The snow and ice crunched under Brynwolfn’s feet as she made her way over the mountain. The sun was only hours away from setting, and as she looked at the horizon she knew that if she turned around within the next few minutes, she would likely make it back to the nearest entrance tunnel before dark. If she kept going, she would be forced to either make her way back across icy cliffs and slopes in total darkness, or try to find enough shelter from the wind to survive camping for a night on the mountain’s face as the temperature plummeted. 

But Waybreaker was only days away from completion, and she was headed to the last spot where her clues could possibly be pointing, so she either needed to find what she was looking for on this trip, or admit defeat and go back empty handed with no means of completing her plans to break Keledrain’s grip on her people. She shifted the pack on her shoulder blades and continued forward. 

She knew the destination she was looking for couldn’t be too much farther now because of the supply requisite forms from eighty years before that. It may have been a different general and a different Faraluken in those days, but some things never changed, and she knew exactly how to calculate the quantities on a supply requisite form based on the number of warriors in the unit, and how far they intended to travel for their mission, training or not. Thanks to the number of requests for helmets on the requisite form, she had a reliable headcount, so she had no trouble figuring out the intended distance from there. With every step she took, she was certain she was near where the Lost Warriors had been sent. 

Of course finding the clues that had brought her this far had been both difficult and risky. She knew from Brekoth’s reaction during their last conversation that it would be unwise to be too obvious in her search for information about the Lost Warriors. The general sentiment among the Hulfraust was that Keledrain’s network of spies and secret police among the dwarves had fallen apart more than a generation ago, either from turning on each other or simply from Keledrain’s neglect. After all, she seemed to believe that simply the memory of the fear she caused for decades would still be enough to keep her subjects in line indefinitely. Though the possibility of this crumbling of power seemed plausible to Brynwolfn, there was far too much at stake for her to go carelessly testing that theory. So she had been careful. 

Rather than asking around about the Lost Warriors or trying to find records kept by the army’s historical documents, she began searching for periods of missing information in records kept by the various guilds. To her delight, she found that Brekoth’s wisdom had held true. Sometimes silence did indeed speak louder than anything else. Brynwolfn had found a two month period from eighty years before where all of the records for every guild had been pressed smooth and blank. Two months had simply been erased from Hulfraust history. But Brynwolfn didn’t need those two months exactly if she could look at what happened before and after. 

In the end, it was the Tanners Guild that provided Brynwolfn with her next breakthrough. Though one of the less prominent guilds, their records were exactly what Brynwolfn needed. There was a steady demand for leather goods among the Hulfraust, so the supply from one year to the next tended to be consistent as well. On top of that, they wasted very little, and they didn’t frequently use resources for experimentation and development like the blacksmiths and alchemists did, so their output almost always matched their input. So when Brynwolfn spotted a large discrepancy in the Tanners Guild’s annual inventory report from the year before the event and the annual report from the following year, she felt a thrill of excitement. 

Six tanned and treated canvases of mammoth goat hide had been written off as a loss, which made no sense under normal circumstances. Theft was incredibly uncommon among the Hulfraust nation, and mammoth goat hide wasn’t particularly valuable without being fashioned into something first. One canvas alone could be damaged by a careless apprentice, but even then it was unlikely that the entire canvas would be written off as a total loss. A single canvas sheet of mammoth goat hide was typically between ten to twelve feet long and between eight to ten feet wide, so even if half the canvas was ruined, the rest could still be cut into smaller pieces and used elsewhere for the guild to trade and get some value out of. Writing off even one mammoth goat hide seemed out of character for the Tanners Guild, and six seemed absurd. 

Fortunately, Brynwolfn’s decades of experience moving through the ranks of the Hulfraust army helped her piece together that mystery as well. She had served as a quartermaster for a number of years, and she knew that although mammoth goat hide could be used for making several things, there was really only one common use for an entire sheet of mammoth goat hide canvas recorded as a single inventory item, and that was making tents big enough for the army to use in their outdoor training exercises. With each tent built to shelter four dwarves, and six canvases written off, Brynwolfn finally had an idea of how many warriors she was looking for. If her hunch was right, at some point during those two months of erased history, twenty-four warriors set out with six borrowed tents, but they never returned. 

The fact that the tents must have been borrowed instead of bartered was also telling. The Hulfraust army was tight and efficient with its funds, and it always had plenty available for its needs. That meant that if someone was borrowing expensive equipment like new tents, then they must have been trying to conduct a military operation off the books, without the need to make purchases that would arouse suspicion. Calling in favors, subverting the official chain of command, and then failing to follow through on compensation was the kind of careless, selfish behavior that lived up to the reputation of Keledrain and her spy network. 

Brynwolfn was abruptly pulled out of her own thoughts and back into the present as she slipped on an unusually slick piece of ice, landed hard on her side, and began to slide down a treacherously steep slope. She acted with a speed that would have left an onlooker wondering if she had choreographed the slip intentionally into a kind of brutal dance she had learned by heart. The reality actually wasn’t far off from that. Dealing with slips and tumbling down slopes was one of the most common exercise drills that Brynwolfn practiced along with her Faraluken. “Finding yourself on the ground is inevitable,” she would always tell them, “but finding yourself helpless and vulnerable on the ground is a lack of preparation.” 

Brynwolfn fluidly unclipped her malvapn from her belt and slammed the Thump end down hard on the ice in front of her, creating thick cracks in the ice and propelling her up from the ground and into a crouching position. She then spun around and brought down the Click axe head of the malvapn into the cracked spot of ice, which she had nearly slid away from already. It drove deep into the ice, and Brynwolfn’s firm grip on the handle brought her to an immediate stop. The strain left an ache in her right shoulder, but she had saved herself from the sheer rocky dropoff only a few yards further down the slope. 

She retrieved a metal spike from the side of her pack and used it and her malvapn to carefully make her way back to the top of the slope. Once she was back on stable footing, she stood and brushed the snow, ice, and dirt off her clothes and armor. She didn’t waste time staring down at the ravine or congratulating herself. After all, this was what she trained for. She continued forward, stepping more carefully as the daylight began to dim. 

Brynwolf’s thoughts went back to one of her earliest training exercises during her first year in the Hulfraust army. Her instructor was a gray haired member of the Faraluken named Vistadth, and he pushed Brynwolfn further than she thought possible. One day she had lashed out from exhaustion and demanded to know if he had been trained so hard when he had first started. 

She remembered how Vistadth had grown still and distant at the question, until he finally replied, “Not all of us were lucky enough to have a whole Faraluken to train them. You don’t know how lucky you are that you don’t have to figure this all out on your own.” After that, he had doubled down on the intensity of Brynwolfn’s training, and she hadn’t questioned him again. 

Brynwolfn never did understand what he had meant by his comment, but now decades later, it started to add up. She realized that Vistadth had probably joined the Hulfraust army right around the time that something had happened to the Lost Warriors, and if the Lost Warriors had actually been the Faraluken of that time, their disappearance would have had far more devastating effects than Brynwolfn first suspected. It would have left the entire nation feeling vulnerable and afraid, and it would have robbed the rest of the Hulfraust warriors of their trainers, their role models, their heroes. 

The thought that Keledrain had managed to not only survive such a scandal, but to entirely cover it up with only the commanding weapon ritual as a consequence sent a shiver through Brynwolfn. Her grip on the Hulfraust in those days, and the reach of her secret police, must have been tighter and farther reaching than Brynwolfn had even considered. She realized there may be more dangerous about this mission of hers than just the cold exposure of the quickly approaching night. For the first time, she questioned whether she should simply head back. And then she spotted the ruins. 

Though Brynwolfn had been unsure of what to expect, she had never imagined she would find what appeared to once be a whole town of stone homes and buildings right there on her mountain. There was no record of something like this on any of the Hulfraust maps or charts. At least, there was no record of it in her day. 

As she looked across the scene of collapsed roofs, cracked walls, and fallen doors, everything looked utterly desolate and dead. Except for one small yellow and orange flag that flapped in the wind on the end of a pole. Surely it was a sign that someone must have been here within the last two or three days at the most. 

Brynwolfn tore her eyes away from the flag as she heard the crunching of ice nearby. She turned, and then she and a tall, dark skinned stranger spotted each other at the same time. She made no sudden moves, but kept her right hand close to the belt clip where her malatol hung ready for her to use. The stranger held a small shovel in his hand, and while he seemed surprised to see Brynwolfn, he didn’t seem alarmed or show any sign of a threat. If anything he looked somewhat… embarrassed? 

“Oh, ah, hello,” he said. “Are you an old friend of Mendoji’s too?” 

*** 

Tarun couldn’t help but feel rather awkward as he escorted the woman who had introduced herself as Brynwolfn towards the inner sanctum to meet Mendoji. Every time they exchanged words with each other, he was keenly aware of the shovel in his hand and silently hoped that she would continue to not ask about it. 

He and Mendoji had been there at the monastery for three days and nights before Brynwolfn had arrived, and after all the funeral rights had been completed during the morning of the second day, the stay had actually been quite peaceful and pleasant. They had patched enough of the holes in the walls of the inner sanctum that it stayed relatively warm at night, and they had enough food and supplies to last them at least another four or five days if they felt the need to stay that long. 

Mendoji had spent the majority of his time trying to access rooms and buildings that he hoped would contain records that might provide insights about Shon’s staff. Tarun helped however he could, and when there were no doors to pry open, walls to climb, or roofs to lower himself through, Tarun found that he quite enjoyed the quiet solitude there on the mountain. He could see why the monks had chosen to build their monastery here. 

There was one significant point of inconvenience though. Between the spiritual nature of the place, and the knowledge of how many had died there, Tarun knew the entire monastery grounds were hallowed and special. This meant that any time he felt the need to relieve himself, he wasn’t comfortable doing so until he felt he was sufficiently far away from the borders of the monastery. And he had just finished burying the evidence of his presence with the shovel in his hands before heading back to the monastery and encountering Brynwolfn. He really hoped she wasn’t aware of what the shovel was for. Or if she did, he hoped she would continue to feign ignorance. 

“We’re nearly there,” Tarun said for the third time. “I imagine Mendoji will be glad to meet you. Did you say this was your first time traveling to this monastery?” 

“It is,” Brynwolfn replied. Tarun noticed her accent and figured she wasn’t speaking the language she was most familiar with. Her words were fluid and confident, but every now and then she would pause and tap rhythmically on her weapon, as if it helped her to search for the right word to say. “Though I believe that some others of my people may have traveled this way many many years ago.” 

“I wonder if they might have met anyone that Mendoji knew?” Tarun said brightly. He then added in a more somber tone, “I’m afraid he’s the only monk left now.” 

“Yes, that would seem to be the case,” she said, nodding. “I cannot imagine his home could have fallen into such a state if there were more hands to help with the cleaning.” 

“Oh you can’t blame him for that,” said Tarun. “He actually hasn’t been here for a long time. Would you believe this has been his first time back in more than eighty years?” 

Brynwolfn looked at him with an odd expression that he couldn’t quite read. “You don’t say? That is quite interesting. I look forward to asking him more about it.” 

“I might actually suggest saving questions like that for the morning,” said Tarun. “It’s a sensitive topic for him with many unpleasant memories. It might not be the best conversation immediately before sleep.” 

“Do you mean to say that you are inviting me to sleep here for the night?” Brynwolfn asked. 

“Of course,” Tarun replied. “There is no other suitable shelter from the cold for several miles, and we wouldn’t dream of turning you away.” 

“That is most hospitable of you,” said Brynwolfn. “I gratefully accept.” 

Just then, they arrived at the large door to the inner sanctum. Tarun could tell that Mendoji already had a fire going in the hearth in the middle of the building, because he could see the shafts of light escaping through the remaining cracks in the wall piercing out through the gloom in the growing darkness outside. 

“Would you be willing to wait out here just a moment?” Tarun asked. “We obviously weren’t expecting any company, and I just want to make sure he isn’t in the middle of a meditation or some other ritual. I’ll be right back.” 

*** 

Mendoji had been surprised, yet strangely delighted when Tarun told him about an unexpected visitor he had met at the borders of the monastery. He didn’t realize there were any settlements close enough for anyone to journey to the monastery in a single day. He wondered if they might have a village nearby where he could try some of the regional foods that he had remembered enjoying so much as a boy. 

He stood up from the ground as quickly as his old, stiff joints would allow him, straightened his robe the way he had been taught as a young monk, and walked to the door, opening it wide for their visitor. 

Mendoji had been thinking of something gracious and welcoming to say, but the moment the door opened, all the words fell from his mind like snow knocked loose from a heavy roof. His heart dropped down to his stomach, and he felt dizzy as the entire room around him seemed to tilt and sway. His breath became short and shallow. 

The style of armor, the broad stature, and that damnable weapon on her belt were unmistakable. She was one of them. She belonged to the same group of screaming berzerkers that massacred his monastery.