The Deadshield Woods were white. A thick blanket of snow expanded to the horizon in a sea of cottony clouds. The heavy shroud lay still under a lack of wind, frozen in time. This deep in the forest, the unnatural stillness had grown even more pronounced. It killed conversations with every falling tuft of snow, every creaking branch that caught the eye of the column.

From afar, the oppressive sensation had been replaced with deep tranquility.

It was a good thing, then, that Viv was watching it from her troglodyte room dug into the side of a small hill.

The forest ignored caves for some unknown reason. Viv had seen offshoots invading clearings she had dug with black mana, something that should have been impossible given the short time frame and her own power’s ravenous effects, and yet, here they were. The Deadshield woods jealousy reclaimed territory lost to invaders. The deeper one went, the more pronounced the effects. Caves stood untouched. Their current base was spacious and well-provisioned. It was also camouflaged through natural means by the expert hands of the scouts, including Two-Six.

More importantly, fires provided heat. They had no shortage of wood to last the winter, even if it was a bit green.

Viv enjoyed the sight before turning to her prepared washbasin. The snow had melted. The logs were ready. She grabbed Arthur in her arms and winced under her weight. The big glutton’s main body was the size of a large dog now, lean, with wings much larger. Only her increased power allowed her to maneuver her dragonette into position.

“Right. Arthur, do the thing!”

“EeeeeCOUGHeee.”

Gouts of flames torched the logs, turning them into an instant inferno. Viv almost shielded her face from the heat. The temperature of Arthur’s fire was unbelievably high for something that came out of a living being, she thought. They waited for half a minute for the fire to settle. By the time it was done, the bath was already pleasantly warm. Viv made sure that her section of the cave was partitioned and closed the curtain above her ‘window’. Time for a bath! She peeled off her skin suit and jumped in. Arthur followed her with serpentine grace, sliding in front of her with barely a splash.

Viv scrubbed herself with pleasure. It felt good to get cleaned up after a week on the road. Arthur was next and she squealed her approval when Viv gave attention to the best spots, which were the chest and that space between the wings. Arthur’s scales were smooth and warm, so warm that the bath temperature was actually increasing. When they were done, she reclined to soak and picked up a steaming mug from a nearby rock. It was klod with a dollop of honey.

The Yries had somehow gotten their hands on a hive. Viv was surprised but it turned out that the strange owl-like beings were quite good with agriculture too. Or apiculture, she supposed. In any case, the first jars had arrived with winter and Viv had gotten one for herself. The Yries were getting more involved in trading which was encouraging.

“Actually, I never asked,” Viv mused aloud, “are you alright with being called Arthur?”

Not name.

Calling sound.

“Hmmm so you’re not happy?”

Good sound!

Short and effective.

Real name has meaning.

Grows with me.

Viv wondered if it was an instinctive dragon thing. It felt like that. They did not use sounds much, or at least that was what her meeting with the green dragon had indicated.

“So, what is your name right now? Have you picked one?” she asked.

Of course!

Behold, me!

She-who-feasts-on-squirrels-and-gets-much-gold.

“Squeeee!”

“Glorious!” Viv bellowed with enthusiasm. It was important to validate the dragonette’s choice so that she could grow with confidence. Probably. Viv was still a bit iffy on this whole raising kids thing.

It appeared to work because Arthur spread her wings with pride, standing on her hind legs with her arms held outstretched. Viv got a mouthful of water in her face for her trouble.

They didn’t stay in too long because the water was getting really uncomfortably hot. Viv used it to clean her skinsuit and left it to dry before returning her attention to the task before them. There was another convoy on its way from Enoria, according to Farren’s dreams. The difference was that this one was mostly made of actual refugees. It appeared that news of Kazar’s defiance had reached the general public and there were some in Enoria who thought that it made for a tempting destination.

Viv wondered what kind of lunatics would come to the conclusion that a rebel city with a target on its back hidden behind a monster-infested forest would make for a good haven but what did she know?

Viv changed into a comfortable dress and turned down for the night soon after.

***

The convoy walked under the overcast sky. Errant flakes fell from the grey clouds with slow regularity. Those that landed on the path were crushed by the iron-shod boots of the Harrakan heavies. Viv reclined on her chair atop the largest wagon and let a flake land on her tongue, then she scolded herself for getting distracted.

They had no choice this time but to take cornudons and turn it into a real expedition. The servants of Neriad had dreamed of another group to fetch. This one reeked of hunger and despair. Those would not be veterans armed to the teeth and ready for anything, but genuine refugees, and so speed had been sacrificed in favor of protection. Five newly-made heavy wagons as large as buses trudged along the road. To protect them, Viv had brought a hundred men. Sixty of the trained heavies, mostly first generation and mountain folks under Ban, and forty witch-pact crossbowmen and women walked in ordered ranks around the massive horned beasts. Viv had no idea how the soldiers could walk with that much gear on their bodies but she suspected skill shenanigans.

She had to admit that they looked fancy. The armors of the Kazaran soldiers were rough and ugly things of dark iron, pitted and grainy. Each soldier then decorated it with their own tightly-attached scarves and pennants. The natives had picked tree patterns while the Enorian immigrants like Ban favored an upward sword on a broken shield, a reversal of the Enorian royal arms. They had insisted on placing a layer of metal with their pattern on Viv’s round shield. The lightweight item was getting heavier and more unwieldy as different power groups added their mark but Viv didn’t mind. She used it as a wall between herself and thrown stuff anyway. And people were happy.

As for the witch-pact crossbowpersons, many of them wore a white scarf over the lower parts of their face over mail or gambeson. They inspected the treeline, hands over their impeccably-maintained weapons.

//We are making good time, Your Grace.

//At this speed, we will be out of the woods by tomorrow afternoon.

“Then we are on schedule.”

It was the first time Viv was officially in charge of the group. Most of the elites including Marruk had stayed behind to train and recover. She only had Ban and Solfis to help her. Things were thankfully going fine.

Viv didn’t consider herself a leader of men. At best, she had always been a figurehead-cum-portable-artillery, which was fine. Her kind of leadership was more political than martial and even during her stint in the French army she had never commanded a fire team in a combat situation. That was why this expedition was so important in proving herself to, well, mostly herself.

Except, everything had gone smoothly. Most of the fauna as well as the most aggressive flora had retreated deeper into the forest, or in some caves or other refuge. No bird calls disturbed the tranquility of the convoy. Small shrouds of frozen breath puffed up from the soldiers walking in their column. They rose into a pleasantly crisp air. It was dry and fresh air, not the smog-filled frigid horror of a Parisian winter, but an honest cold that kept people cool in the middle of effort. Ban’s long white beard was already covered and well on its way to a proper icicle. It was in this moment of pleasant appreciation of the moment that, naturally, Viv’s danger sense pinged.

Like a shiver down her spine, the warning spread across her mind and forced her to look around. Ban immediately picked up on her reaction and raised a fist.

“Attention!”

Like a single man, the hundred soldiers grabbed their weapons and turned outward. Nasty barbed quarrels locked in firing mechanisms while steel spears aimed out, kept aloft by magic-backed muscle. The wagons stopped and everyone looked outward for five seconds.

Nothing moved among the snow-covered boughs. The landscape around her had the immobility of a painting. Viv’s impression did not change.

Then…

//That is the correct conclusion, Your Grace.

Fucking Solfis trying to teach her through self-experiment and positive reinforcement. The enemy was above.

Danger sense: Beginner 9