Blades of grass sliced through the snow, then flattened under Predslava’s bear paw. Dark branches twisted like broken arms around us—the rugged tundra dotted with scattered spruces and larches. Werewolf Country, richer than our plains, but still the face of the North.
I turned my head slightly as the earthen banks rustled. But they had been rustling since we marched into the ravines. The werewolves had eyes everywhere.
Our long formation was ripe for an ambush. And so, I released another expanding pulse from my staff, just as if saying:
I know.
Thankfully, simple warning spells like this didn’t drain much of my mana. If the temptation to attack us had been too great, I still could have pulled a trick or two out of my sleeve as a last resort.
But this was the third pulse. The wind quieted down before I had to unleash the fourth.
We reached our first understanding.
With a newfound confidence, the tired Snoutlings picked up their pace.
Our march continued for another half day, then familiar twin cliffs appeared in the distance.
I scanned the horizon.
Sharp wooden stakes jutted from the faces of the white hills surrounding their settlement. A tall palisade and gateway covered the entrance between the cliffs. No towers or battlements anywhere, which told me the werewolves weren’t planning to use bows against us any time soon.
The place was bracing against a cavalry swarm from all sides.
But what cavalry, here in the North?
I raised my staff, ready to make ourselves known with another pulse, when the gates opened.
A werewolf came out, then another. They poured outside of the settlement on all fours, fast as horses and far more nimble.
I see.
The first rule of diplomacy was predicting what the other side wanted before we sat at the table. Now I had a clue as the werewolves darkened the bottom of the hills.
The second was keeping my delegation alive long enough for any of that to matter.
“Aye.”
She barked orders for the Snoutlings to bunch up as I focused, uttering the magical words:
I am the mistress of ice; mine is the requiem of life and bounty.
Your shadows shall not elude hoarfrost, Night-runners.
The ground quaked as I swung my glowing heraldry-staff—
“Reaper’s Briar!”
Giant ice stems lashed out of the earth, surrounding our formation with glimmering thorns, save for a narrow gap at the front.
I glanced at their distant fortifications, then nodded.
Now we’re even.
The werewolves stopped. A big one stepped out from the crowd. Could be the chieftain, or just a beefy envoy. Either way—
“Stay here,” I told the Snoutlings and nudged Predslava out of the rosebush enclosure.
He followed suit, advancing on his own until I saw the scar across his face.
Ulvic was an ancient tongue, older than me. Hopefully, my accent was still comprehensible in this day and age.
I cleared my throat and switched to it. “I come under truce-branch, not baring fangs. Let no claws be raised while words are spoken between us.”
The werewolf stopped and lifted his arms slightly, revealing his belt. “We use real weapons nowadays.”
He looked amused. Now I was pretty sure he was the chieftain. An envoy wouldn’t dare to play the fool.
I could play fool too.
“Shall we go inside, or do you want to do this here?” I asked.
He was careful as well. Hesitation flashed across his eyes. They flickered over Predslava’s shoulder, sizing up the Snoutlings. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“But I’m afraid your little… army cannot come,” he said.
“That’s fine.”
“In that case…” He stepped aside and signaled for me to continue with a playful bow. “Witches first—”
He jumped back, startled, when Predslava blurted, “Hey, that’s my line!”
I glanced back as we continued.
Snoutlings peeked through the briar.
I shook my head with a smile, as if telling them not to worry.
The werewolf crowd split apart as I rode through the gates, giving me a glimpse of their settlement.
Houses of stone and timber, similar to Bjornhavn, but with their own flair—decorative bones and antlers everywhere. The werewolves must’ve learned the architecture from dealing with the northerners so much.
Locked warehouses. I could imagine what lay in them.
Their numbers, however…
I said hundreds before. I was dead wrong. The city ran deep, its end out of sight. Werewolves packed the streets, perched upon the roofs too, all eyes on us.
A tear of sweat ran down my neck, well hidden by the collar.
After two days without figs, consecutive pulses, and the active briar outside, I only had mana left for party tricks. They didn’t need to know that.
Onlookers flinched here and there, stepping back as we passed.
On one hand, it was just a flag, giving me plausible deniability for diplomacy; on the other, a tool to flatten their city to the ground, as far as they knew. I held my staff high.