Cold Snap

Chapter 38

  Cold Snap

The atmosphere was quite festive, Sylas mused, looking about a fairly large hall that now hosted nearly sixty people altogether. He wasn't even aware that the hall existed, but each castle had to have one, he fancied. And this was Ethwar's—it wasn't the largest or the fanciest, but it did its job. Everyone donned their best clothing, though that painted an image that wasn't entirely accurate; after all, most simply wore their cleanest guard uniforms with a leather overcoat due to the fact that it got cold, and it got cold fast.

From when Sylas left Ryne's basement to when the 'ball' began, barely six hours had passed—and yet, the temperature drop was five-six times that number. In fact, Sylas was currently standing by the fireplace, draped in six layers of clothing, and still feeling cold. He was born and bred in Phoenix, after all, and nary saw a snowflake for a good part of his life. The coldest he felt was when he accidentally forgot to adjust a shower.

Though others fared better, likely somewhat accustomed to the cold, it wasn't by much; Valen, after all, stood right by his side, and though the Prince claimed that the two of them ought to stick together, the clattering teeth spoke volumes on the Prince's state. Unlike Sylas, who could wear whatever he wanted, the Prince had certain Regal Customs to obey—he had to wear ornate robes during any public events, and, contrary to their puffed-up looks, they were very light and very cold.

"Who did you decide to make a Captain?" Sylas quizzed, trying to distract himself from the cold by engaging in a conversation.

"Haah, haah," Valen blew twice into his cupped fists before replying. "A veteran guard named Derrek. He's been at the castle for nearly fifteen years and was one of the vanguards during the invasion. I'd seen the man personally and his courage captured me." Sylas pondered bringing up the Tebek issue but forewent it. Despite everything, he was still a Captain, and one of the strongest men in the castle. If the invasion does happen, especially during the winter days, they'll need every strong man they can get.

"Right, did Ryne come to talk to you?" Sylas asked.

"No, why?"

"Oh. Damn, she really is just a girl, at the end of the day," Sylas sighed.

"Just a girl?" Valen scoffed. "She's an Exorcist. Her value here is only short of yours. It would be like saying that you are 'just a man'."

"But I am?"

"Unnecessary levels of humbleness aside," Valen said, looking back at the groups of people that were scattered about, chattering and enjoying the numerous delicacies that the Prince had ordered be laid out on the tables. "A lot has changed in the last month."

"You've worked hard."

"No, it's not just that," Valen sighed, looking back at Sylas. "Cyrs also commented it at yesterday's meeting. The men… aren't as dead-dulled as before. I remember while working in the library, walking out occasionally and the entire castle would just be… dead. Silent. As though abandoned. However, ever since that invasion, and ever since our return from the forest, there's a new sense of life to the place."

"It's easy to restore men's faiths with acts that defy common sense," Sylas said. "Twice now you've proven to them you're larger than your titularity. For the first time in their lives, perhaps, they have a beacon that they can look up to and, most importantly, a beacon that they can see and witness firsthand."

"Oh, you mean all the miracles you facilitated? I feel dirty, honestly, taking credit."

"Don't. I'm very thankful, in fact," Sylas hurried to say—he truly was. The kind of man he was and the way he could help the Prince wouldn't work if he was the face of the whole operation. Even playing the role of the Prophet had to be dulled and reserved to the Prince's immediate circle. "Besides, your face is far more suited for a leader than mine."

"Speaking of my face," Valen's countenance suddenly shifted. "Did you hear? One of the women that used to hurl abuses at me has escaped the castle."

"Oh? Just one?" Sylas quizzed. He'd completely forgotten about that, he realized.

"Others have come numerous times to apologize," Valen said. "But she escaped while we were in the forest."

"… that's bad," Sylas suddenly frowned. "What if she makes it to the nearest town and informs others that you're alive?"

"No, she's very much dead," Valen said confidently. "In order to reach the nearest town, she'd have to cross frigid wasteland that lies between here and the Korta Mountains, and then the mountains themselves. They're terrifyingly cold in the dead of the summer, so you can imagine what they're like in the winter. No, she's probably headed east of here. There's an urban tale that's been circulating the region for a few decades now about the native tribe leaving inside the canyon on the east end."

"Are there?"

"I don't know. Probably not? Regardless, she's unlikely to make it there either, especially since it looks like we're about to get hit by a Cold Snap."

"…"

"Cold Snap is," Valen had come to recognize Sylas' 'what the hell is he talking about?' expression and immediately launched into explaining what 'Cold Snap' meant. "Just a term, really, for fast, snappy, and brutal onslaught of early onset of winter. Though there are levels to it, it's usually marked by an early dip in temperatures, the one we're experiencing right now, and early snow. We still didn't see the last one, but if we do… well. Winter will be painful. Constant blizzards, being buried in three-four feet of snow at a minimum every day, not the mention the fog that descends and blurs everything past a few feet in front of you, on best days. That's why we need to rush the repair of the wall and have Ryne install talismans. If we get caught up in the Cold Snap's blizzard, well…"

"Anyone figured why the Cold Snaps happen?" Sylas asked, curious. Was it just purely a natural phenomenon, a combination of factors well beyond his understanding that come together every once in a while to produce a brutal winter, or was it something more… magical in nature?

"Not that I'm aware of," Valen said. "They're not exclusive to our part of the Kingdom, or even our Kingdom altogether. That's why most people just figure they're the will of the Gods as means of tempering and testing the common man."

"They're not," Sylas said, shrugging his shoulders. "What about the second batch of materials for Ryne that you've ordered?"

"I've paid the fee to use talisman arrays," Valen said. "It cost me and the Baron every last dime we had, even dipping into castle's reserves, but it should be here within a week. I heard that you've been practicing a lot these days. Is it really necessary? I don't expect you to fight, at all, at any point. If it comes down to you fighting, then we would have likely already lost."

"Just as you have your means, I need to have mine," Sylas said, smiling "Besides, there's nothing wrong with a man knowing how to protect himself. I suggest you pick up on it as well."

"I'm already fairly proficient in swordsmanship," Valen said. "But don't have much love for the craft, I'm afraid. Looks like it's time. Will you join me up ahead?"

"I'd rather not."

"…"

"…"

"There is a fireplace back there as well."

"Yeah, but it seems really small. This one's big. Chunky. Warm. Amazing."

"… haah. Fine. Enjoy the foods and drinks, I suppose."

"Will do!"

Valen walked away reluctantly, glancing back at the fireplace once or twice before finally facing forward. Sylas stayed behind, inching ever closer to the fireplace. Most of the logistics flew over his head, and it wasn't just now. He'd participated in quite a few meetings over the last month where they discussed the supplies and the distribution and the myriad of other things. While he understood it shallowly, largely remnants from living on Earth, most of it all escaped him. He had little else to offer besides dying and then knowing what happens between his last save and the point of death. Swordsmanship, past being a quest, was also his attempt to remedy that, however little.

Before Sylas knew what was happening, a lithe figure appeared behind him and he felt a prick of a dagger pressing against his back. He momentarily froze in place but relaxed right after. Though it would hurt to lose the last month of progress, it wasn't as though he couldn't just do it again. He didn't scream, however, wondering what the figure's plan was.

"I've seen you standing with the Prince just now," a clearly faked voice spoke from behind. "Does he trust you?"

"I suppose," Sylas replied casually. "But you'd really have to ask him that."

"I've come to warn you all."

"This is quite a funny way of doing a good dead, with a dagger in the back and all," Sylas mused.

"Save your fancy tongue for the Prince's cock," Sylas' eyebrows twitched for a moment, wondering how the figure extrapolated such an image. "What? No funny retort?"

"No, I'm just wondering whether you're envious and would like your own lips at the Prince's cock. If you'd like, I can possibly arrange it."

"Three days from now," the figure ignored his 'retort' and spoke out after a moment's silence. "During the initial Cold Snap, your castle will be invaded. They will use the cover of the first snow to sneak from the east side where there will be someone to open the east gates for them. I am not certain of their exact numbers, so be prepared."

"What's your name?" Sylas asked casually. Though he was appalled at the warning, what the figure didn't know was that he didn't have just three days to prepare… but possibly a whole month.

"H-huh? What?"

"Your name, you know? The thing other people refer you as?"

"W-what's my name got to do with any of this?! Did you not hear me?! You will be attacked!"

"Yes, yes, let them attack," Sylas said. "I'm more curious about you—who are you, how'd you know they'll attack us, and why are you warning us? Wait—is it truly for the Prince's cock?! Listen, I was really joking beforehand—I, in no way, shape or form claim to have any power over who the Prince gifts his cock to. I truly do not. He is very well guarded with his general."

"…"

"…"

"Do you think this is a joke?"

"A bit, yes," Sylas chuckled, reaching for the table and picking up a glass of wine. "I'll wait near the big hole in the wall first thing in the morning. If you, at all, fancy a chat, come. If not, I'll light a candle as means of gratitude for your warning us, and I'll forget we ever talked. Now, if you'd be so kind as to keep silent, the Prince is about to yapper his speech." Within a moment's notice, the feeling of the dagger at his back was gone, and he could no longer sense anyone behind him. Turning around, there really was nobody there—as quickly as they came, they left twice as quickly.

Shrugging his shoulders, Sylas' make-believe playful expression vanished, replaced by a stern and hardened one. From east? Didn't he say some woman ran off that direction? Is there a connection or is it just a big ol' coincidence? Plus, what do you mean someone on the inside will open the gates?! Just how many fucking traitors can one fucking castle hold?! Jesus... Hoooh. Anyway, daring to invade us… fuck, looks like we'll finally get to test the last month worth of training for all of you lot. Be prepared…