Session 18

The cliffs rose sheer and terrible from the frozen lake, eighty feet of black ice and wind‑carved stone. Their height broke the worst of the gale screaming down from the glacier, yet even here the cold was a living thing — biting, searching, unforgiving. The Brave Hearts stood in its shadow, breath misting, limbs aching from the brutal crossing of Lac Dinneshere. Behind them, the fishermen’s boat lay half‑covered in rime, its hull creaking with each gust.

The echoes of the harpies’ song still haunted the air. Feathers lay scattered across the ice like grey ash, frozen where they fell. The silence after the fight was sharp and brittle, broken only by the distant crack of shifting ice along the cliffs.

Before them, four cave mouths gaped in the rock face, dark as old wounds. Three lay up a slope of icy shale — two around thirty feet above the shelf, a third a little lower at twenty — while the last opened at ground level, where a frozen river met the base of the cliffs. The stream had long since stopped, sealed beneath cloudy ice that ran into the tunnel and vanished into darkness. The wind prowled through each opening with a different pitch, turning the cliffs into a cold, tuneless organ.

They argued for a long while — which path to take, which shadow to trust. Felwar and Raine stamped their boots against the frost, trying to keep life in their feet. Raine’s face was pale and drawn, lips cracked from the cold.

“We standing here all bloody day, or moving?” he muttered.

Thelonius exhaled through his nose, frost forming on his beard.
“Owly can scout,” he said, pulling his hood tighter. Wrapped in the druid’s cloak, he was less bothered by the cold, but he kept that to himself. Felwar and Raine had taken the crossing hard.

He eased his fey‑spirit familiar from beneath his cloak; it gave a sour little hoot that fogged in the cold.

“Yeah, yeah,” Thelonius muttered. “Complain later.”

He closed his eyes, the thread of thought between him and the familiar tightening. The spirit bird swept low across the shelf, wings whispering as it glided toward the first cave.

It slipped into the northernmost opening, gliding a short way before the passage forked — one arm narrowing to a crawlspace, the other twisting sharply into dark. The air inside was still and heavy, frost clinging in ridged sheets along the stone. Nothing moved.

The familiar rose to the next cave — the higher of the pair — and followed its long, curving throat until it widened into a small, hollowed chamber. The silence there was total. Only the faint echo of wind through the outer cliffs broke it.

It turned, looping back and dropping into the middle cave. This one opened quickly into a broad pocket of ice and stone, the floor uneven but navigable. The faintest breath of air teased its feathers, hinting at another opening deeper in.

Last, it descended to the lowest cave where the frozen river met the cliff face. The ice stretched smooth and clouded, the remnants of a flow sealed long ago. The spirit followed it inward, gliding through the tunnel until it reached a solid wall of blue ice — a waterfall locked in mid‑fall. The creature circled upward, rising about fifteen feet to where the passage continued beyond the frozen cascade. From there, the buried riverbed wound away into the dark, the way north faint but clear.

Then the owl turned and began its silent return, wings flashing pale in the gloom as it carried those cold impressions back to Thelonius’ waiting mind.

Thelonius blinked, head cocked as the visions faded.
“Fifteen‑foot rise in the far passage,” he said. “Frozen waterfall, frozen river goes further on, fifteen feet up, but there’s a passage off it. Nothing nasty moving about.”

“Then we skip the fall,” Raine rasped, stamping warmth into his boots. “The climb to the other caves looks simple enough.”

Miquitzil struck flint to torch, orange light spilling across his features and the cliffside. He passed one to Thelonius, keeping the other.

“There,” he rumbled, pointing to the mouth twenty feet up the slope. “Closest.”
He cleared his throat — a low, baritone sound that carried like an order. Decision made.

Thelonius nodded, tucking Owly beneath his cloak to shield the creature from the cold. It dug in with its claws, clearly displeased.

“Just my luck I summon a whingy bitch for a familiar,” he muttered.

The bird nipped his thumb in protest.

As they began their ascent toward the first tunnel, snow drifted down from the cliff edges above — slow, deliberate flakes spiralling in the still air. The ice underfoot crackled like old bones.

At the cave mouth, Miquitzil paused and glanced into the dark beyond. The air was thick with the smell of frost and stone — so like the yeti cave atop Kelvin’s Cairn that the memory crawled up his spine. A wicked grin crept across his face. He drew in a deep breath and let out a guttural roar, a respectable mimicry of the beasts’ echoing call.

The sound rolled through the tunnel, bouncing from the walls. Felwar flinched. Raine spun, sword drawn, shield raised. Thelonius’ torch wavered as he ducked low. Miquitzil’s laugh rumbled in his chest — low and pleased with himself.

Then another growl answered.

Miquitzil’s grin faltered.

“Oh,” he muttered. “That wasn’t me.”

Deeper in the cave, the sound came again — louder, heavier, real. The ground quivered beneath a slow, deliberate tread. From the blackness emerged a massive grey wolf, its shoulders level with a pony’s, fur bristling with frost. Its lips peeled back to show long, yellowed fangs, the skin of its muzzle crumpled in fury. The torchlight caught its eyes — twin coals of molten amber fixed on the Brave Hearts with murderous intent.

It lowered its head and snarled, the noise thick and wet with hunger, echoing off the walls like the promise of a hunt resumed.

Then it charged.

The impact of its paws cracked through the frozen earth, claws throwing up chips of ice as it sprinted down the tunnel. Thelonius barely had time to flinch before the beast launched into the air, a blur of fur and muscle. It lunged, jaws snapping around Owly mid‑flight — the sound sharp and final.

There was a puff of feathers, a flash of cold blue light, and a faint pop as the familiar vanished — banished back to the Feywild in an instant.

The wolf landed hard, skidding through the frost, muzzle twitching as it tasted only air. It lifted its head and growled again, realising its prey had dissolved into magic. Behind it, the Brave Hearts drew steel, the echo of that single pop hanging in the dark like the start of a battle cry.

Raine stepped in and swung hard, a savage cut that all but severed the wolf’s foreleg. The beast snapped back, but Raine interposed his shield, keeping the massive jaws at bay. Miquitzil drove his staff into the fresh wound, spoke a deep word of power, and a burst of radiance shattered bone and sinew. The wolf howled.

To Thelonius — more attuned to the natural world than the others — it was clear the beast now sought escape, backing away on three legs. It never got the chance. Raine struck again and ended it. The wolf slumped onto the icy stone, its last breath a fading cloud.

The cave beyond was strewn with the remains of the wolf’s kills — heaps of matted fur, gnawed bones, and the stench of old blood frozen into the stone. Near the back wall, two small skulls lay half‑buried in the frost. Raine crouched beside them, brushing away the ice with his gauntlet.

“Goblins,” he said after a moment, studying the shallow jaws and blunt teeth. “Small ones, too. Must be a nest nearby.”

They left the wolf’s den behind, taking the higher middle tunnel. After a short way it opened onto an ice‑slick bridge spanning a frozen stream below — likely the same river above the frozen waterfall. They weighed their options, then set a piton and ran a rope handrail. One by one they edged across, crampons chitting against the ice, breath held until they reached the far side.

Beyond lay a cold camp. Rime had settled over flattened bedrolls; the firepit was a white crust, ash welded into frost. Thelonius lifted a corner of canvas with the tip of his staff. Felwar checked for recent tracks and found only the ghost of old boot marks, long since softened by frost. Raine prodded a blackened kettle, and flakes of ice fell like scales.

Miquitzil found pages buried under a spill of char and snow — torn from a dwarven journal, edges singed. He squinted, sounding out what little of the script he had picked up.

“These caves are sacred to frost giants,” he murmured, translating in fits and starts. “Carvings show them drowning themselves in a hot spring… the wind here ‘wails like a woman’… and — here — ‘someone lives in these caves… a granny’s song… a laugh that put dread in his bones’.” He looked up, voice low. “He meant to leave at first light.”

Felwar met his eye.

“He didn’t.”

The warlock pointed to a pair of rime‑covered boots.

They stood a moment in the hush of the abandoned camp, listening to the thin whistle threading the stone. Then they retraced their steps across the rope‑line and turned north, taking the uppermost tunnel toward the darker reaches of the caves.

They ascended the slope, boots crunching on frost and shale. The passage curved and narrowed before widening into a chamber where the air hung heavy and still. Thelonius lifted his torch, and the light revealed lines scratched into the northern wall — hundreds of them, etched by crude but deliberate hands.

The marks formed stick‑figures: towering shapes with clubs and helms, marching single‑file through a steaming hot stream. Smaller figures clustered below them, tiny and faceless, while at the far end of the mural the giants knelt in a vast cavern, their outlines bent and sinking into the water.

Raine traced the carvings with a gloved finger.

“They’re drowning,” he murmured. “Not fighting, not falling — they’re doing it on purpose.”

Thelonius nodded slowly.

“Some kind of ritual. Look — that spiral above the water? That’s a frost giant rune for offering. I’ve seen it in my druid book. This whole place must’ve been sacred ground.”

Felwar gave a low whistle.

“Giants drowning themselves… that’s devotion bordering on madness.”

Miquitzil grunted.

“End of life — a choice, not defeat.”

Felwar glanced at him, brow arched.

“Suicide?”

Miquitzil nodded once.

“We see our old folk off, but into the sea — before they become a burden for the tribe.”

Thelonius studied him for a moment, expression unreadable, then turned back to the carvings. They stood a moment longer, the flickering torchlight making the figures seem to move — frozen warriors wading forever into their chosen death.

Felwar broke the silence.

“Let’s move. Whatever they were worshipping, I’d rather not meet it here.”

They followed him into the next chamber — a wide cavern where the air shifted and groaned in the dark. Three pillars of ice rose from floor to ceiling, their surfaces slick with mineral frost. Every faint gust from the tunnel mouth played across them, producing a long, low moan that swelled and faded like a grieving voice.

Raine tilted his head, listening.

“The wind,” he said quietly. “That’s what the dwarf meant — the wailing woman.”

Miquitzil’s torchlight flickered over the pillars, catching the faint shimmer of trapped bubbles and fractures within.

“No woman here,” he said. “Just the mountain sighing.”

In the far corner of the chamber, something glistened faintly beneath a veil of ice. Thelonius stepped closer, torch held high. What he’d taken for a mineral seam began to move — a sluggish yellow shape pressed behind the ice, thick and pulsing like honey trapped beneath glass.

He leaned in, squinting. The thing stirred, responding to the light — or the heat — or perhaps to him. It rippled once, then again, the faintest thud echoing through the ice as if testing the barrier.

“Ah,” Thelonius said softly, stepping back. “That’s… not rock.”

Felwar’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s alive.”

“Barely,” Miquitzil muttered. “And let’s keep it that way.”

The yellow mass quivered once more, straining against its frozen shell, then went still — dormant, but not dead. They gave it a wide berth, boots scraping quietly as they moved past, careful not to let the torchlight linger too long.

They left the chamber and the sluggish orange mass behind, their footsteps fading into the steady moan of the cavern. The tunnel curved and narrowed, the walls glimmering with thin veins of ice, until they recognised the faint slope and bend ahead.

It joined the passage they had already travelled. Moments later they stood once more at the ice bridge arching over the frozen stream. Thelonius knelt beside the piton still wedged into the stone and gave it a testing tug. It held firm.

“Same river,” Raine murmured, peering down into the blue‑white depths.

Using the rope already in place, they descended carefully, boots scraping for purchase against the wall. One by one they belayed down the short drop to the riverbed, torches flaring against polished ice as they landed beside the solid, frozen flow.

They followed the river south, the tunnel narrowing as the walls drew close. Thirty feet before the fall they found a side corridor, half‑choked with frost, and turned into it. The passage sloped gently upward, the ice beneath their boots glittering like glass.

Seventy, maybe eighty feet on, the corridor opened into a vast chamber whose air hung still and sour with the smell of old blood.

Torchlight spilled across a slaughterhouse of ice. Fresh crimson stained the floor in jagged smears, frozen mid‑pool around heaps of bone and splintered armour. Knucklehead trout spines, bird bones, the brittle remains of small beasts — and among them, the unmistakable shape of humanoid skeletons, limbs twisted and sheared apart.

Felwar crouched to touch one. His glove came away red.

“The blood’s recent.”

At the heart of the cavern sat a giant’s skeleton, its ribs and skull sheathed in a thin shell of ice. The bones gleamed dull blue beneath the frost, each thicker than a man’s thigh. It was seated as though in repose, massive head bowed forward, a great hammer half‑buried in the frozen muck beside it.

Thelonius lifted his torch higher, its light catching faint cracks beneath the ice.

“Something’s wrong.”

Raine moved to one side, sword drawn.

“No,” he said softly, eyes fixed on the giant’s chest. “Something’s moving.”

A deep crack rang through the chamber. Then another. Chunks of ice began to fall away, clattering across the floor. The sound built like thunder as the giant’s ribs flexed, each motion shedding sheets of frost.

“Shit,” Felwar breathed.

The Brave Hearts didn’t wait for death to reach them — they struck first.

Raine charged, blade flashing in the torchlight, hacking deep into frozen bone. Thelonius raised his hands, summoning a column of silver light that lanced down from above — the cold purity of moonlight burning across the giant’s torso. Miquitzil sent arrows ablaze with blue energy, each bolt hissing through the air to bury itself in splintered ribs or explode harmlessly against the icy floor.

Felwar stepped up beside them, eyes burning with that strange fey light. He extended a hand and loosed a volley of eldritch blasts — wheat‑coloured bursts that struck like thunder, each impact blowing shards of ice and splinters of bone into the air. The glow of his magic painted the cavern in flickering gold, reflected tenfold in the frozen walls.

For a heartbeat the giant shuddered beneath the onslaught, fractures racing across its icy shell. Then, with a groan that shook the cavern, it began to rise — towering, relentless, reaching for its weapon. The hammer, near as long as a man was tall, tore free from the ice with a sound like rending stone. Ice fell from its haft in thick slabs as the frost giant skeleton straightened to its full, terrible height, moonlight spilling through fissures above to crown it in pale fire.

Thel’s moonbeam caught the creature full in the chest, light refracting off the shards that fell from its shoulders — but it didn’t slow. The hammer swung in a single, earth‑shaking arc.

It caught Miquitzil squarely in the side. The blow hurled him off his feet, his bow skittering away. He hit hard, breath blasted from his lungs, a thin line of blood tracing from one ear as the world tipped and went dark.

Thelonius shouted his name, power already gathering as the giant’s shadow loomed. His form rippled — bones knotting, fur bursting through. With a roar that filled the chamber, he crashed into the giant’s legs, bear claws ripping splinters of frozen bone free with each strike.

“No time for sleep!” Felwar cried, flinging a word of Titania that rang like a bell. Soft gold light sank into Miquitzil’s chest, arresting his fall toward death and dragging a ragged breath back into him. His eyes fluttered open to a towering skeleton and a hulking shape locked in furious battle.

The giant moved with ponderous, crushing strength, every step shaking loose shards from the ceiling. Its hammer carved wide, deadly paths through the air, smashing stone and sending sheets of frost skittering. Each hit sent a hero sprawling.

But the Brave Hearts held.

Thelonius drove in again, raking at a knee until the joint cracked. Raine slipped low and cut deep along the spine, rolling clear as the hammer obliterated the floor where he’d stood. Felwar was already inside the creature’s reach, too close for sorcery; he dragged steel across frozen ribs, then stepped in and carved up beneath the sternum, wrenching loose splinters of bone. Miquitzil, blood still wet on his temple, pushed to one knee and sent arrow after arrow into widening seams of ice.

Slowly the enormous frame gave way — joints splitting, limbs buckling. Another rib tore loose under Thelonius’ claws; Raine’s blade bit true; Felwar’s deft sword‑work staggered the thing a pace. The hammer slid from its grasp and slammed onto the ice.

Then the frost giant skeleton toppled, crashing down in a roar of bone and shattered frost. The noise rolled through the tunnels like distant thunder, echoing long after the creature lay still, its skull half‑buried in the blood‑stained rime.

As the others caught their breath, something on the air caught Thelonius’ bear nostrils — a faint, rich, irresistible scent of raw meat and fresh blood drifting through cracks in the frozen chamber. It made his jaws ache and his stomach clench with need. Saliva gathered thick in his mouth, running between his teeth, over his black lips, dripping to the ice below. He slurped it up as best he could, his rough tongue sweeping the fur around his muzzle.

The others didn’t seem to notice — or if they did, they gave no sign. Embarrassment flickered through him for a reason he couldn’t name, but the hunger burned through it, steady and deep. He turned toward the exit where the scent was strongest and began to edge forward, head low, sniffing at the air.

Felwar slumped against the nearest wall, breath fogging in short, sharp bursts. He cradled his arm close, the limb hanging limp and numb where one of the hammer’s shockwaves had caught him. With his teeth and one working hand, he tore a strip from his cloak and fashioned a rough sling.

“I need a rest,” he panted — not a plea, but simple truth. He tightened the knot, winced, and sank against the stone.

“Just an hour — then we move.”

Thelonius nodded his great bear‑head.

“I’ll check the coast is clear,” he rumbled, voice thick through the beast’s throat.

Before Felwar could protest, the bear turned and trotted off through the opposite tunnel, claws scraping against frost‑glazed stone.

“Stay here, you fool!” Felwar called weakly after him — but the bear was already gone, his heavy steps fading into the dark.

Raine sighed, pushing himself upright.

“Of course he’s gone,” he muttered, and followed at a distance, sword drawn, boots crunching quietly over ice.

The tunnel sloped into a narrower passage that twisted left and right, stairs leading down to another cavern. From below came an echo of voices — thin, nasal, chattering in Goblin.

“It’s a bear, m’lady — a big brown bear,” the voices said in unison.

Thelonius lumbered forward, head cocked. He couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable: nervous, deferential — like servants speaking to someone unseen.

Raine, who knew Goblin well enough, stiffened at the sound. His jaw tightened as he crept closer, rounding the corner to peer down the stairs.

Below stood a twisted figure — or rather, two figures fused into one. Two goblin heads jostled atop a single squat body, four arms twitching, sharing a single pair of legs. It peered nervously toward Thel’s massive frame and called over its shoulder into the room beyond.

“I don’t know, m’lady. I’ll ask.”

Then, turning back to the bear, both heads spoke together:
“What do you want?”

Seeing Raine step up beside the bear, one head swivelled toward the chamber beyond even as all four arms drew two bows and nocked two arrows.

“There’s a human here, m’lady,” it called. “He looks unpleasant.”

Back in the previous chamber, Felwar and Miquitzil exchanged uneasy glances.

“This is not what we need,” Felwar muttered.

Miquitzil nodded and slipped into the shadows, ready to flee if Felwar gave the word.

Thelonius — still in bear form — loosed a roar that shook the walls and bounded forward. His claws slashed across the creature’s chest, tearing through mismatched armour and carving a red line through pale flesh. The goblin screamed, all four arms flailing.

But the growl died in Thelonius’ throat when his eyes lifted to the chamber beyond.

The tunnel opened into a vast grotto slick with frost and shadow. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood and the sweeter rot of opened flesh.

A single cauldron squatted near the centre, its rim blackened, its contents bubbling and hissing despite the cold. Above it hung a chain of pale intestines, looped like rope, feeding into the pot where fat simmered and popped.

A stone table stood beside it — broad, stained, and scarred from years of use. Rusted cleavers, boning knives, and skinning hooks lay scattered across its surface. Two of the four torsos hanging there were still lashed upright by chains, their arms missing, their skin stripped in long, deliberate strokes. Heaps of clothing lay nearby — fishermen’s coats, boots, gloves, all stiff with frost. At one edge of the table lay a neat pile of organs, glistening like offerings: livers stacked on one side, hearts heaped on another, ribs and vertebrae tossed like firewood against the wall.

And standing at the cauldron was a woman.

She was not what the stench and horror suggested — not at first glance. Her face was smooth, her dark hair spilling loose about her shoulders. Her eyes were clever and steady, her mouth set in the faintest, knowing smile as she stirred the pot in slow, deliberate circles. The glow of the fire beneath painted her in warm light — too warm for this place — and her movements were almost graceful.

She wore a low‑cut winter dress of tattered furs and faded cloth, the neckline plunging to show pale skin mottled by the cold. A copper pendant lay nestled between her breasts, and with each turn of the ladle another loop of intestine slipped into the cauldron with a wet sound.

Then her head snapped toward the tunnel.

Her eyes, once dark and kind, caught the firelight and burned with a depthless green. She froze for half a heartbeat, the ladle dripping red into the stew. Then her lips curved into a smile that promised nothing good.

“Well now,” she said softly, voice echoing like silk drawn over a blade. “What have we here?”

She lifted her head higher, nostrils flaring as if catching a new scent on the wind. Her stirring slowed, the wooden spoon dripping scarlet into the pot. She took three deliberate steps forward, skirts whispering over frozen stone.

The two‑headed goblin clutched at the fresh bear‑claw wound across its chest, hands slick with black blood. Sensing his mistress approach, the mutant fumbled to nock arrows to two bows at once, four blood‑slick hands working against each other.

“Stop fidgeting, Flub‑Dub,” the woman said, her voice now lower, rougher. “Something’s on the wind.”

Her tone shifted — resonant, humming, a vibration that seemed to travel through the stone itself.

Flub‑Dub sniffed.

“Smells like lake water and seal grease to me.”

“No, you blind‑nosed fool,” she murmured, straightening. “That’s Summer.”

The word chilled the air.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, eyelids fluttering in something like ecstasy.
“Honey and stormlight… sweet sap and sweat. Haven’t smelled that since the Frostmaiden locked the sky.”

“Summer? Here?” Flub‑Dub whimpered.

“Aye,” she hissed. “And these two stink of it.”

Her head tilted, a long, bloodstained fingernail rising to point toward the bear and the warrior.

“But they are not the source.”

She sniffed again, deeper this time, the sound wet and rattling. Her eyes half‑lidded, as though tasting the air.

“No… the sweetness runs further back.”

Her spine arched, bone cracking faintly beneath her skin. Her hands twisted, and the illusion peeled away. Fair flesh greyed and split like old ice, her mouth stretching too wide, teeth jagged and black. Her hair fell in wet ropes, tangled with bone and weed. The air filled with the stench of brine and rot.

“The air tastes wrong,” she whispered. “Too warm. Titania’s scent, faint as a ghost. Summer’s seed come wandering into Winter’s heart.”

Her laughter followed — cold, slick, rolling through the tunnels like oil across black water.

Raine and Thelonius stared, horror tightening their guts. That gaping, black maw — rows of crooked, stained, sharklike teeth — pulled at something primal in them. Raine had not felt terror like this in all his hard years. Without a word, both men reached the same conclusion.

Leave. Now.

Before the ice decided to keep them. Before they joined the stew.

The sound of her cackling reached Miquitzil and Felwar where they crouched in the adjoining chamber. It slithered along the frozen walls, a sound that crawled beneath the skin and settled in the marrow.

For Felwar, it did more than chill — it stopped him.

His breath caught. His blood turned to ice. The colour drained from his face, his good hand tightening around his weapon. The name — Summer — struck like a blade. He felt it not in his ears but in his ribs, in the strange, uneven rhythm of his heart.

Her voice was wrong — not merely evil, but discordant, impossibly so, clashing against something deep within him. It was as though two songs were being forced together: her cold rasp grinding against the hidden warmth that pulsed beneath his skin. The clash made him tremble, a resonance of ice against sunlight that had no place in this world.

He had never felt fear like this.

“Oh shit,” he breathed, voice thin. “I’m not ready for this.”

Raine burst back into the chamber. Miquitzil slipped from the shadows, bow half‑drawn, eyes wide.

Felwar was already on his feet, swaying slightly, face white with shock. His injured arm throbbed from the hammer’s earlier blow — maybe broken, maybe worse — but he ignored it, gaze fixed on the dark tunnel beyond. The air seemed to hum there, faint and sickly sweet, as though the hag’s voice had left a stain on the world.

“She’s talking about me,” he said.

He looked toward the tunnel where Maud’s laughter echoed again — faint and giddy — and something deep within him recoiled. Whatever she was, her voice was a mirror turned inside out, reflecting the part of him that did not belong to the Frostmaiden’s realm.

He clenched his jaw.

“We’re leaving,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”

No one argued.

They turned and moved quickly, boots crunching against the ice, torchlight flickering across frost‑slick walls. Behind them, Maud’s laughter followed — soft and strange, carried on the wind like the memory of a dream.

Felwar limped along, certain the hag’s claws were reaching for him, so very close.

By the time they reached the frozen river again, her voice had faded, swallowed by distance and wind. But the echo lingered — a taste of salt and copper on the air — and the uneasy truth that, for the first time, Felwar Crisp had heard something in the dark that terrified him utterly.

Miquitzil looked between Raine and Felwar, concern furrowing his weathered face.

“Where is the bearman?”

Raine jerked a thumb toward the dark passage.

“North tunnel. He legged it that way.”

“Why would he do that?” Felwar frowned, still pale, voice hoarse. “Why not come straight back to us?”

Raine tapped a gloved finger against his temple and gave a weary shrug.
“He’s a bit daft.”

Thelonius — still a bear — barreled up the passage, claws throwing up chips of ice. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw her.

She was taller now, near eight feet, loping after him with a spider’s grace, iron claws dragging furrows in the frost along one wall.

The tunnel ended without warning.

He skidded to a halt as the floor fell away into a cliff of shale and stone, all glazed in treacherous ice. Below lay a subterranean lake sealed under a thick, cloudy sheet. In its depths — beneath the frozen skin — a mass of giant bones showed through in layers: some fully formed, others only a skull here, a spine there, ribs like cages, skulls staring up through the blue.

A shudder ran through him.

A stone gave way under one paw and he lurched forward, half jumping, half sliding down the slope. Ice screamed under his weight but held. He splayed wide, claws biting, and drove himself across the slick shelf toward the only other exit yawning dark on the far side.

Behind him, at the lip of the tunnel, the hag spilled into view, hands clawing at the stone as she leaned out over the drop.

“Come back, deary,” she cooed, sing‑song and rotten. “Maud Chiselbone means you no harm.”

Her cackle curdled in the frozen air, making the lie plain.

Thankfully for Thelonius, the frozen stream curved south, leading him back toward the overhead bridge and familiar tunnel. His claws scraped across the slick ice as he rounded a bend — and nearly barreled straight into the others, who were gathered at the lip of the frozen waterfall, debating how best to descend.

Raine looked up, deadpan.“Here he comes. Quiet as a mouse.”

“I saw her! She’s… she’s behind me!” Thelonius growled between gasps.

Felwar went white.“She’s coming?”

Before Thelonius could reply, there was a flash of gold and a faint rush of displaced air — and Felwar vanished, misty‑stepping clean down the frozen waterfall.

Miquitzil and Raine climbed down the face of the frozen fall with relative ease, crampons biting into the thin glaze of ice. The slick wall groaned under their weight but held, and they landed on the ledge below in a spray of frost.

Then came Thelonius.

The bear hesitated at the top, growling low as he tested the edge, turning to back down. The ice cracked beneath his weight — nearly 360 kilograms of muscle and fur pressing down. One paw slipped, then another, and with a deafening crack the frozen sheet gave way.

Water burst from the fissure in a glittering arc, drenching those below in freezing spray.

Thelonius crashed down beside them, ice shattering under his mass. He shook himself, spraying slush in every direction — but his victory was short‑lived.

From the crack where the water had spilled, something stirred.

A shape formed within the spray, translucent and writhing.

The water rose and twisted into a coiling mass, a serpentine form of living current. A Water Weird, bound for gods knew how long beneath the ice, was free at last.

It encircled the bear in an instant, tendrils of liquid crushing and cold.

Thelonius roared, muscles straining, claws tearing into the watery coil. He wrenched himself free with brute strength, sending shards of ice flying as Raine and Miquitzil rushed forward. The warrior’s blade cut through the creature’s shifting body, while Miquitzil loosed arrows that hissed as they struck. Felwar raised his good arm and flung a blast of golden energy, scattering droplets of enchanted steam — but it wasn’t enough.

The Water Weird recoiled, then lunged, wrapping itself around Felwar.

He gasped as the cold seized him, crushing the air from his lungs. His ribs groaned under the pressure. For a heartbeat, all he could see was swirling blue, the glint of his own magic reflecting in its depths — then the darkness came for him.

Whatever the spirit sought, it didn’t find it here.

The Brave Hearts surged forward — Raine’s sword, Miquitzil’s arrows, Thelonius’s claws — until the creature’s form broke apart, dissolving into harmless water that pooled and spread across the ice.

Silence followed, broken only by laboured breathing.

Miquitzil knelt beside Felwar’s still form, retrieved a single frost‑hardened goodberry from his pouch, and pressed it to the warlock’s lips.

“Wake,” he rumbled.

Felwar coughed, gasping back to life, colour returning to his face.

Miquitzil rose, his deep baritone calm but firm.

“We’re done here. Move. Before she sends something worse.”

And so, battered and half‑frozen, the Brave Hearts fled the tunnels of Maud Chiselbone — boots striking the ice in weary rhythm — until the dark cliffs gave way to the shadowy outline of their moored boat on the frozen shore.

The return journey across Lac Dinneshere was easier with the wind at their backs, but still brutal. The lake’s heart was restless — dark water heaving beneath a crust of half‑formed ice, the oars biting into waves sharp with frost. Each pull sent up spray that froze as it fell, coating their furs in a thin, glittering rind. A single mistake here, one misjudged stroke or shift of weight, could have meant doom for all of them.

Felwar rowed with one arm, the other bound in its makeshift sling, jaw clenched against the pain. Raine took most of the burden, shoulders straining as he drove the boat through the freezing chop. Thelonius, back in human form, and Miquitzil matched the rhythm, their breaths rising in pale clouds that hung over the boat like ghosts.

None of them spoke — only the creak of the oars and the long, mournful groan of the lake ice accompanied them across that dark, frozen water.

By the time the faint lights of Easthaven flickered through the mist and the hull scraped against thicker ice near the shore, they were spent. The wind howled over the lake, but the sight of solid ground — even frozen, even bleak — was enough. They dragged the boat up onto the crust, one hundred yards from safety, and stood for a long while in silence, breath steaming, limbs trembling, each quietly grateful to still be alive.

---

Back at the White Lady Inn, warmth and light wrapped around them like a blessing. The fire roared in the hearth, chasing the chill from their bones as bowls of steaming stew were set before them. The scent of meat and spice filled the air — a welcome change from salt, blood, and frost.

Captain Imdra Arlaggath approached their table, boots still crusted with lake ice, the look of command never far from her face. She nodded in greeting.

“You’ve done good work,” she said. “Scython’s seen the ferry. No lasting damage, thank the gods.”

Behind her, the tiefling in question stood nursing a drink, his tail flicking idly as he gave the group a crooked grin.

“Annoying business,” he said, voice slurred but good‑natured. “Still — nice to see she’s getting some use, eh? I’ll fix the locks, tidy the place up… after another drink or two.”

Imdra allowed herself a faint smile before unrolling a sheet of parchment.
“We also found this,” she said, sliding it onto the table.

A rough sketch — a dwarven hand’s attempt at precision — showed the outline of a large structure. Easthaven Town Hall, if her guess was right.

The Brave Hearts studied it, frowning, but none could shed light on why the duergar had marked it so deliberately.

“It’s troubling,” Imdra said, folding the parchment again. Then her tone softened. “But that’s for another day. For now — eat, rest. Speaker Waylen’s orders. The Brave Hearts don’t pay for food or lodging in Easthaven, not while he’s in charge.”

She gave a curt nod and turned to leave.

Felwar raised his mug in quiet thanks. Around the table, weary smiles flickered in the firelight — the kind born not of joy, but of simple survival. Outside, the wind still howled over the lake, but for now, the Brave Hearts were content — and warm enough to forget the dark outside.