Being good only for flaunting sword skills and an occasional griffon spell, Gilda decided to stay out of the way. She found herself a spot at a respectful distance and sat on the cold stone, letting the hunters and Sky Sentries work, and content to watch.

The former worked on tying the roc chick up to restrain its movements and preparing it for transport. Gilda supposed that part one was getting the creature to the caravan. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but he wouldn’t be getting himself hurt trying to escape with beak, limbs and wings tied. The next step would be to contain it properly in a cage, back with the caravan. More than that, Gia, even after all her complaining, stuffed a bunch of remedies in its mouth. She claimed they would keep their new mascot fast asleep.

Gilda thanked all of them. She couldn’t do it on her own and the griffons were more than ready to help her and the chick. She didn’t have to ask, and they worked quickly. After all, if the creature woke up it would cause all sorts of havoc, and nobody wanted that. Even then, their solicitousness touched her.

Fortunately, nobody except her Loremaster friend complained of her using the last life-saving potion either. Would it work? Could a roc be domesticated? She might have wasted the potion, but she didn’t want to leave it to die, alone and defenseless. In the cold and with no one to take care of it.

While the hunters were busy, most of the Sky Sentries followed Gosalynn into the mine. At least, that’s what the place was, according to her vision. Gilda wanted to go too, but Gosalynn disallowed it. It was probably for the best and the short queen explained she only wanted to make sure the place was clear before they did or decided anything. Only after they were gone, about thirty minutes later, Gilda came to her senses and accepted she was just going to get in the way of the professionals. She thanked herself for not doing anything rash.

The remaining Sky Sentries, and the hunters once they were done with the roc, busied themselves sorting out the battlefield. They inspected bodies, collected weapons and usable items, and then prepared to burn the dead draugar. The melancholic dead trees provided enough wood they could improvise a funeral pyre. Not simply a bonfire, but a raised wooden platform where they started laying the bodies. Not in any hurry, but respectfully.

Grunhilda, Gil and Godwin remained close to her like they were her bodyguards. The thestral too, but at least, she didn’t look like she was on guard duty. For better or worse, the silly flag was there, and Gil still held it next to Gilda like it was her life’s mission.

“Why don’t you go stay with Guille?” Gilda smiled at the lime-colored queen. But she didn’t reply. Gil’s eyes shifted, and she looked away. Gilda stared for a second, but if she wasn’t going to share, Gilda would leave her alone with her thoughts.

It was then Gilda noticed Guille’s sister, Gertha had come to them. The pink mercenary had a small frown knitted onto her forehead and carried something on her back. Her face had taken a few scratches, and her chainmail suffered a few dings. More than Gilda would’ve expected from a bunch of undead griffons. Although, nothing serious as the expression Gertha made when she sat and presented a weapon to Gilda.

“Is it wrong if I take this thing?” Her frown deepened.

It was a crossbow, and it had the structure and shape of a crossbow, but it was built with an exquisite fairing in the shape of griffon wings over the limbs. The parts that tensed the cord which propelled the bolt when released. Polished dark metal made its frame and fairings, as well as the ammunition. It was bulkier than Gilda’s idea of an ideal crossbow, but it was the price for the exquisite and artful relief drawings of a mountain under the clouds. The wing fairings resembled real wings, made of metallic feathers. It even had a trigger, like a pistol, or a musket, when crossbows usually had a much sturdier lever underneath the frame.

Much like Grunhilda’s thunderbow, it was a work of art and a weapon that contradicted common sense. Even more, it had rails holding about ten bolts waiting to fall onto the weapon, locked into place with a spring.

Even at a passing glance, the thing was ridiculously well-crafted, with impossibly minute details and springs too thin to work.

“Wow… This looks… Cool.” She gawked at the thing.

“It is!” Gertha cheered and pointed the thing down, against the ground. Using two talon-like blades to support its weight, she pulled the lever with a metallic sound. It slid effortlessly and the weapon tensed. One of the bolts fell into it and a clack of something locking into place followed. Gertha then pointed the weapon at the ground further away and pulled the guarded trigger under the weapon. A bolt shot from the crossbow and stuck to the ice. Faster than Gilda could process, the weapon was ready to fire again when Gertha redid the process.

“Nifty!” Gilda wasn’t in the mood, but the thing was impressive. She beamed.

“Yeah!” Gertha grinned too. “The secret is in the sliding mechanism that allows a new bolt to fall and primes the firing mechanism. They tried to make this thing work all over the Federation, but military versions need usable power so they can pierce. Because of that, they needed sturdy parts, but they always caught or broke. Pony weaponsmiths tried using magic, but the materials don’t work right and get too expensive or ridiculously heavy. But this thing… It’s… Just wow.”

Gilda held the weapon and contemplated it for a moment. It was much lighter than its build and the materials implied, and it was warm. Not to the touch, but to her magical senses. “This is an Astrani weapon.”

So obvious. They lived in the area before the Windigos came. They were the griffons who built Griffindell and settled the northerner region to become the Nartani. The ones who decided the Windigos would be stopping in the North. That frozen turd came South of Griffindell though. How did that work? It was probably this bastion of undeath that allowed that thing to manifest? Common sense said that was it. So, if they cleared the place, it would stay clean.

They owed it to the Astrani.

“I mean…” The mercenary whined when Gilda returned the crossbow. “This stuff is awesome.”

“Yeah. It is. What’s the issue?”

“Well…” Gertha nodded with a tilt of her head to the side, indicating the griffons laying spears, swords, shields and crossbows along with the bodies atop the pyre.

Before Gilda could answer, one of the hunters, one of the younger ones, approached them with Gia. He pointed at the weapon. “Did you steal it?”

Gertha hummed and looked down at the weapon and then at the griffon. “I kinda did. I took it from a dead… Undead dude.”

“Who cares?” Gia sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s valid battle loot. It’s better than burning it with the bodies.”

But the griffon next to her ignored Gia and her manners.

“This is not stealing. It belonged to someone who has died. They have no family which can be found and there is no record of who they were. It doesn’t belong to anyone but whoever claims it.” The griffon shook his head. “Their shields are a bit too heavy, but their weapons are excellent. There is no point in leaving them to the snowolves. They will serve us as they served their makers.”

He waved at the weapon Gertha held. “This is a prize. It is a recognition of a foe’s strength and a display of valor. There is nothing wrong in taking it or the bolts it fires. Use it with pride. If the original owner could see it, he would be proud. And not the draugr, but whoever they were before the Windigos cursed their soul.”

“Yep.” Gilda nodded. “Sounds fair.”

“Sorry.” Gertha looked at the pyre as a pair of griffons hovered above and deposited a draugr corpse in its armor. “You’re destroying the weapons. I thought there was something wrong with them.”

“They’re not destroying the weapons, you dummy.” Gia had suddenly become brave again as soon as the fight ended. Gilda was of a half-mind to slap her in Gelinda’s absence. “They’re cremating them with the bodies.”

The griffon with her shook his head patiently and explained in solemn words. “When griffons die, we cremate them with their weapons, or any weapon that is available. Loved ones will craft ceremonial weapons, shields. Sometimes even armor and elegant robes. We cremate them so that Mother Harpy will see that Her Children have passed away and she will take them to the Whitescape. They will journey through the Eternal Winter to the Stormy Eyrie and along the way the servants of the Windigos will hound them. We send them with their weapons, so that they can fight their way back Home.”

“This is not the story you heard in the South, is it?” His voice didn’t carry any accusation whatsoever, but a smidgeon of contempt. Gilda and Gertha acquiesced quietly. “It is Our Mother’s commandment. We are born, we fight, we die, we fight again. We never yield. Our enemy must not win. This land belonged to our forefathers. It is ours and it will belong to our children. The Windigos have simply occupied it.”

While the Sky Sentries laid their fallen comrades along with the draugar and the weapons, the griffon talked with a soft stare at Gilda, but it hardened when he aimed his eyes at the thestral. “The ponies don’t own it either. It is ours. Our Mother made it and gave it to us. All Griffonia will be ours, and whole under Our Mother again. Our blood defends these lands, and the Frozen North and the Whitescape will go back to what they were. Griffonia will go back to the glory of Emperor Grigor. The Hader will be ours again. I speak with the voices of all my people: there will be no compromises.”

The batpony had a frown over the griffons working on the funeral, and turned slowly to stare at the griffon talking to her. She didn’t respond, though. Instead, she simply kept her eyes down until the griffon left.

“I hate undead creatures.” Moonbow sighed with her ears hanging from her head. “Necromancy is just evil. Both to the dead and to the living.”

Gilda didn’t say or do anything. Gia had her blank expression and Geary sat close to Gilda and Gertha. “You should take whatever you need. It’s okay. Just don’t take it from the pyre and don’t overdo it. I think that a spear would do you some good, Grunhilda.”

Gertha nodded and so did Grunhilda, also watching the griffons work.

“Do you think this is how we’re going to end?” Gil finally said something, not taking her eyes from the griffons. “The Windigos will just freeze us to death and revive us into monsters?”

“No.” Something inside her head told Gilda the answer was a resounding ‘no!’. She couldn’t put her talon on what gave her such certainty, but she was sure. She kept her eyes on the working griffons as they poured oil over the bodies. Thick and yellow, it penetrated the gaps between bodies and items, eventually dripping to the frozen stone. “No, we’ll beat the Windigos.”

Gosalynn’s return with her Sentries stopped the conversation. The griffons leaving the passage under the statues brought an injured Sentry along. Fortunately, it didn’t seem serious, but Gia rushed to meet them, as did the other Sentries that had stayed outside. Gilda, however, waited for Gosalynn to come to her once she was ready.

The way Gil straightened up to hold the pole with the silly flag made Gilda smile, and Gosalynn smiled at the lime queen before acknowledging Gilda. She was dirty with dust and looked tired, brushing some spiderwebs from her armor before she sat next to Gilda.

“Do you need anything?” Looked at her.

“No. Thank you.” The short griffoness took a long sip from her bottle of watered-down mead, nodding at the entrance under the guarding statues. “It’s a mine, alright. An Astrani mine. There is a city by the mountain’s foot, covered in snow and probably filled with draugar too. Maybe worse creatures.”

“But inside, the mountain is awe-inspiring.” Gosalynn smiled. “Living quarters, communal areas, the mine itself and a giant blacksmith. It’s like another city inside the mountain. And I think it has a flashforge. Lady Gwendolen is gonna gush over this place. We gotta get it in working order again.”

“So, it really is Astrani…” Gia mused.

Gosalynn gave a tired sigh, gesturing to the area around them. “There are countless ruins around the region. More and more the further north you go. Mostly husks of settlements… Useless archaeological remains of their cities. But this place is special. The mountain must have protected it from the environment. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the inherent magic of the flashforge. But right now, it's crawling with draugar.”

“If we kill the draugar…” Gia started, and her grin became larger as she spoke. “We can sell the weapons, the armors and everything.”

“Sell to whom, genius?” Gilda glared. “The ponies?”

“This belongs to Lord Graham. He has the first pick after us and he will take care of the rest.” Gosalynn, despite her tiredness, spoke with closing finality. “No trophies or selling. I swear, if I ever found out anyone has sold a single piece of these weapons, I will hang them. These weapons are sacred. This place is a hallowed ground where our ancestors lived… It could be a flashforge. It’s surreal how important this place may turn out to be. We must clear it. It’s our duty. Just not right now…”

As the captain spoke, one of her subordinates approached them and she let him talk to Gilda. A middle-aged sand-yellow and white guy, carrying something in his beak. He took it on his paw and offered it to Gilda. “We took it from the Swordmaiden draugr. We decided it should be yours.”

She took it, holding the chain on her fingers. A delicate set of golden chains made a shiny ribbon with a pendant resting on her paw, but she let it hang. It was the same Astrani craftsmanship she witnessed before. A griffoness holding her wings spread open, standing on a hindleg, and pushing her dancing sword upward, where it held to the chain. Outstanding details on her feathers and her tail, while her eyes were a pair of delicately cut orange gems. Her beak was open in an exultant cry and Gilda could even see the strain on her muscles. It was exquisite, otherworldly and beautiful. Sensuous and sensual like a dancing Swordmaiden.

“There are too many of them and we can’t keep the caravan waiting.” Gosalynn took another quick sip from her watered-down mead bottle. “We’ll mark this on a map, and I’ll ask the Frozenlake Sky Sentry to come clear it.”

She silenced once the griffons set the funeral pyre on fire. The fire caught quickly on the oil and spread, raising a black smoke the wind carried away. Gilda frowned at the bright yellow flames and the murky fumes, watching it past the jewel she held. “Please don’t. I want to return to this place and help clear it myself.”

“Alright.” The short one responded in a breath. “Fair.”

The whole thing burned and radiated a comforting wave of warmth that took away the cold. The oil, the armor pieces. The spears, swords and shields. All set ablaze. The bodies quickly blackened, but the smell wasn’t as unpleasant as Gilda remembered. Instead of a cruel execution, the flame shone with a gleam of liberation. The wooden structure burned too. The flames reached high, and the wind took away the ashes as the fire both cleansed and elevated their mortal remains.

Griffons stopped working, and even the ones that tended to the wounded stopped to watch. One of the female Sentries pulled out a small chord instrument she played with her talons. She extracted twanging notes into a melancholic melody at first. Then she ran her talons along the strings and the result was a high-spirited crying of notes coming and going. Similar to a violin, but more like the wind between the mountains.

Nothing fancy. No whoops, no high-pitched squeals, or complex rhythms. Just the sorrowful melody of the wind as though it followed her lead. The rhythm of creaking flames, and powerful male voices, enunciating and projecting the syllables filled with emotions.

Generosity was broken,

Kindness merely a token.

Forsworn they had Loyalty,

No Laughter in their halls of royalty.

For lies they have traded Honesty,

Their Gift of Magic but a travesty.

The Ancient Pact broken,

An Oath jestly spoken.

Cursed our land in hatred untold,

Did the great Unicorn Kings of old.

Sun and Moon for themselves they wanted,

All the land under the heavens daunted.

A storm in the sky,

The heart never shy.

Our blood to the field,

This land never to yield.

Sorrow and scorn. Old tales and ancient memories. Remembrance and vindictiveness.

“I will free this place, sister. One ruin at a time. One tormented abomination at a time.” Gilda whispered to the small golden dancing griffoness in her paw. Past it, the dead bodies contorted in a macabre dance. She took a deep breath and snapped the clasp shut behind her neck. The jewel was meant to be worn as a choker and it fit around her neck comfortably enough it wouldn’t inconvenience her, but she wouldn’t forget it was there.

After a long while of griffons watching the flames in silence, the fire cleansed and consumed everything. The wind washed away all the ashes and nothing remained on the cold stone.

Gosalynn finally broke the silence. “We ought to return. The caravan can’t linger for long.”

Griffons helped carry the bundles of weapons that had been left apart and the hunters strapped themselves to four ropes securing the infant roc. They spread their wings, beating them softly in warming exercises as the others finished preparations to leave.

Finally, the group took off. The griffons carrying the roc struggled, but overcame their burden before long. They gained altitude, but Gilda remained and took a deep breath. All the oppressive magic was gone, and the air flowed easily into her nares to fill her lungs. Even if the place was still taken by undead griffons inside the mountain. The Windigo really was gone. She doubted it was dead, though.

Good… The monster should have killed her. She had a track record of things making her stronger.

“Are you okay, boss?” Gertha walked closer to Gilda with a smile. Gia, Grunhilda and the thestral pony followed.

“I don’t know…” All that surrounded them were Her Mother’s soothing stormy sky and the peaceful white of the virgin snow. The charred bones of the two dead rocs remained and attested the creatures too were free of their torment. “I’m not sure. I can’t put a talon on it, but I feel… Rattled.”

“Well, those things were pretty scary.” Grunhilda gave her a reassuring bump with her body.

“I don’t think that’s the problem, Grunhilda.” Gertha smiled.

“Do I pay you to be my shrink too?” Gilda gave her a snarky grin and the other returned in kind.

“Eh…” The mercenary shrugged and closed her eyes. “With how much you pay me, I’m willing to bet you probably do.”

“Wait…” Gilda blinked a couple of times. “How much am I paying you?!”

“I don’t actually know either.” Gertha chortled and covered her beak. “I do know what griffons say about you and that you have memories from your past lives, or something like that. Freaky… But… Uh… Did you remember something creepy? Like… Was she… You? Or were you her?”

“No…” Gilda shook her head slowly. “That’s not it. I don’t know how these monsters work either, but I don’t think that I would be here if she was me in another life. I mean… I suppose I need my soul, so it’s not trapped inside an undead monster…”

“But…” Gilda’s paw touched the small pendant hanging from her new choker. “It hit me… The magnitude of the problem. Of the Windigos… Whatever happened that caused them to take this land as theirs. The Astrani… They did such great things, but the Windigos destroyed it all.”

Gilda gestured to show something miniscule. “I am this close from convincing myself that everything bad that’s happened is their fault. I want to avenge the Astrani. Take back our land. Beat those frozen turds, monster by monster, and see Snow Mountains the way it was before the Windigos. See griffons able to return to the Stormy Eyrie without having to fight their way through the Windigos and their spawn.”

“How would that even work?” Gia rolled her eyes. “When a griffon feels like it’s about to croak, he’s supposed to buy an airship ticket to the Stormy Eyrie? You know it’s actually a physical place, don’t you? Can you imagine? It’s full of dead griffons waiting to be reborn. Or something. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense under scrutiny.”

“I’m just a stupid Griffonstonian catbird that got her home burned and was arrested for punching a kid!” Gilda put a paw on her head. “I’m rambling my dumb bird brain out. Does any of that make any sense?”

“It makes enough sense that I feel like letting you pay me to help you kill some frost monsters, Boss.” Gertha nodded softly.

Changed the chapter's ending. Removed a bit of conversation that didn't really add more than awkwardness.