Gilda flew with the northerner Sky Sentry monster hunters. Their blue and gold cuirasses and varied weapons made their flight noisy, but nobody complained. They adopted a double V formation and Gilda followed Gosalynn’s lead with one of her Sky Sentries on the other side. Grunhilda followed Gilda while Gertha, as well as her brother, Gia and Geary had all spread along the formation. It was the sort of thing nobody had ever taught griffons, and they just did naturally. At least Gilda believed so until recent events. She was pretty sure the Allmother had taught griffons at some point, and they kept learning from each other to fly in such a way. Surely there were beneficial effects that came from their formation.

Speaking of Her, it would be a great time for Her to speak to Gilda again. But She didn’t.

They flew in sullen silence, but the loud wind wouldn’t let them communicate casually anyway and nobody had anything too important to say anyway. They flew fast, though. Gilda, if anything, rejoiced she had properly imparted the urgency of their mission to rescue the poor griffon still alive.

Meanwhile, her thoughts kept going to how her attacks had missed the important parts of those giant birds. She should have ended the whole thing before they made away with her caravanner. She supposed she had cut the male on its leg and the wound ought to kill it eventually. But she wasn’t sure. Ghadah’s memories told her she had missed the large artery.

She could even see at the back of her mind, Ghadah’s instructor shaking her head at Gilda’s clumsy technique. She intended on fixing that problem. As soon as she saw the damn bird again, it was as good as dead.

Something bothered her about those rocs, though. In all the books she had read in Cloudsdale, they never looked like that. It meant a lot as the stupid pegasi took flying almost like a cult. They had entire encyclopedias on all sorts of flying monsters. Rocs were just large birds. Typically, hawks. The ones which attacked the caravan were a strange mixture with the zu birds, hunted to extinction during the Empire.

Something didn’t add up, but as the monotonous flight and tense atmosphere consumed her focus, such thoughts slipped away.

The landscape seemed much different from the sky, and at the same time, not so much. It still consisted of snow, trees, rocks, and more snow. The mountains dominated the scenery, and lone protruding rocks broke the otherwise monotonous landscape.

The five peaks justified their name and resembled a line of spears pointed at the clouds, cramped against each other like a line of soldiers holding a line. Their snowed peaks atop the gray stone gave the ancient rock a cold appearance. Few trees managed to take root in the rolling hills as they became the mighty mountains. And still, the snowy white covered most under its pristine blanket.

Something eerie hung in the air, and it wasn’t the cold. Something of magical nature. It smelled of snow and chilled her pelt in their speedy flight, but she didn’t care. Either because some magic protected her, or because her blood boiled with anger.

From a distance the peaks didn’t seem so tall, much less so large and it became obvious why the scouts had to go ahead. It wouldn’t do to spread the group in search of the birds. Too many caves for them to hide into, too many recesses where they could hide their nest. Gilda didn’t even know what sort of place they would nest. The pointlessness of the question kept her from asking after they had left, she would know once the scouts returned.

The wind picked up speed as they approached the peaks. It carried a strange sense of foreboding in the sudden cold it carried. Gilda’s budding magical senses alerted her to something she couldn’t quite identify. She didn’t know what, but something terrible lurked in those parts.

It was the smell the wind carried. Not a real smell as roasting game meat, thick and powerful, but something ephemeral. Not really there, but still present. Gilda couldn’t explain it to save her life and it unsettled her. She looked at the others and found them looking at the terrain and at the sky around them. Their heads jerked with edginess. Grunhilda, especially, had a worried frown and kept her bow with a nocked arrow. She even cast a concerned stare at Gilda, seeking reassurance.

Gilda waved a paw and smiled at her although she too suffered from the contagious anxiety.

“Wait!” An elongated cry in Gil’s voice reached them.

“Oh, for feather’s sake…” Gilda turned to be graced with the sight of the lime-colored griffoness flying at full speed while holding the long shaft of their red banner. Next to her was the infuriating thestral and the kid she had expressly ordered not to follow.

The griffons in the formation stopped and hovered, forming a circle the newcomers flew into. Gosalynn was the first to let her rage spew. “What in the flaming pools of the Scorch are you doing here?! This place is dangerous!”

The griffons and batpony approached her and Gilda. Panting and flapping backward to a hover, Gia held the pole to her chest. “I thought the banner should follow you! Gilda is our caravan sponsor and our leader.”

“What the…” Gilda first massaged her temples before yelling at them. “This isn’t a game!”

“Precisely because of that!” The other shot back with an offended pout.

Moonbow raised her indigo hoof. “The flag bearer was often the most important soldier in a division, given the significance of their charge to the rest of their comrades!”

“Shut up, phony vampire.” Gilda yelled and the pony gasped, but only gave the former a pout. “And you, dipshit?!”

Young Godwin reeled, holding tight the hilt of the longsword he had gotten Harpy knew from where. He pushed it into the fluff on his chest, defensively. “I… They… They decided to come and rushed out before the others could react. I came with them because I didn’t want them to be attacked alone, or something.”

She pointed a talon at his face and let it rip. “You get your hide and this pair of dumbfuck numb skulls back to the caravan and pray to The Harpy I won’t tan your hide!”

Between thoughts of tearing their faces apart and spanking that brat, Gilda wondered when she started sounding like her mother. Regardless, she drew in air because they weren’t done suffering her righteous wrath.

“Attention all!” One of Gosalynn’s shouted and brought Gilda out of her rant. “Our scouts return! Ahead low!”

Gilda saw them. The hunters-turned-scouts flew low beneath them to climb once they closed the distance. The oldest, a grizzly dark-gray mister with blue eyes approached in front of the others. He had his black cape tied so it wouldn’t disturb his flight and his bow strung at the quiver, part of his backpack. A round shield of black wood sported a pair of white eagle eyes under his axe. A northerner ranger through and through in Gilda’s imagination.

“We found them, captain.” He turned slightly to point at the fourth peak. “Beyond the summit is an icy outcropping supported by rocks. Most unnatural. Gretchen thinks it’s the ruins of some ancient building the rocs made their nest into.”

“How is the guy they captured?” Gilda hovered close, forgetting the three and the scout acknowledged her. “Is he still alive?”

“Impossible to know, ma’am.” He shook his head. “The summit is pocked with ice bird nests. They would have alerted the rocs had we tried to approach.”

Ice birds. Gilda didn’t know them, but she supposed they were some sort of magical nonsense like ‘snowolves’ and ‘timberwolves’.

“He was laying on their nest, though. I think I saw a chick.” A similar female added. “But I’m not sure he ever moved or breathed.”

Gosalynn frowned and cursed under her breath before turning to Gilda. “Are we doing this?”

Gilda’s back burned with a dozen pairs of eyes on her and the weight of responsibility made her flap her wings harder. She hesitated for a second before images of the poor blue griffon torn to shreds invaded her mind. “I am going.”

A gust of cold wind blew past them, carrying the smell of carrion.

“Something isn’t right.” Gosalynn mumbled. Her head jerked and scanned the horizon. Other griffons showed a similar unease. Others still hugged themselves as the warmth had been stolen from them. Moonbow and Gil grimaced. Godwin hid it better, but his eyes showed apprehension.

Maybe Gilda was going crazy, but instead of fear, wrath warmed her like a wave from her heart to the very tips of her talons and claws. She closed her paws, as though the tingling warmth would escape her, like lightning, barely contained. It resonated with conviction; a fierce raptor cried inside her as she spoke. “I fear abandoning that griffon who trusted me with his safety more than I fear anything skulking in those mountains.”

She saw it reflected on Gosalynn’s blue eyes. They alit with the same smoldering radiance that raged inside Gilda as the Sky Sentry Captain steeled her stare and her posture. “I will follow you.”

Gilda turned to the others too. All eyes fixated on her, she turned and flapped her wings with purpose, propelling herself in the air toward the mountains. Before she knew it, she led a group of a dozen-and-a-half or so griffons and one thestral.

Not shying from the task, she let the glowing might guide her against the glooming shadow hovering over the mountains, despite the bright sun whose light filtered through the clouds. She spearheaded the group into the wide gap between the summits and against the wind whispering doom into her mind’s ears.

They banked to the right and the unnatural outcropping the scout had mentioned came into view. Her sharp eyes saw glinting blue shapes flying around the peak and bluish-white nests dotting the snow in between the occasional projecting rock or humble leafless tree.

The large nest of the rocs dominated the view, a construct of trees teared apart and wrung together into the snow. The ice beneath clung to the remains of an ancient stone platform and the broken bridges that protruded from it. One of the rocs laid motionless next to their home and the other poked at a small, barely moving chick. The blue griffon they had come after was left next to it, inside the nest.

Given the scout’s description of the area, Gilda assumed the white birds whose wings were covered with a sheet of ice were good candidates for the ice birds. They were quite beautiful, even from afar.

Before Gilda could make sense of what she saw, a chilling cold grabbed hold of the air and grasped her like one of the thugs back in Griffonstone. Her wings failed, as though they decided no longer to provide her with lift for flight. Scared and surprised griffons shared her shocked cry as they briefly lost altitude. Once they were able, they hovered next to each other, each ensuring the others were there.

The fear didn’t leave them, however. Godwin clutched his sword, hovered closer to Gilda and cried, panic-stricken. “What was that?!”

“Did…” Gia frantically looked every which way. “Did Magic just fail for a second? What the hell?”

“Is everyone okay?” Gosalynn cried to the others as Gilda saw the shiny ice birds had all collapsed from the sky. The awake roc shifted nervously; its head jerked in every direction with panicked chirps.

The sky filled with grim blackness and the agitated stormy gray clouds congealed into a cold white, as if the sky itself had frozen. A terrible growl came from above and a blizzard of cutting icy thorns showered Gilda’s group. The clouds descended as though they signaled the end of times. Their oppressive white and a vertigo-inducing spiral of frost descended into the hills. It trapped the peaks inside a tornado of ice that stung Gilda and stole the life out of her limbs.

Panicked cries and shrieks surrounded Gilda, the biting cold hurt her eyes and her wings. She flapped them as hard as she could under penalty of the wind carrying her and covered her eyes with her forelegs.

“We have to get out of here!” Gosalynn’s shaken voice pierced through the hurricane roaring in Gilda’s ears.

But she didn’t respond. Gilda heard the Sky Sentry Captain, but her attention was elsewhere.

The white clouds ruptured like a glacier snapping in half with a boom that resounded inside Gilda as much as it did at the mountains. Too many stars of icy shards spun and whistled, echoing a monstrous breathing. The magic in the air turned foul, colder than the coldest winter. More fell than all the evil that could ever be. A ghostly monstrosity came into being, slowly, shimmering, ripping apart reality into frozen shards of insanity that fell from it.

Its mane flailed in the frozen wind and threatened to steal away what remained of the sky. Mighty ghostly hooves sparkled, and snow fell from it, but held nothing of the childish glee of fresh snow.

The titanic equine face scowled and grimaced but shifted into a twisted sneer of unfiltered loathing. The cold shimmering of never-ending winter shone in its eyes and its gaze assaulted Gilda’s sanity with promises of catastrophe and unspeakable horrors. When its mouth opened, whatever was the sound of malice and hatred, it was what Gilda heard, reverberating inside her head like a splitting headache.

“King of beast, king of air. Weaving virtue and vice, the dualities you bear. Loyalty, strength, and nobility. Vanity, sloth, and cruelty. Of greed so fast, the might of emperors miscast. Eldest of the world, your time is past.”

Her ears threatened to fail with broken sound and struck her with blinding pain. Gilda screamed and covered her ears. Around her griffons cried and wailed too. She wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from the sheer horror, but her limbs trembled and refused to move if not to keep her from falling.

“Mother, save us!” Someone sobbed.

“Miss Gilda, please let’s go!” Grunhilda begged and she pulled at Gilda’s shoulders mid-hover.

“Spawn of the Raptor Queen, of eyes so keen. Pawns in the unseen, forever under her wean. Rejects to the Matriarch of the Sun, the other’s a vanity project done. Mortals, to dance is your sin. Their insane aria your hymn.”

“Please!” Grunhilda’s weep pierced the unspeakable roar of unfathomable magic turned to wind.

Gilda couldn’t hear the others anymore.

“This land is to be your doom. These peaks will be your tomb. Persevere against all odds. Meet the might of gods.”

Suddenly, the hurricane of arcane energies ceased and the colossal monster undid itself in a shearing wind. It crushed into the peak of the mountain with a rock splitting tremor and an unspeakable smell of carrion wafted colder still. The adult roc which before laid protective over the little chick cried an unnamable groan and its wings jerked like a perverse child pulled at a doll.

“No! Stop!” Moonbow’s voice reached Gilda through the growl of the wind. She yelled in Common Equestrian to no avail, as the wind silenced her.

The roc stood and let out a broken chirp of pain as its neck grew a thick black plumage. Its beak cracked and became jagged, protruded forward from its face with naked muscle sprouting blood. Bone ruptured from its brow and grew thick and bulbous like a cancer covering the creature’s head as a helmet. Its wings sprouted wicked spikes, dripping blood and its plumage turned to dull black.

The other roc reanimated with spastic and unsettling jerking, shifting in the same way. It breathed coarsely and loudly at the same time and the shiny ice birds grounded in the snow grew with oversized wings and their glassy beaks grew wide and rugged. Their icy feathers tinged dark and grew jagged.

As though it was the final note in a show of horror, the roc in the nest put its foot on top of the blue griffon and screamed a guttural sound, blowing black bile from its throat as the little chick stumbled away.

The ice birds flapped their wings once covered in crystal feathers and cried in a chorus of monstrous whines as they launched themselves in the air toward Gilda. Aghast at the scene, her head filled with fear and despair. The cries of the other griffons and the flapping of their wings at full retreat echoed inside. She turned to Grunhilda, who pulled desperately at Gilda’s foreleg, taken by panic clear to see in her white face.

The dread in Big Girl’s eyes snapped Gilda out of her stupor to move. She flapped her wings to fly forward and flee with her friend. The white wall of thick clouds and the biting wind stole the warmth from her. The sight of those experienced hunters and slayers flying away filled her with cold fear.

“There shall be no escaping.” The monstrous voice told her.

The wind was too strong, and those abominations would reach them. She couldn’t see the others and Grunhilda sobbing filled her with indescribable sorrow. A mocking neighing filled her ears and froze her heart.

Gilda had felt fear many times during her life. Her mother’s death was one. When the powers that be decided she wouldn’t be receiving any monetary assistance anymore, she feared again. When she was put in jail, and when she faced the judge, she feared too. But the first time she feared for the immediate loss of her life was when the three thugs attacked her at Griffonstone. But that time, something had changed. She wasn’t alone anymore. And even if She wouldn’t talk to her, Gilda knew she had access to a power that wasn’t her own. And if evidence was ever needed, it was Thunderpeak.

The memory, like an ember, burned and melted through the glacial horror. Gilda was not a helpless hen anymore. Something burned inside of her chest, and its warmth thawed the Windigo’s bone-chilling voice.

She shook free of Grunhilda’s grasp with an angry scowl, flapped her wings so she would spin in the air and before she even noticed her paw reached to her back. The horrific ethereal equine stared down at her and she met its stare. Her fingers closed around Mythical’s leather-wrapped hilt, and the sword held to her with a will of its own. She pointed it forward and it growled as a furious lioness, its blade gleamed as though it was filled with lightning, barely contained and about to release.

“You are no god. You are a disease of a world out of balance.” Her voice came clear and unwavering, carrying the righteous fury she heard herself condemn her executors with, lifetimes ago. The voice of a thousand griffonesses echoed in her head, filled with the power of the Swordmaidens and the certainty of the Loremasters. “My god sings with thunder and singes with lightning. Her creations are beautiful things, and all you can do is twist and pervert. My kind has resisted and forbidden you to claim this land since the times when the mountains were young. Go back to your icy desert and leave The Children of The Harpy!”

The once beautiful birds covered in frost and made of ice flew at her with sharp and jagged beaks. Broken bird calls and a wall of fast approaching living missiles formed before Gilda. She saw each and every one of them. Their flight was slow and sluggish to her eyes. Mythical’s blade swirled and cut the air with a musical whistle. Each one of the enslaved creatures shattered and evanesced against the blade.

She slashed with her sword and flapped her wings. Gravity held her and she glided, spinning her body, and twirling her weapon in a deadly dance with the blazing light. Each spin, cut and twirl meant a destroyed monster until she thrust the sword through the air, trained at the monstrous roc below, guarding the unconscious griffon. The blade roared and Gilda cried. Her open wings spread her feathers and they shone with the same gleam in the eyes of the Allmother.

In an instant, reality snapped and mighty magic, unseen to griffon eyes in thousands of years flashed. Gilda’s world became searing light like she had turned into living lightning and Mythical pierced past the rock-hard layer of ice encrusted in the feathers covering the roc’s chest. The monster’s pained cry mixed with a resounding thunder echoing at the mountains and drowned the mocking neighing.

She pulled Mythical free of the thick bile the monster had for blood and pirouetted into the air when the other roc tried kicking her. It missed by an inch, but to Gilda entire seconds had passed. Magically charged feathers shot from her wings when she flapped them once and the roc startled, falling to its side when the magical missiles exploded at its reinforced plumage.

She landed on her hindlegs, holding Mythical before her body. Waiting for an attack which never came. The rocs stood side by side and screeched at her repeatedly, scratching at the rocky snow with an unholy wrath that didn’t belong to them. The cold light of the Windigo’s eyes shone in theirs, but they didn’t attack yet.

The ground shook, snow and ice crumbled from the side of the mountain to reveal a gaping entrance. The snow flowed around the sides and revealed a pair of enormous stone griffons sitting at each side, holding crossing swords to make the archway out of the stone.

Countless icy blue lights shimmered in the dark. Before Gilda even understood what had happened, a line of strange griffons trotted into sight and with practiced movements, almost synchronized, put down tall shields they stood behind and trained large crossbows at her.

“What the… Oh! Shit!” Gilda squawked, taking an awkward backpedaling step. Her reflexes made her swing her weapon, catching a crossbow bolt with Mythical’s blade, splintering it, and showering her pelt with wooden shards as others whizzed past her and clacked against the frozen stone.

Much as a river flowing around a rocky outcrop. More griffons flowed around the sides, fast as trained soldiers who rushed to take positions around her sides while leaving enough space that the crossbows could fire again. Which they did.

Their twanging alerted her, and she danced, spinning out of the way and her sword caught two more bolts.

Slow as everything moved around her, while Mythical caught the long tip of one spear, Gilda was forced to resort to her instincts and bent her body out of the way of the second. The third was still aimed at her chest, but she closed her wing and the blade, somehow, scraped and sparked against it before glancing off away.

She lost her balance with the impact and collapsed on her side with a yelp. Helpless to defend herself she saw the griffon behind the shield. Parched, featherless skin and sunken eyes on its gray-green skin.

For a second, overwhelmed with the surrounding evil magic she stared at it. Carrion and cold surrounded her as her eyes locked on the monster’s. The glowing orbs it had for eyes poured hatred that mirrored on its parched face. The unholy voice of the Windigo distorted its chirps and cruel laughter. It didn’t quite hit as hard as their initial encounter, but the approaching spear tip made her heart skip a beat.

Gilda yelped again as she was yanked away and the world spun before she regained her bearings, laying on her side against the snow. Grunhilda screamed, throwing her weight at the griffon in the middle of the formation and toppling him. She tumbled on top of the undead griffon and fell on the ice behind them.

Gilda screamed when the crossbows fired again. One glanced off the side of Grunhilda’s armor and two stuck against her armor but didn’t go deep. The white griffoness yelped but stood again. Without a heartbeat of hesitation Gilda screamed a piercing cry and jumped at the shielded griffons. They had turned to Grunhilda and Mythical cut her target’s desiccated flesh head to tail, spilling no more than dry, tarnished flesh that turned to flakes.

“Draugar!” A male griffon yelled from above. “Pin them down!”

Arrows rained at the cave’s entrance and forced the crossbow-wielding griffons to hide behind their shields. But Gilda’s attention returned to the immediate threat of the one closest to her. Too close to thrust at her with its spear, it brought it down to swing the elongated and sharp tip at her. She caught the shaft with Mythical, stopping its momentum and promptly slashed through the shield at the monstrous griffon. It cut parched meat and bones, opened a gash across its chest and ancient metallic armor.

Without pause, she quickly sidestepped past the monster and dodged under another spear. She saw Grunhilda standing again, and one of those things laid dead next to her, with an arrow through its forehead. She shot an arrow at another, but it thunked on its shield. She wasn’t dumb enough to stay in one place and hopped with her wings, dodging another spear. While she lacked the same instinctual prowess, Grunhilda was simply strong and agile.

Their formation was a mess and the crossbows no longer shot now their wielders had to defend themselves. The arrival of Gosalynn’s Sky Sentries forced them to draw swords and fight. Several of the very alive griffons in their blue cuirasses landed next to Gilda. Their long halberds struck true at necks and any exposed flesh to be found in the parched monsters.

“Watch out!” Gilda screamed, preparing to jump when one of the rocs stomped awkwardly, but fast at them. It didn’t come close. Five Sky Sentries flew overhead, throwing the ‘spikes’. The short spears, with their lit fuses mostly glanced off the monster’s ice-reinforced feathers, but a couple stuck. At first it barely chirped or stopped. When they exploded, they sent the roc on its side with a pained caw and a spectacle of icy shards, fire, and smoke.

The other roc took off with surprising agility and chased the flying sentries while others pinned the injured one against the stone wall next to the entrance of the cave.

“Don’t bunch-up together, you morons!” Gia cried from above. She was hiding behind Geary and his shield mid-hover. “You’ll just invite the rocs to attack you!”

“How about you come down here and fight too?” Gilda cried back, pointing a talon at the frozen stone.

“Are you out of your mind?” The former held on to Geary’s shoulders as a random crossbow bolt hit his shield. “I don’t have a blessed magical sword! I’m more of a ‘strategy type’ than a brawler! Behind you!”

A draugr, armed with a longsword landed close to Gilda. Already on its hindlegs, it swung its weapon at her, at the same time protecting itself behind a hexagonal shield. She didn’t have time to waste on details, and simply brought Mythical to block the blade. She shoved him back and removed its weapon from the way, next to bat the shield with her sword. Finally, she thrust Mythical through its armor and undead flesh.

Another came at her, but she saw it soon enough. Before it could bring down its sword, Mythical slashed up in a diagonal and ended its undeath, parting the creature in half across the chest. Just as soon as Gilda had recovered from that swing the flying roc landed next to her with a vicious kick. She parried it with a swing of her sword, but the creature’s sheer physical strength forced her to retreat a couple of steps.

All around her, the stony platform was taken by Sky Sentries fighting the monsters. Their weapons didn’t ignore armors and shields as did Mythical, but they had the training and practice to compensate. She grimaced for a second… More like she had the magical weapons and gifts to compensate for her lack of training and skill.

The roc brought her back from her thoughts. Its head thrust at Gilda with an angry caw and missed as the griffoness quickly dodged it to the side. Mythical bit deep at the thick helmet with a blast of bony shards. Once, and then twice as the creature recovered from the impact. Gilda prepared a third swing, but the beast’s wing came at her from the side and its wicked spike grazed her skin, coating the wound with black ichor.

Before Gilda realized what had happened, she doubled over as her stomach had seemingly caught fire and she screamed at the terrible pain. The roc kicked her and sent her flying to fall on the cold snow. The pain passed quickly enough, but the cursed bird was already on top of her, ready to tear Gilda apart with its beak.

She raised Mythical in time, slashing up. The blade connected solidly with the creature’s mutated beak and the impact cracked it. The wound left the monster bleeding abundantly and thrashing in a panicked flail of beak and wings. Its black blood coated Gilda and burned her skin, but her anger burned hotter. With a growl between pain and fury, she thrusted the sword at the monster’s neck. Mythical’s magical blade pierced easily into magical ice armor, scales, and flesh. The roc gagged and pulled away from her. A crossbow bolt pierced the base of its skull from the side and the roc squawked, dropping to the side.

Grunhilda slid on the ice to stop near Gilda, aiming up with her bow, but her arrow missed the softer, damaged slit. Instead, the arrow shattered at the scales and icy armor over the neck. The white griffoness stood in front of Gilda as Gosalynn came out of nowhere, landing on the creature to dig into the back of the beast’s neck with her rapier, but she failed to do any lethal damage.

“Will you kindly die already?!” She screeched so angrily it was almost funny. She beat her wings, pulling back the creature’s head with her talons and exposing the wound Mythical had carved on its neck.

Gertha, behind Gilda, aimed in a split second and hit the target with a bolt. For an anguishing second, the monster gasped for air and beat its wings, wheezing in panic as others threw more ‘spikes’ at it and they connected under the wings. For a second, Gilda’s resolve dropped, and she stopped, lowering her sword, staring at the dying creature. Something about the way it moved, the way it reacted… It reminded Gilda more of an animal than a monster. When the spikes exploded, they sent gore and black ichor everywhere and the roc collapsed, still wheezing laboriously.

The fiery-tempered and short griffoness fell on top of Gilda with a squeak and forced the air out of the tan one’s lungs with a cough. All the black goo caught on her plumage, but mostly on her armor, and Gosalynn let out a dry retch. “Ugh, this is nasty.”

“Can you imagine the fun I’m having?” Gilda shoved her to the side, still to the sounds of screeching roc and griffons along with the clashing of steel.

She sat with Grunhilda’s help, while Gertha and her brother came close, and she helped Gosalynn

“Is this a common occurrence in these parts?” The pink mercenary squeaked.

“Ack. Damn thing burns!” Gosalynn shook her head and pawed at the monster’s blood. “No. I think the Windigos really don’t like Gilda!”

Barely closing her beak, her wings beat and Gosalynn soared to join her sentries trading blows with flying, spear-wielding undead griffons. Gilda barely had time to catch her breath or do anything about the bath of poisonous black ichor she had received, but a quick rinsing with the cold snow, even if Grunhilda helped her. She saw Godwin striking down one of the draugar with his sword.

Gia then came running to her, still carrying the long pole with the red flag. “Uh… Here’s the banner…”

The thestral pony shrugged next to her. But before Gilda could tell her where to shove that thing, she turned to see Godwin struggling, locked swords with a draugr. One of the sentries next to him tried to help, but he was busy fighting his own opponent. It was an ugly five-to-five match with tired griffons and undead monsters with unlimited stamina.

“Get those things, Grunhilda!” Gilda secured Mythical on her back and pounced with a flap of her wings. An arrow flew past her and glanced off the undead’s armor but distracted it long enough Gilda landed on it and rolled on the frozen stone. With her back to the cold, she watched as the young griffon ran his sword through the monster’s neck, and it fell next to her. The other sentries seemed to have the situation under control.

“Thank you miss Gilda.” Godwin breathed and helped her stand.

“I’m still angry at you for even being here!” She yelled while Gertha and Grunhilda shot other draugar that weren’t engaged in fights yet. More of the ‘spikes’ exploded and the still living roc complained, but there seemed to be no end to the undead griffons.

“More of them are pouring out of the mountain!” Gia cried, still hiding behind Geary and his shield that had three bolts stuck to it. “We have to go!”

Gilda quickly scanned the area and found the rocs’ nest. She put Mythical to rest on her back and her talons skipped on the ice, but she rushed to the oversized bird’s nest. With a simple wing-powered hop she reached the edge. Holding to the broken trunk of a tree, she saw the blue griffon. He was shivering but didn’t move. Next to him was the roc chick. A pretty thing, like an oversized hawk with remains of its baby plumage. It chirped at Gilda and tried putting up a threatening display, ruffling its feathers and opening its wings, but its eyes were frozen with fear and confusion.

Gilda frowned. Shiny gray wings and a crest of silvery feathers. None of the long and scaled neck, much less of the bizarre mutations the other rocs had suffered. Her frown deepened into a fierce scowl.

“You motherfucker…” The words came from deep and coarsely with a ragged breath charged with fury.

Letting go off the edge of the nest, she turned to the entrance of the cave under the crossed stone swords. No one around her seemed to have noticed, including the undead griffons and the roc that was still alive, and making an infernal racket. But a cold wind blew from inside the opening in the mountain.

Torches and pyres lining the inside walls lit with eerie blue flame. A cold light danced in the form of eyes in the shade as a silhouette slowly came into view. The distinctive shape and gait of a female griffon with her wings open behind her preluded a naked monster with most of the feathers on her wings long gone. Muscles strained under the leathery skin and what feathers remained had dried and broke long ago. She was once a griffon queen whose face was perpetually shriveled and twisted into a scowl of pain and hatred.

Gilda’s eyes locked with hers and from at least thirty hooves she felt the cold that emanated from that creature. She didn’t know how many cubits that was, but something reached across. It was a creature begging for respite inside a frigid cage.

Gilda stepped back as the full weight hit her. She saw the mountain, tinted in reds and oranges of a sunset, naked of the snow. A beautiful and young griffon queen, barely an adult, danced. The reds and oranges from the sky bounced off the clear blade of her weapon and tinged the gold that covered her. The cold wind of the mountain bothered her none, adorned in golden garments and standing on her hindlegs, twirling the magical weapon around her body like a deadly partner. Every muscle in her body was strong under the pristine shades of orange that covered them. The summit had been adorned with carved images of mountains and a mighty tower under a griffon as the skies showered with lightning.

Some of the guards and miners had gathered to watch her ritual, even if the works hadn’t been concluded. The five elevators that connected the landing to the harbor at the base had stopped for the day as their operators also witnessed her dance. The wide river shone as the gold she wore, and a single ship took away the precious iron to the north. Several ships waited in the harbor as the workers loaded them with ingots and hauls of the precious metals they had extracted from the mountain.

Smoke rose from the sides of the mountain as it brimmed with life. Griffons flew to and from the imposing homes carved out of the stone or planted into the rock. Mansions and small homes amid tall and imponent statues of sitting griffons holding spears and clad in armor as the two imponent guards by the mine’s entrance and their crossed swords. But they were covered in pieces of gold and precious stones just before the snow came and washed the colors away.

The gold in her decorative strands remained as shiny as it was in the day her garment was made for her, but with broken strands and the cold had swept away her vibrant shades of orange. Her crown of golden spikes was gnarled and broken. In the past they had accentuated her golden crest, but now were a testament of the corruption that had taken hold of that place. The tinkling from the golden coins in her bracelets were a mockery of the music they made as she danced, and her dancing sword was nowhere to be seen.

The bells that once indicated the official end of the day’s work changed for the clashing of steel and the swordmaiden’s exultant laugher became the enraged screeches of the undead.

A pained frown took Gilda’s face while she took another step back and her reality turned back to the frozen nesting grounds of horrifically metamorphosed rocs. The summit was covered in snow and all the gold had vanished from the statues that guarded the entrance.

“Now, dance… Swordmaiden.” The monstrous growling neighed and laughed.

The undead gold-clad monster screeched and scowled all the hatred it contained in a foul and cold miasma, dense as the fog amid the tombs. She threw herself at Gilda so furiously and so fast the tan griffoness barely had any time to react. She sat on her hind and held the undead assailant’s attack by her wrists. She was so cold to the touch Gilda let out a cry.

“Wait!” She cried again, standing on her hindlegs not to allow the other to topple her, and when the pain was too much to bear, she shifted her weight and threw the draugr to the side.

It didn’t work, as the undead swordmaiden simply grappled with her again, but this time Gilda let herself roll and threw the other with a hindleg. She barely managed to stand before the monster was already too close for comfort and her talons flashed in front of Gilda’s face. The only thing that kept her from being blinded and having her face shredded was that she managed to grab the other’s paws again.

It screeched at Gilda’s face and freezing drops of saliva pelted her. Before she could even gather her wits, the draugr freed her left paw and immediately reached for Mythical’s hilt behind Gilda’s shoulder.

“Give me!” It screeched when Gilda resisted and finally managed to shove her away with a good amount of effort.

But Gilda sat on the ice with a scared glare at the griffoness that tumbled on the ice. In seconds she was already on her feet again, launching another attack. The undead griffoness screamed with its ragged voice filled with hate, a hateful and wailing cry, like the monster trapped a sorrowful child inside. “Give me!”

Gilda reached for her sword and wielded it, that thing freaked her out enough and it was about time she ended the whole thing. But as she held the sword, standing on her hindlegs, the draugr screeched and lunged at her again. Her terrible screeching betrayed sorrow, and envy. Her eyes, held hostage by the eyrie light of the Windigo’s own, showed an unspeakable pain. Gilda lowered her weapon, holding Mythical across her chest in both paws.

The draugr reached and grasped it in her own paws. It pulled with another terrible screech and her paws ignited the magic inside the blade. Mythical seared the undead’s parched flesh, but she still didn’t let go. She still pulled, with all her significant strength.

Gilda’s distressed scowl softened. She still held the sword with all her strength and resisted the other, but it was not against a fearsome monster anymore.

Guille came out of nowhere. Around Gilda and the undead swordmaiden the fight still raged on, and Gertha’s brother lunged at the draugr. He thrust his sword at her, aiming to trespass her chest side to side. The undead swordmaiden reacted too quickly for even the experienced mercenary. It surprised Gilda, shoving her back. Uncannily fast, she stepped back and hit his face with a quick jab, immediately grabbing his right wrist and twisting it as she wrested control of his weapon, taking it above. She brought it down with practiced ease, slashing across his neck and grinding his chainmail armor. Gilda saw blood on the snow and Guille collapsed with a gurgling gasp.

“No!” She cried, lunging at the draugr before it could harm Guille further, forcing her to defend herself.

She caught the undead’s blade with Mythical when she shoved the lower part of Guille’s greatsword at her face. Gilda pushed her away and Mythical’s shorter blade gave her an advantage. But however memories worked in her state, the undead swordmaiden must have been an exceptional duelist in her time. She caught Gilda’s attack on the heavy sword and stepped closer, shoving Gilda’s sword out of the way.

Gilda closed her eyes and hoped to The Harpy the magic in her jewelry would protect her from the strike to come. But it never arrived. The draugr reached for Mythical again and they fell when her weight toppled Gilda.

“Give!” She screeched and her paws burned again at the blade’s magic, while freezing blood dripped from them, reaching Gilda’s own paws. “Give me!”

Her reflexes led Gilda to hold the draugr’s face in her paw. She barely understood what she had done until her magic had already focused and unleashed with a mighty clash of thunder. Her opponent flew into the air and when Gilda stood, she found her lying motionless on the snow, smoking, and scorched. The light was gone from her eyes, all that remained were the dried remains of an unmoving corpse.

The silence surprised Gilda and a quick glance around the platform revealed panting griffons and unmoving undead monsters… No. Undead griffons, motionless on the snow and ice. The blizzard was gone. The foul-smelling magic too. The Windigo was gone. At least three Sky Sentries laid on the ground, recuperating their strength. But at least four others didn’t move and the deadly scars they showed were also frozen by the evil magic.

But Gilda also found Guile with Gia over him and his sister holding him, crying for him to calm down while Gia complained he was moving too much. He was gasping and there was way more blood than Gilda would’ve liked to see. Gia kept her distance, next to the pony, holding on to the flag, with a barely contained crying grimace.

“Gia!” Gilda cried, lowering herself to her height. Gia’s bloody paws kept the nasty gash at the base of his neck open as she examined it. Suddenly, a gush of red flowed over his already bloody, crimson plumage.

“Oh, shit…” Gia’s wide eyes and frantic grimace painted a grim image. “Shit, shit.”

Meanwhile Grunhilda did her nervous tap-dance across from them with a panicky stare. “Miss Gilda!”

It took Gilda a moment to understand, but then she pointed at the injured griffon and yelled at her thrall. “Stop acting like an idiot and give Gia one of the healing potions!”

“Wait, what?” Gia raised her head. “You still have those?”

The white griffoness obeyed with a nervous yelp and Gia broke open the flask as soon as she had cleaned her paws of the slippery blood. Then she poured all the sparkly, grape colored liquid into his beak in a single long downing.

“Is it working?” Gil whined behind Gia, as Gosalynn held her when she tried to approach.

The miraculous magical concoction did work. First the flow of steaming blood ceased, and the flesh literally began knitting itself as soon as he fell into an easy slumber.

Gilda gasped and smiled. Then she looked at the others. “Is anyone else hurt?”

None of the survivors seemed too bad other than the nasty frostbitten flesh where the draugar weapons had cut them. They looked around, but no one complained. One of the hunters had a vicious cut on his thigh, but it wasn’t letting out gushes of blood and he simply limped, while trying to walk on his four legs.

A rugged fellow covered with a light-gray and white pelt and feathers waved a paw. “No offense, but I’m not dying. I rather let the Loremaster stitch me up than use some pony magic.”

“Fair enough.” Gilda turned back to Guille and he slept peacefully on top of his sister who held him like she was never going to let go again and Gil hugged his waist with a similar sentiment.

Gia washed herself off with the snow. “He’ll be fine. His body should eat up any blood that stayed locked up after the wound closed. He’ll just need a blood transfusion we can get from Gertha. Rest and some meat.”

She blinked at Gilda. “I suppose I should go see that guy the damn birds took off with.”

“You should.” Gilda walked with her, and they hopped to the rocs’ nest. The griffon was still there and so was one of the hunters, examining the roc chick while a Sky Sentry sat next to the blue griffon they had come to rescue. His thorax moved weirdly, but he was still breathing. Gilda stayed with Gia as she examined the tom.

She pawed at his neck, his chest, looked inside his beak, pulled open an eye and pinched him. Then, as Geary approached, Gia started pawing at his stomach after pulling him to lay on his back. His male bits seemed fine, and his pelt had but a few cuts, but was mostly okay on the outside.

Soon enough, the young loremaster clicked her tongue and stood to talk to Gilda. “They crushed his bones while they carried him. It must have punctured his organs and he seems to have lost a massive amount of blood to his internal cavities.”

“Unless you’re willing to part with another healing potion, he’ll be dead before we can even take him back to the caravan.” Gia concluded with a shrug. “I wouldn’t… He may die, even with the potion. It may even meld his bones in all the wrong ways…”

“Well, fortunately for him, I’m not you.” Gilda glared at her, then she signaled for Grunhilda to come. “I swear, Gia… There are greedy griffons, heartless assholes, King Sombra, and then there is you.”

Her green feathers ruffled. “Well, it’s my professional appraisal.”

She still opened the flask and poured the potion into the tom’s mouth anyway. Gia also told Grunhilda and Geary to help her hold him in the right position. Meanwhile Gilda went to the hunter tom next to the roc chick. He had his ear to the little monster’s chest, but stood, sitting right when Gilda approached.

“What’s up with it?” She looked at the infantile giant bird. Quick breaths, unmoving shuddering every now and then. It didn’t even bother with their presence.

“I think it’s sick.” The hunter nodded at the bird. “I think it has pneumonia.”

Gia soon joined them and nodded. “Yeah. Looks about right. It seems very emaciated. I think the parents have been neglecting it.”

“Whatever the Windigo did to them caused this…” Gilda mused, staring at the defenseless and barely alive creature. It had none of the horrific mutations the evil magic twisted its parents with. Not even the long, scaly neck. It just looked like an oversized hawk. A very young one. Alone. About to die because some evil monster with a god complex thought that its parents were mere toys and pawns.

Like that poor young swordmaiden.

Gilda went to Grunhilda and put out her paw. “Give me the last potion.”

“Wait… Wait! What?!” Gia rushed to them, but Gilda mostly ignored her, walking toward the chick with the flask in her beak. “Wait, Gilda! This thing is not only ridiculously expensive, but it might be needed later on!”

“I’m aware.” She spoke the best she could with the thing in the way.

“No! No! Think this through!” Gilda pulled at her wing, but Gilda pulled it away as she walked. “This is the last one! What if I need it?”

“I don’t care.” Gilda growled while the hunter turned the roc chick on its side and pulled its beak open. “We’ll make do. I’m not letting that vile piece of frozen turd take it too. I’ll show them whose time is past. I’ll show them who calls the shots.”

“Wait! What? What are you talking about?” Gia flared her wings. “The Windigo?”

“What?!” Gia cried, almost yelled again. “Do you think it was about you?!”

“I don’t know… All I know is that I’m not letting the evil fucker win.” She held the bulbous base and the tip in her paws to snap it open. Then she carefully poured everything into the large roc’s mouth. It was about half a body larger than a griffon. Hopefully the potion would be enough.

“It would be better to sacrifice it, Gilda.” Gia deflated and her crest bent with her sigh. “You’re not also going to adopt another silly creature, are you?”

Gilda took a second to look at Grunhilda wrapping a bandage around Godwin’s paw before she turned to Gia. “Why not? I’ve kind of adopted you, haven’t I?”

Next Chapter: Requiem for the Astrani Estimated time remaining: 12 Hours, 37 Minutes