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Morgana will turn on us one day, of that I have no doubt. When that time comes, we shall either confront her, and wipe her away like dust before the sea, or have the same done to us. I would deserve it. But who can blame a madwoman for their madness?

-Damien Malcus

The trek down the far side of the Deadmount was far quicker than their ascent. Gravity, as well as desperation and a good deal of fear, spurred them into a rapid pace that brought them to the base of the mountain before the day's end.

They stopped to make camp once it was clear they could not continue along the rough path in total darkness. Even with Aric's mage-lights and Varg's internal flame, the shadows that had enveloped the snowy wood pressed upon them greatly, and there was hardly a step taken between each stumble.

Kath, acting as the party's woodsman, guided the trio along the bank of a narrow and frigid mountain stream to a spot where some previous year's flooding had cleared the bank of vegetation. It was far enough off the road to hide their fire, with enough forest around them to provide ample cover for a quick escape should it become necessary.

Aric refused both Kath and Varg's offers of sharing a tent, opting instead to sit beneath a tree that flanked the fire, his long black cloak slowly building a layer of white as the steady fall of snow and frost began to settle. Despite a cold that had her shaking, the crow seemed unfazed, almost as if he were completely oblivious to his location, and was merely lost in memory.

Varg retired first, his yawns becoming more and more frequent as the moon furthered its arc in the bejewelled sky, and crawled into his tent not a moment after he finished his paltry meal of bread and salted venison.

Aric ate little, setting aside the remainder of the tack to gnaw on the hardened stick of meat. Kath watched him from across the fire through the corner of her eye as she prodded the slowly dying flame.

His condition had improved throughout the day, but only slightly, and he still looked rather haggard, and Kath imagined that were it possible to see beneath his feathers, he would look unhealthily pale.

She rose after a long while of silence, moving to lean against the tree with him, ignoring the awkward motion of discomfort he made as she did so.

"Here," she said, removing her own fur cloak from her shoulders, "I won't have you freezing, even if you're determined to die like an idiot."

"I appreciate the sentiment," the mage said, parting his taloned hands to reveal a small ember of sapphire flame, "but I can manage."

She ignored his complaints and thrust the blanket over him, silencing his indignant protest with a stern expression.

"You know," the jackal said, "I'm still not quite sure why you're here."

"For about the same reason you are," he answered plainly.

"I was promised gold enough to fill an ocean," she retorted, "as far as I can see, you're either the world's deadliest philanthropist or you're hiding some ulterior motivations."

"Greed may have been your initial motivation," the crow conceded, turning his head slightly to face her, the subtle change of angle sending a wave of reflective gold through his eyes, "But I don't think that's the full picture anymore."

"What makes you think you have even the slightest idea what I want out of this?"

He tapped his temple, smirking grimly, "Mind-reader, remember?"

"Oh. Right," she muttered, "Super creepy, by the way."

"I think," he started, "that you believe you are a bad person."

"With some of the things I've done," she growled, "I don't think 'believe' is a strong enough word."

"I don't know how much weight, if any, my word carries," the mage said, turning the small ball of flame over his fingers disinterestedly, "but I don't think you're a bad person."

Kath barked in disbelief, shaking her head slowly.

"I'm about the furthest thing from a saint there is," Aric continued, unfazed by her laugh, "but I can tell when someone has a good heart, and you do."

"I still think you're full of it," Kath whispered, closing her eyes as she leaned back into the tree, enjoying the sensation of the bark against her tired limbs.

The crow shook his head, not to be dissuaded so easily.

"Look," he said, "When you travelled with Varg, I'm guessing there were dozens of situations where you could've snatched the stone and run off, correct?"

"A couple," she shrugged, "he always keeps it close by, but a skilled thief would have little trouble waiting for the moment to strike."

"But you never took it, even though it would've been simpler if you had."

"A gross simplification, considering the gem's... unique nature," she argued, "had I run off with the gem, I'd be dead by now."

"And then," Aric continued, "after the battle at Kadak, when you learned how valuable the gem really was, what Morgana was willing to do to get it, you could've told Varg to sod off and gone your own way, a way far less likely to end in incineration."

Kath didn't answer, merely leaning her head back against the tree to gaze up at the clouded sky, an ache forming in her gut as the familiar constellations were hidden from her.

"You're greedy, vain, and stubborn as all hell," the mage said, "but you do care, and that's more than most can say."

The pair were silent for a long while, enjoying the quiet companionship only the broken and dammed can truly know, with nothing but the wind and snow to give them comfort.

"How is it the only one of us to even remotely have their shit together is a seven-foot tall, fire-breathing lizard?" Kath said in a bitter joke.

"I think he's far more remarkable than most would give him credit for," Aric agreed.

"He likes you," Kath said, "He'd never say it to your face, not while you're still playing the 'mysterious figure' game, but he respects you."

This time it was the mage's turn to snort incredulously.

"He tolerates me," came his response, "because I've proven mildly useful. He doesn't trust me as far as he could throw me, and I imagine he could throw me quite far."

"Of course he doesn't," the jackal responded, "I sure as hell don't trust you; anyone with half a lick of sense can tell you're hiding something and have some major demons following you around, but you're good people."

Aric snorted, placing a hand over his mouth to prevent a laugh from bursting forth, his restrained noise causing Varg to turn in his sleep. He struggled against the urge for a moment before settling himself, exhaling deeply with only minor giggles escaping.

"What?" Kath demanded, watching as this nearly set off another train of laughing.

"N-nothing," the mage said, composing himself quickly, "it's nothing."

Kath shook her head and rose, arcing her back in a slow stretch, "the two of you are like a pair of stubborn pups."

Kath piled dirt onto the fire until only the dimmest of flames still burned, dropping to her knees to slip into her tent. As she did so, she cast back a look at the mage standing watch. Despite his laugh the minute before, there was something pained in his expression, one that could've either been longing or sorrow. Perhaps it was both of those things, and perhaps it was neither, but in that moment, Kath felt an overwhelming feeling of pity for the man.

She watched his mournful expression for a while before ducking into her tent, slipping away into dreams of dark things and violent places.

---

Sleep was not long upon them before a crash echoed through the camp, a roar equal to thunder and the rattle of falling leaves and lumber accompanying the initial sound, dying out in a matter of seconds to be replaced by the distant reflections the mountains cast back until murk and silence ruled once more.

Kath darted awake, her fingers already tightening around the grip of her dagger as she threw herself from her tent. To her right, Varg had done the same, struggling to get his sword free of its sheath even as they realized the campsite was calm.

In fact, aside from nearly thirty metres of felled trees and shredded earth, there was no damage to the camp at all. Even the destruction seemed to mind the perimeter of the camp, only beginning where Kath and the crow had been speaking the night prior, eventually petering off some distance into the forest.

She looked to Varg, who shrugged in silence. Whatever the commotion had been, the silence seemed to indicate it was over.

Still cautious, Kath sheathed her dagger, adjusting the sheath so it would be at easy distance to draw from. She grabbed her bow from where it rested within her tent, bending the arms back to string it before nocking a barbed arrow to it.

The two of them moved quietly to the edge of the broken perimeter, crouching so as not to disturb the ice underfoot. Varg led the way, his sword held in a low ready position as she crept behind him, counting on the larger warrior to protect her should enemies try to close the distance to her.

She pressed her back to the tree Aric had been resting under, noting a long, carved gap in the trunk, as if a blade had been thrust into the wood with great strength. She peered around the frost-speckled pine to the debris-strewn gap that had been torn through the wood, raising her bow as she did so.

Aric stood at the far end of the crater, that ethereal sword of his held to his side in a casual rest. His relaxed stance seemed so out of place amidst the destruction that for a moment, Kath didn't notice his opponent pinned to the ground with the crow's boot placed firmly on its throat.

The creature was similar to the one that had attacked Kadak, though it seemed much smaller and less sound in creation. The stitching that held together the abomination was more heavily worn and sloppier than the one that had killed Anya. Along with the shoddy workmanship, the flesh seemed sickly, discoloured and thin over limbs that seemed far too anaemic to bear any kind of significant strength.

She kept her bow trained on the thing for a while, only accepting it as dead when Aric tossed his blade to the side, the weapon dissipating before it hit the ground. Varg remained in a crouch for a second longer before, he too, returned his weapon to its place.

The abomination was barely holding together after the assault lain upon it by the crow. It bore the mark of his sword a dozen times over, and was pierced a hundred different places by branches and stones, the entire trunk of one pine sticking through its chest. Besides the obvious wounds, the creature had been battered and broken until there was likely very little of the thing's amalgamated skeleton intact.

"Where the hell did this thing come from?" Kath asked, prodding the wrist of the creature, feeling the urge to retch as a brownish fluid spilled onto her boot.

"It's too small and too weak to be one of Morgana's," Aric said, "I'd guess it's one of Albion's."

"A scout," Varg grumbled, kneeling down to inspect the abomination, "I'm willing to bet the horde is currently bee-lining for our camp as we speak."

"Great," Kath spat, "They're moving quicker than we thought."

"It's not so bad as that,"

The pair of them looked at the crow, waiting for an explanation.

"If we're encountering Albion's troops first," he continued, "it shows she's leading the Vanguard, and that means Morgana's horde isn't on the march yet."

"What makes you think that?" Varg asked, "Maybe it was simply one of hers that found us first."

"Unlikely," the crow said, moving through the ruined forest back to camp, "Morgana is as paranoid as she is cruel, and refuses to let her lieutenants bring any significant force with her while they march. If her forces were occupied, an ambitious rival could make their move."

"What does it matter then?" Kath asked, tearing down her tent in a flurry of motion, stuffing the fabric into her bag as quickly as she could, "I'm guessing a horde this size can still overtake us easily enough."

"Just so," Aric replied, "We don't have the strength to take it on, but..."

The crow looked to the horizon, still buried in the shadow of night on one half as the sun rose slowly into the highland sky. Kath followed his gaze, seeing nothing of much interest on the distant hills. A gleam of light suddenly caught her eye, and she doubled back to where it had originated.

The light was little more than a dim flicker that barely made its way to her eyes through the clear mountain air. She squinted, only recognizing the small dot on the landscape for what it was after a long pause. The Imperilcaenum.

"The garrison could?" Varg asked to finish the crow's statement.

"Maybe," the mage shrugged, "maybe not, depending on how many of Albion's allies accompany her. However, they most certainly can hold them off long enough for us to send reinforcements."

Fire burned beneath the dragon's gaze, and he renewed his packing with a degree of haste even the jackal could not match.

"If we can save the fortress," he said, "we will. Even if it means we march without rest."

"I don't think we have much choice in that regard," Kath announced, gesturing back up the slope towards the Deadmount. From the point they had fled the mountain, there was a crude line of felled trees and blackened earth carved through the wilderness, the inky black haze of smoky fire lining the path they had taken. The undead had come very far in the night, and the forefront of the horde was moving at such a pace that they stood to be overtaken in a day's time.

"Let's get a move on."

---

They continued down the mountain, never dropping pace below a jog, ever aware of the dark cloud building behind them at an alarming rate. The fires set by the undead raged behind them, stripping the mountain of its vegetation for miles around the road, leaving a jagged, ashen scar on the earth itself.

Soot and ash filled the air, turning the crisp mountain air into a heavy fog that darkened the sky to a bloody crimson. Kath's breathing became strained the further they travelled, and the wet rag she affixed her muzzle with was soon covered in damp soot. Varg, on the other hand, seemed unaffected. Perhaps with his natural affinity for fire he had grown used to the effects. Aric looked just as haggard as she felt, his own makeshift gas-mask in place, though it did little to aid him, and soon the both of them were coughing regularly.

The mage and paladin had devised a plan to slow the horde, and had set about leaving enchanted stones and pinecones on the trail behind them, rigged to detonate when stepped upon. They had travelled no more than an hour before the first of these began to detonate, echoing over the hills like a distant thunderstorm. Kath too, set her own distractions, creating false trails and snares in the forest as they went, doing what she could to cover up their true course. The traps and leads did their job well, and it was not long the horde had been slowed sufficiently that they were no longer outpacing the travellers, and merely trying to keep up.

Despite the snow and ice that covered everything around them, the travellers soon began to drip with sweat, and Kath was almost relieved when the clouds began dumping sleet and icy rain upon them.

They reached the base of the mountain, arriving in the narrow pass that nestled the dragon fortress. Now that she was closer, Kath was more impressed with the structure. It seemed like a hybrid of cathedral and fortress, with high, arching towers and halls surrounded on all sides by massive stone walls. The light she had seen that morning revealed itself to be a dome atop the tallest structure. The dome had been covered with gold at some prosperous period in the past, and even as the sun was eclipsed by snow and ash, it glittered mournfully.

The ringing of alarm bells was growing ever louder as they approached, and the top of the walls were bustling with activity. The fortress itself spanned the width of the pass, ensuring anyone with designs on exiting the range would have to go through the fort, or risk the climb through perilous wilderness.

Their march was halted by an arrow that slammed into the ground at their feet, the red ribbon tied around it signalling they were to go no further. Kath peered upwards at the fortress, and was astonished by the design of the thing.

It was not dissimilar to the Deadmount in many regards, with the same level of scale and complex design that hinted at the dragon's cultural development within a Shoggoth city. The buildings within the walls, however, seemed to have been designed to directly oppose the architecture of the defences, with delicate and gleaming structures that echoed vast cultural and artistic stock. The cities to the west had nothing comparable to the fortress, and though she had never been to Wien or Branburg, she doubted they had much that could be argued as grand as the draconic academy.

As they stood, the mighty portcullis slowly grinded open, spilling forth a force of several dozen armoured knights and a handful of robed figures, all of whom moved with the grave intent of the headsman. The dragons came in every shade and tone, the dull, muted colours blending with a thousand shades of vibrant light, all unified by the crest of the dragon empire on their chest and a white sigil of some arcane origin on their shoulders.

A woman stood at the forefront, leading with a stern expression and a staff of ivory-coloured wood. Her armour was something of a blend between the thick plate and mail of the soldiers and the robes of the mages, the fine grey fabric merging nicely with the silver of steel.

Her scales were such a shade of white so as to blend with the snow that fell from the sky. The purity of the colour was broken in two points by the greyish blue of her serpentine eyes and the ebony coloured horns that curved around from her skull like a ram's. Her features were angular and sharp, accompanied by a tall, lanky figure that stood only a shade shorter than Varg. In the dark and smoky light, she looked for all the world like an avenging angel, ready to strike divine retribution upon any who dare question her will.

She raised her hand, and without a word, her force surrounded them, lowering spear and sword alike at them, the vicious gleam of war-ready steel burning in the smoke filled air.

"Captain," she said to Varg, a commanding and powerful tone carrying over to them without much effort, "You're supposed to be dead."

It was not a question.

"You sound disappointed, Fryst," Varg responded, his tone measured but decisively cold.

The dragoness, Fryst, stepped forward, the motion very deliberate. She looked Varg up and down, then peered at Kath, a disapproving expression crossing her face. She never even looked at Aric before turning back to the dragon.

"Tell me, Varg," the sorceress said, "How is it you have lost the whole of our army whilst retaining your life?"

"It is a tale for another time," the man said, "a time when the undead are not at our heels."

"Ah, yes," she said," stabbing her staff into the ground only slightly harder than was necessary, "not only do you arrive at my fortress unannounced, but you bring with you the first horde seen north of the Deadmount in five years. What am I to make of this, captain? What is the council to make of this?"

"The council will judge my actions when the time comes," Varg growled, "but these petty grievances will do nothing but kill us."

"I assume you still have it then?" She asked.

Varg nodded sharply, making no motion to where it was hidden.

She extended a hand, the black of her claws beckoning for the gem. Varg looked at the limb in disgust.

"Go fuck yourself."

The silence that followed was matched only by the underlying rage that pulsated from the woman. The soldiers that surrounded them did what they could to maintain their fierce and passive expressions, but they were quite clearly shocked.

"Are you aware," the dragoness said, what sounded like the very last string of patience keeping her tone passive, "that the punishment for disobeying a direct order of a higher-ranking officer is death?"

"The council of elders voted unanimously that I be the one to carry the stone," Varg answered, "I think they outrank you by a fair margin."

"When word reaches them of the defeat in the south and you actions here," Fryst hissed, "death will be the most merciful grace they will bestow you."

"Should you try and halt my mission," Varg continued, his voice dropping into the sort of tone preachers adopt when they quote scripture, "I would be honour bound to continue it, either with, or without your permission."

"You shall not receive any such leave," the dragoness commander growled, "and you can expect little more than a cell to rot in."

"I think it best we leave this discussion for a time when we are not in the presence of civilians and common soldiers," Varg said, crossing his arms in a manner that said he would tread upon the subject no longer.

The woman glared at him, a glare that rivalled the summer sun for its fury burning through him. She turned sharply, a curt gesture bringing her forces in line behind her, taking the three of them with them.

"The captain is to remain under guard until I speak with him in private. Leave his pets to do as they please, so long as they do not disturb our preparations."

They passed under the massive stone gate, the heavy portcullis falling into place behind them, locking them in the dragon academy as fire and ash rose to greet the sky behind them.

"How is it nobody's ever happy to see us?" Kath asked to no one in particular, watching as the dragoness commander led them further into the keep, burying them in the shade of stone and scale as they prepared for war.