair casting his incantations. Baldir tracked the slithering drake to his lair and confronted him. See, Baldir blamed Ortunjur for causing the feud between his lineage. Ortunjur dismissed these claims as the Ashen Conquest was too far outside his realm of influence and the True Iron had been of little interest to Ortunjur as they were far too equip for warfare to make it good sport. Baldir believed the drake; as the clans had not been at war but merely disdained one another. Despite this, Baldir severed the sneaky snake’s tongue!” Anton let out a gasp.
“So he slew the drake and mended the relations between the clans?”
“If only! Baldir didn’t want the drake to twist the minds of anyone ever again, but that didn’t mean he would let the wretch know the embrace of death. He severed the tongue and bound Ortunjur to the wall of his lair, knowing full and well that the magic that allowed Ortunjur to manipulate the minds of lesser beings also bound him to his scaly husk. Baldir returned to the True Iron clan with the tongue and the higher members of the clan begged for him to return to the True Iron clan and serve as a proud warrior. Baldir turned down the offer, and in turn the clan, and threatened to meet the Patron in the arena. Not for the rulership of the clan, mind you, but merely to see his head roll on the cold stone pit.”
“Seems like an awfully spiteful being to revere.”
“No, see you’re looking at things from your view way up there. Baldir learned to harness pain as a weapon, and I’ll admit I left out the details needed to really understand his journey, but I believe we’ve discussed enough. The general should arrive soon with a crew.”
“Well, I certainly wish you well. I’m sure I should offer to take up the mantle and venture into the dra- wyvern nest with you, but I best see to Charles’ needs. Likely he’ll require assistance setting up a fire to stay warm.”
“Keep the embers going but keep the flame low. While we have to strain to see their flames, if you set up too close to the ledge then the whole plan will be for naught. We need to ensure they don’t relocate or suspect a trap.”
“Will do, sir.” Anton gave a smirk and a salute to the dwarf before passing the returning general. “General.”
Athias was accompanied by a slender olive-skinned woman in a threaded grey cowl and a brutish man with boulder fists. “Meet Oen and Burke.” The dwarf gave a slow nod and extended a hand to Oen.
“Rontori. Pleased to meet you, Oen.”
“And you, sirah.” Her accent was sharp as a knife and when Rontori caught her eye, he noted that they shimmered between sky blue and deep green. “I’ll be making the first climb with you.” She sized up Burke before adding, “Though, I assume you determined that.”
“Burke.” The brute practically hit the ground as he swung his hand forward to shake Rontori’s. “I grew up in a mountain town to the west of here. Da’ joked I was the son of giants. It was funny then. Not now that Ogmire are ravaging towards Yessen once more.”
“Now, we don’t know that for certain, Burke, and last they tried the tides turned in our favor.” Athias placed a reassuring hand on Burke’s shoulder and turned to Rontori. “And I’ll be your fourth to help Burke clear the ice.”
“You sure the lads will be okay without your guidance?” Rontori eyed the ragtag band with a wash of concern.
“They’ll do fine.” The general grinned and withdrew his hand from Burke. “Shall we begin?” Rontori nodded and the band followed him towards the ridge.