Talk About Breaking the Ice

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Closed to Rehtul and Sugar

Two miles south of Underwood

Shinsou Vaan Osiris considered that he had a few redeeming qualities. Of those, he knew patience was his greatest one.

This was why he was perched on the crest of a hill in Corone, in the middle of the night, with a squad of six Brotherhood men and women around him. Slightly ahead of his own forces, down in the gulley where the road dipped before rising towards his position, were a further six Radasanthian soldiers. Cautiously aware of their counterparts atop the hill, they waited silently.

There was to be an ambush of an illegal goods convoy headed from Radasanth to Tylmerande, and the operation was to be the first joint one between the Brotherhood and the Radasanthian Assembly’s own lawkeepers. It was a small scale task that would, in reality, test few of the “specials” that populated Althanas, but nonetheless it was one that Shinsou Vaan Osiris took seriously. He knew it was a test deliberately designed to test the co-operation between his militia and the government. The Telgradian had learned that in order for the Brotherhood to survive, there had to be a little give and take with the authorities that he had so often challenged. Reparations of relations, for one, would ensure his militia’s survival in a changing world.

There were no campfires lit or pickets out; secrecy would be the order of the day. Annoyingly, there had been moonlight an hour ago over a familiar road between Underwood and Radasanth, but this had had been displaced completely by heavy cloud that brought even heavier rain. As the saturation of the beating weather pulled down his white trenchcoat around him, Shinsou felt his shoulders sag.

“Nothing yet, sir,” was the whispered message from his right-hand.

“Probably delayed by the rain.” Shinsou replied, his golden eyes never once moving from the crest of the meandering track below and ahead of them. “Bad for them, good for us.”

The downpour’s timing was perfect; it would wash the roads and fields, making the dirt track and surrounding areas hard for the convoy to defend and manoeuvre around. It served to mask their presence and ensure the ambush worked. There would be four or five hours before the sun rose and by the time anyone figured out what had happened, the trophy pushers from Dhethain would be long since in lockup.

It was at that moment a bright orb of white lazily peeked above the road ahead; a beacon of light shining before a horse led train. The steeds cantered steadily, eyes using the light to seek deepened puddles and potential footfalls. Chains and wood clattered as the carriage wheels struggled to grip the track.

Party time.

Tonight, the Telgradian would not intend on getting directly involved, instead depending on his Brotherhood men to carry their weight. While the government had tested him, he in turn chose to use this as an opportunity to test the newer blood of the Brotherhood. So, on his direction, the six Brotherhood soldiers flanking him leapt into action. They filled his periphery as they filed out, down and around the road, separating into two opposing lines of three and eventually settling on their bellies in the mud aside the route of the convey. Behind them were the Radasanthian guards, who divided themselves into two rows of three just the same.

All twelve pairs of the joint task force’s eyes settled upon their prey as they drew closer. The lamplight of the convoy painted them in their true colours; brown cloaks hid the tell-tale pale green attire of the merchants. The men and women of the wagon train were soaked from every inch of their bitter journey, preferring to walk alongside the wagons than hitch a ride where they would have been more comfortable. Shinsou found himself bemused by this - it seemed a dead giveaway that they deemed their cargo more precious than their own wellbeing, and the Telgradian wondered to himself how their trains had not been ransacked before by the many opportunists that patrolled near the woods.

They’re definitely not from around here. Even the dumbest smugglers know to keep a low profile near Underwood.

Then, as if on a divine que, chaos set in.

The rain had beaten the sloping mud path into submission, so much so that the trail had become mud soup. The hooves of the great steeds couldn’t grip and began to stumble. The traces and chains and the hollow rumbling of rickety wooden wheels of supply carts were violently replaced with the crashing of tonnes of brass, iron and timber. Shouts of confusion and despair erupted from the numerous merchants, who could only watch as their goods were scattered across the marshland and their carts overturned. The Brotherhood and Radasanthian soldiers moved as if in ballet, a perfectly choreographed pincer; each row of six circling around the spilled contraband. They screamed blue murder at the merchants, thrusting swords, lances and god knows what else in their direction until they simply submitted out of blind fear.

Within two minutes, the entire thirteen strong convoy was bound, gagged and kneeling at the side of the road whilst the Brotherhood and Radasanthian men and women began sifting through the goods and taking inventory. Shinsou, his white greatcoat trailing his form, marched down the hill and up to his most senior officer.

“Anything worth our time here?” The Telgradian asked, his soaked brown bangs pressed almost over his eyes. “And is anyone claiming responsibility for leading this circus?”

“No obvious ringleader – they’re at least smart about that - so we’re handing them over to Radasanth for questioning. As for anything worth our time, there’s one thing.” The sergeant responded, “Better follow me.”

The sergeant led the Telgradian to the closest wagon, whose cargo was still somehow contained within. With a sharp kick from the soldier, the door of the ruined carriage slammed open and Shinsou stepped into the gap. He looked, for a moment, at what he thought was a crystalline statue, and knelt next to it. As he brushed his hand past the smooth blue coating, a vicious chill bit at his skin and the Telgradian pulled it back immediately.

“Whoa. What the fuck is this? Ice? Some sort of ice sculpt-…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes swivelled and met another pair of eyes underneath the thick, crystal layer.

Well, shit.

“A person? Or…” He scrambled to find the right words, cognizant of the cold air across his wet clothes. Shinsou closed his eyes for a moment, focusing his senses on the core of the frozen ornament in front of him. “Something alive, anyway. I can definitely sense life.”

“Beast trafficking, maybe?” The sergeant queried, stroking his chin. “Perhaps they froze it for transport. Better than sedating and gives better protection, I’m guessing.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t sense anything animalistic in there. Something more intelligent…” Shinsou tapped the ice gently with the hilt of Enpera. The recoil was stiff and had absolutely no give at all. “This looks and feels like it’s been created with magic. The layers are too smooth; the ice too thick and frigid.”

“Can you cut through it?” The sergeant asked. “Sword or dark matter?”

Shinsou shook his head. “No, too much of a risk. Enpera could slice right through and my dark matter is too crude to be useful. This one is out of my hands. It needs someone…”

As he trailed off, it was then that the Telgradian sparked an epiphany.

“Wait. I know a guy back in Radasanth who might be able to help. Specialises in the cold elements, and I know I can trust him to keep this ‘in house’. Sergeant, please run it by our government friends outside; if they don’t like it, convince them to. I need him at Whitevale as soon as he can make it down.”

The sergeant nodded, pleased that he would be back on the other side of the cramped wagon. As he turned, his face was licked by the cold rain, but he didn’t get fat.

“Oh, sergeant?”

“Yes, sir?”

“…See if a few of the Radasanth boys fancy carrying this to Whitevale for me?”

The sergeant smiled. “With pleasure, sir.”

***

Whitevale

In the now frigid air of his Whitevale office, at the heart of the Brotherhood’s headquarters in Corone (a place one could only reach through invitation), the ice statue rested upon a podium. A bespectacled man, dressed in benevolent white and with curious royal blue eyes and hair, pondered around the living sculpture from all angles without a word. As Osiris watched him with keen eyes, he sat his cloaked body further back into the upholstery of his chair.

"We picked it up after a sting operation on a group of Dhethain-based smugglers the other night.” Shinsou began to explain, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Whatever is inside is alive, barely. I figured as you’re – number one - somewhat of an authority on ice elemental magic, and – number two – well connected in Radasanth, you’d be the man to ask for help.”

A moment passed before Shinsou tacked on, altering the pitch and intonation of his voice “Aside from the obvious “get the thing out of the ice ” situation, are we dealing with a new trafficking ring? Around these parts, mid-Corone, we’re familiar with a number of well known smugglers. You get used to the methods. But these guys seemed out of place; they flanked the convoy and made no attempt to hide the value of the cargo, and so on. I bet a gold coin to a pale of shit that these guys are new here in Corone, and news travels fast. You heard anything from the guild about them? Any requests for business? Protection?”

Shinsou lolled his head back as a guard entered the office with freshly brewed tea for the pair. He set the tray down on the desk between the Telgradian and Rehtul, and left. Shinsou filled both cups from the china decanter, savouring the aroma of bergamot and lemon, and pushed one towards the mage.

“Please, help yourself to some tea. It’s good shit, imported from Irrakram.”