Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves (65 page)

I will attempt brevity,
son. I also know you are as busy as I, for we both are making the
final preparations for the upcoming infusion of troops and materiel
into the Melded World.

Thus, I will summarize to
the best of my ability and leave you to sort out the
details.

For the most part, all
proceeds according to the Grand Design as it was laid out before us
all at the Great Assemblage in the Citadel of Storm. It was a
glorious day when we had all stood before the Throne of our Great
Master, Nihhus, and learned of his final solution.

Thus, let it be known onto
you that I have given forth the final orders and arrangements for
the mobilization of the Ambalaj into the Melded World. Within days,
our vast nation will enter the Construct near the Great Saltine
Lake far to north of your position. We will begin the retrieval of
Ivinfrüst, the Frozen Blade of Old.

It will be quite a sight
to see this Drinker of Magic as it cuts through the Gifts of a Ring
of the Twelve. We will see it spill their precious blood upon the
Altar of Jüle.

Ah the glory!

Alas!

Simultaneous to our
mustering, the Forgers, those chosen by the mighty Dýnmani of the
Yíyak , himself, have departed our plane. They have entered the
Melded World near the Cave known as the Chandelier Ballroom as was
scrawled in the Grand Design. As I write this, they have begun
their master-workings upon the Heart of the Storm. This, as you
know, we will use to drink the blood of the same Ring of Twelve
before the Altar of Jüle. That rite will open the World of Man to
us and our dominion.

Third, the Wërggig masons
of the König-Hoch have arrived en masse at volcano where grows the
Throne of Jüle itself. They have commenced with the erection of the
great citadel there. As you are well aware, this fortress will
serve as the strongpoint from which Storm will rule the Melded
World. From there, we will marshal our strength for the push into
World of Man. This we will make our second to last stop before we
puncture the ancient magics of the Light and extinguish them for
all time.

Fourth, the Hlāford Dhŏŏm
of the Swüreg Nation has already put his army to the march and is
now headed toward the crossing nexus. There he and the many
thousands that follow him will punch their way into the Construct
and reinforce your position. I should think you could expect him
within a week, a fortnight at the latest if he has fallen victim to
inclement weather here on Storm.

If you have indeed the
Master Twelve under your control by the time the Hlāford Dhŏŏm
comes, you are to be his First Advisor. You are to be my eyes and
ears within his court.

If it is such that you
have failed to recapture the Twelve by that time, you fall under
his direct command. He will give you all the resources you need to
ensure we have them in hand by the time we all meet at the then
completed Citadel of Jüle later this year.

He and I have agreed to
these terms and they are henceforth unbreakable. You will do as I
command without question. Do not cross me on this, my son, for it
is crucial to our plans for the future.

So, I am explaining for a
second time, should you fail to recapture the Twelve by his
arrival, then you are to place your trust in me. Be amicable to
Ghregûr and his grey-skinned cronies for the time being. I assure
you, it will be well worth a few rents to your pride. Soon you will
realize what we will become and how high we will stand within the
Six-Fold Empire when all this is over.

Last, and on a more filial
subject, the eldest daughter of your first wife has come into
estrous – her first - and is ripe for mating. I am sending her to
you for proper inspection per the Code of the Mare Consiliu. I do
this in spite of the excess power it will take to bring her onto
the Melded World.

We Vülfen are bound to the
Code, so I will ignore the effort needed and send her at once.
Expect her with my next messenger, my son, and enjoy the bounty of
her fruit, you have earned it. Or will have, in the very near
future.

In the Might and in the
Strength of the Vülfen Kur, I salute you,

The Rigă-Kur of the
Ambalaj, Protector of the Realm, Mouth of the Storm, the Keeper of
the Seals and Your Proud Father,

Claudiu dok Kór

Claudiu dok Kór, Eleventh
of That Name.

Post Script: Additionally,
it has come to my attention that the Seeker herself has returned
from her foray into the World of Man. Her mission was a success.
What she has planted has taken root and flowers, even as I write
this missive. The roundup of the Lesser Twelve’s has commenced.
Yet, that is not why I write of her now, Fenris.

Apparently, she did not
come back to Storm as was first outlined at the Great
Assemblage.

Rumored has it, she has
traveled to the Melded World instead. For what purpose, I have yet
to divine and because of it, I am completely disadvantaged. I do
not know whose play this may be. It may be a parallel ploy set into
motion by the Great Maelstrom himself.

In that light, be wary and
keep your ears pointed high. Should you catch wind of her, however
insignificant it may seem to you, get word to me at
once.

CdK.

Fenris had finished the
letter and could not help but smile. Despite all the hardship and
unforeseen difficulties he had faced, despite all his frustration
and anger, Storm was on the move. Soon the Melded World would be
under heel. Millions of Storm’s inhabitants were coming. Nothing
could stand against a flood such as that, not even the precious
Master Twelve.

Even with the emergence of
a Fist of Light, the unorthodox behavior of Inghëldir and the
discovery of this mysterious Paradoxical Being, all else in the
monumentous plan set in play by the glorious Lord of the Storm was
going perfect.

His father and the vast
army of the Vülfen nation had mobilized so they would retrieve
Ivinfrüst. It was the most ancient of swords, called the Primary
Blade and forged by the Great Maelstrom himself. It had been a long
time ago, during the First War of the Light and the Storm, at the
dawn of creation itself, when the three universes and all living
beings that lived upon them were young.

It had not been an
effective tool back then, but it would prove to be more than enough
this time around. It would not be the harbinger of the defeat of
the mighty Lord of the Light and his powerful Nöhreg. This was a
song sung ages in the past.

Now, it had a much lesser
role in this game. Still, it would prove a powerful instrument
indeed.

Ivinfrüst would be used
against a Ring of Twelve, two and ten helpless babes. It would
spill their lifeblood into the giant caldron before the Throne of
Jüle. Wherein, their blood would collect and pool for the final
incantation. This, the second greatest of all spells unleashed in
history.

The spell used to create
the Melded World would forever go unmatched
, had mused the Hand with a crooked twist of his lips. He
exposed his long canines.

It was a complicated
incantation that required many steps - in sequence and executed to
perfection - in order for it to work.

When the caldron filled
with every last drop of blood from the veins of the Twelve, then
the Forgers, having finished their mystical works, would next bring
forth the Heart of the Storm. This was a wondrous sphere, wrought
of the wondrous crystals transmuted from the World of Man and
placed deep into the earth of the Melded World. It would then be
placed in the midst of the blood-filled caldron.

Next, the Six Kings of
Storm - one for each of the branches of the Six-Fold Empire - would
lay their hands upon the Heart. They would utter but a single
word.
Kynsha-Nä.
With that short utterance, they would let loose the spell
that would open a permanent portal to the World of Man. With it,
they would bring a war unlike any other to that plane of logic,
science and technology. It would mark, the beginning of the end of
mankind. It would herald the rise of Storm above all else, tipping
the balance in their favor - forever.

The Legions of Storm,
emboldened and reinforced by the gruesome technologies of Man would
be more than capable to contend with their true foes. For the first
time ever, their legions would find themselves armed with the
combined power of Vyche and the catastrophic efficiency of human
weapons. They would be strong enough to wipe out any foe. They
would be ready to enter into the final conflict – the Last War of
the Light and the Storm.

That was where the fate of
the cosmos would be decided once and for all.

He, the Hand, had sat
there for a time, smiling to himself, wicked, quite pleased by the
comforting words of his father.

Time had passed and still
he had not stirred.

Until…

He sat up, on the edge of
his chair as another train thought surfaced and made him tweak with
agitation.

The Seeker?

What sort of business
could she have here on the Melded World so early in the
game?
There was no intrigue or
misdirection to be had here. Why would the Lord of the Storm bother
to put someone as lethal and stalwart as her in all this?
It was like cutting an insect in twain with a
sword, a ridiculous use of force.

He stood. He made his way
around the desk and walked slowly toward the blazing hearth. He
pulled his cape about him, hoping to get any tiny bit of warmth he
could sustain about his person.

Rasputna
- the Seeker, the Mistress of Chaos, the
harvester of deaths, killer of more living things than any other
creature in the four universes. She was the Snowman’s Dagger, the
Knife in the Dark, forever walking in shadow, unseen, unheard,
until it was too late. She would strike with her infamous Stiletto
of Piercing and death would soon follow. She was said to be once
human, a long time ago, having walked the earth amongst the first
generations of that low race.

This the Hand doubted with
all his being.

She was far too deadly,
way too evil to have come from the womb of a human mother. She was
without pity or conscience or remorse. She was a mere vessel. She
did as commanded by the Lord of the Storm without question, devoid
of thought. She was action minus reaction, a bringer of murder, a
forerunner of woe. No human could have ever dreamed to reach her
level of soullessness. Her detachment was absolute. No human had
ever walked or thought or lived in absolutes. He knew, because he
had observed them for hundreds and hundreds of years.

He knew.

Rasputna was something
else altogether.

Still, though, why here?
Why now? Who else was throwing in the chits on this gambit of all
gambits?

He paced before the fire,
his hands clasped behind his back. Who else had the power behind
them to motivate the Seeker into action? He could only think of two
others. Two who were currently not directly involved with the
invasion of the Melded World. Two who might have been able to
persuade Rasputna to break with the orders of the
Assemblage.

Even if that were true,
they would still have to issue those edicts in such a way they
would appear to the Seeker to have come from the Great Maelstrom
himself. Otherwise, she would not have budged.

That could only mean
Asmodemus, the Vicar of the Storm, had a hand in it. Or the Grän
Herra herself, the abominable Rakel Angantýr. She was the High Lady
of Skrímsli, whose fate was tied to the Melded World far more than
any of the rest of them.

If it were indeed
Asmodemus, then it would mean the Oration of Storm wanted a say in
what happened here. That could get tiresome in a second. Having a
slew of his religious fanatics running amok, causing havoc and
dissention wherever they went, would be a nightmare. Fenris could
see that Asmodemus, being the Sanctus Magnus, would want to spread
the Word of Storm to each universe they overtook. He would do this
to ensure his true worth alongside Metohkangmi.

Still, it seemed a bit
farfetched to the Hand that he would go so far to try and fool the
Seeker into action, knowing what a high risk it to be. If she
should find out who was manipulating her and exacted her revenge,
the product of such deception would be horrific.

Rasputna would have no
mercy.

Rakel Angantýr, though,
might have discovered the truth of her future. She might have acted
out of desperation to save herself and her people from permanent
exile on the Melded World.

Of course, this exile had
been planned in secret by more than one faction within the Six-Fold
Empire many years agone. There had been more than enough time for
her to unearth the plot.

Yet, where would she have
siphoned enough power or leverage to pull off something such as
this over the eyes of the Seeker herself? That was not the Skrímsli
way. They were all brute and brawn with little mind power amongst
them. How could she and her hapless minions have succeeded where
many in the past had failed miserably? The Seeker was a genius of
death and not some mere plaything like a Tünn or a Hël-Hünd or even
a Nixy for that matter!