Chapter 195

The Queen of Frost walked over the field of battle, or what she was fairly sure the histories would describe as a battlefield. But the truth was… 'This was a massacre.' The bodies of the bafolk were more numerous than she expected. Their powerful leaps made them vulnerable to arrows, and spat stones, while their preference for spears without shields made them easy prey for the tight formations of the orc tribes.

The Green Fist survivors that she used as bait would be incorporated into her Kingdom, with their chief and his core of supporters dead, for good measure Neia intended to break up the tribe into subgroups of others, ensuring that they would blend in like blood on fox fur and disappear as they assimilated.

Ahead of her, across the field, the last holdouts of the bafolk were rallied around the Grand King Buser. "Thalren?" Neia said as her formation spread out in the crane wing formation to surround the last position of the goatmen.

"Yes, My Queen?" he asked, rushing over to kneel before her.

"How are they holding out this long? Are my soldiers unwilling to get close to him?" Neia asked, the bodies of most of the bafolk were in clumps and clusters, their tribal warfare led their people into danger for glory, which made them easily trapped and killed off, and ironically drawing other glory hungry fools eager to prove themselves, to the same end.

He looked up at the white haired woman with her ice blue eyes, her talons were extended out and the light of the day made her off-white, almost blue skin gleam like an angel. "My Queen, he has the Sunder skill, he destroys weapons when he hits them, it makes him very difficult to approach, also his bodyguards are powerful warriors, and they have a small hasty fortification of carts to help keep us from getting too close."

"I see." Neia said and looked over her shoulder, her own bodyguards were now comprised of notable warriors from multiple races. Vijar Rajandala's Zoastian cavalry proved an effective flanking force when properly anchored by infantry, and Neia's promise of securing his lands and a position of authority over other beastmen… along with a reminder that he was stuck on the ground while Olasird'arc, her Magelos, and her Pteropus were not, sealed the deal. Greatness or destruction was an easy choice, and with each race having some vulnerability she could exploit… Day by day, her coalition grew.

But the Bafolk resisted. Surrounded, shot by stones, having poisoned darts dropped from above, arrows launched at them, and the orc hordes with iron discipline surrounding them, and still Buser would not give in.

And now the field was filled with dead bafolk, perhaps half the united tribe, not counting their pregnant females, their old, their young, and the few warriors who made it back to the Grand King's position. With this victory, what remained of the Abelion Hills would almost surely fall into her hands.

The smell of blood was thick in the air, and Olasird'arc's shadow swept over Neia's body before she saw it begin a slow, circling descent. The last holdouts of the Bafolk were some two kilometers away at their encampment, too far even for her to hear the fighting.

Neia rubbed her head where she felt the ridge still forming. 'His blood isn't done with me, more and more, I'm losing what made me human, how far will this go?' She asked, at once ashamed of the twinge of unhappiness at losing what she was, and grateful, even proud, for what the frost dragon did for her.

When he landed at last, she held out a hand, and touched his scales. When she was a human, it felt cool to the touch, but now, it felt more alive, 'warm' in its own way, while others like the orcs, their flesh seemed almost burning by comparison.

"I checked the area beyond, for some reason, the last three tribes have fallen into chaos, they won't be sending aid to the bafolk, no other warriors are in sight, he stands alone." Olasird'arc said and Neia caressed his face.

"My friend, thank you." She said, and meant it in every way she could, "If you don't mind, could you carry me to the last stronghold of the bafolk? I'll see Buser myself. With this, assuming the last don't pose a problem, we should be able to open up trade with the Dark Dwarves and even the Dark Elves. That trade will bring unimaginable wealth in goods to my new Kingdom. There's only one real obstacle left, and I'd like to remove it myself if I can."

Olasird'arc lowered his head to the ground and allowed the Queen of Frost to climb up and sit behind his head, the pulsing power of her dread giving eyes had only grown since her transformation, and as such, carrying her felt proper.

Though he could not explain her uncommon luck. As he took off into the air and her army continued to march toward the last holdouts to ensure there was no escape or shift of fortunes, he thought that over.

'While not all her luck has been good, it's all come out in her favor again, and again, and again. The sudden disappearance of several demihuman chiefs and champions creating conflicts that weakened her neighbors before her coming is almost like a divinely given blessing. I wonder if she is holding out information from me?' He considered it a near certainty that the Queen of Frost had somehow arranged for the deaths or disappearances of several champions, but from his own time as a ruler he knew better than to outright ask about it. 'Even if she did, she would deny it, even to me.'

Her mention of the Dark Dwarves and trade had him curious as well. 'The dwarves I know are master builders, craftsmen of notable skill, in retrospect forcing them to unite with the Quagoans would have been much, much wiser.' It was another failure of foresight in his mind that brought great bitterness to his heart. Perhaps it would have changed nothing when he was confronted by Jaldabaoth, but there was no way to know now that the past was past.

He turned his mind to the task at hand, keeping his eyes sharp and on the lookout, from up above, the creatures fighting so urgently below were mere ants, behind him he could already hear the crows coming to feast on the dead from both sides. 'Birds are the winners of every battle.' He thought with a sense of irony as their calls to their brethren grew louder as ever more joined in the feast which Queen Baraja and King Buser provided to them.

Up ahead over a low rising hill, he caught sight of the improvised fortification. A ring of thick carts protecting multiple tents, the bafolk warriors fought from what passed for improvised high ground, protected by cart walls, at a single entrance the largest of the goatmen fought with vigor.

Weapons shattered and Queen Baraja's warriors would fall back to be replaced with others. Taught to preserve their lives rather than throw them away, they withdrew, albeit reluctantly, to the mocking calls of the Bafolk King.

Instead he found himself dealing with a newly thrust spear, and his wearying bodyguards struggled to hold the line.

Olasird'arc was quick to make a suggestion, "Should I use my breath on them?"

"No," Neia shouted over the wind that battered and roared against her body. "I think I can handle this one myself. It looks like the stories are true, he really can sunder weapons, but that seems to be his whole routine. Go ahead and descend into the camp, I'd rather take their last warriors alive if I can."

As the dragon's shadow alerted them to his coming by its darkness sweeping over them during the light of the fading day, both sides paused to look up.

Neia couldn't help but notice the bright green armor. 'I really like that armor…' She thought at last when Olasird'arc touched ground with an earth shaking roar and the Queen of Frost leapt down from his back.

"Grand King Buser!" Neia called out, "The battle is over, your army is defeated! Submit, and you and the rest of your people will live!"

She held out a hand to allow him to come and offer supplication.

He turned to face her, in the moment that her army seemed to cease its attempts, a brief respite was his, and his warriors took it gratefully, allowing their spear tips to lower to the ground.

The goatman let out a steamy snort from his nostrils, "I have a better idea! You submit to me."

"You're not in a position to make that suggestion." Neia said as the two crossed the open ground between each other. He looked like hell, he'd clearly been using his 'sunder' skill a great deal, he was breathing hard, and despite his bravado, he was in far from the best shape. By contrast, Neia was breathing easy, relaxed, rested, and it showed.

"Huntress of the Wildlands, Queen of Demi-humans… you did defeat my tribe, but as long as I am on these two hooves," he stomped them on the ground and huffed again, leveling his sword at her, "I will never submit to you, a crossbreed of human and non-human, a creature of muddied blood, rejecting you was the smartest thing the humans ever did."

Neia narrowed her eyes, the fullness of her fiery gaze, the icy hatred, the raw loathing and murderous intent poured out of her pupils and into the face of the demi-human that stood twice her height and dared insult her being.

"Then that is all there is to say, Grand King. When I kill you, I will spare your people and make them mine, then they will become greatness, and you will be forgotten." Neia spat cold spit into the churned up dirt, and without another word, the Bafolk King charged.

Neia's bow was out and she put mana into her shot, the arrows loosed faster than she had ever used them as a human, but the Grand King's sword flashed out, batting most of them aside, he ignored the explosive burst of mana and the pathetic damage it caused. 'Archers are easy, get in close and…'

The pain hit his throat, though he didn't see what caused it until the blinding flash ceased to effect his eyes, the Dragonid Queen had gone on the offensive, when his sword batted away her arrow, her talons came out and she jumped into his arms like a child eager to embrace her father.

Only instead, her talons dug into the fur and fleshy hide where the armor met his neck, and her mouth, he caught a glimpse of it before it clamped down on the flesh at his cheek, tearing and rending so that his blood knew the touch of air, he howled in pain, dropped his sword, and grabbed her small body with both hands to tear her away.

The sharp fangs of her teeth carried his flesh and blood with it, as did her talon like fingernails, but little by little, he pulled her loose and threw her back. She spat chunks of him into the ruined ground between their feet, and she drew her bow again. Mana infused arrows pricked like pins as she began to run.

Blood pumped out, and he snatched up his weapon to attack one handed again. But without a ranged weapon of his own, he was forced to run or leap… and he was weary. She led him on a chase, her laughter mocking him and driving him to charge with ever greater recklessness. The pin pricks that hit his limbs began to slow him down, and he started to take them seriously. Avoiding or deflecting them until she ran out of arrows and threw her bow aside. It slid along the bloody ground and the two charged at one another.

Her talons raked along his body as she came in close, inside the reach of his sword, his great size made a massive target, and it was difficult to use his sword. But he still had his other hand, and while droplets of his blood scattered and splattered about, he bore the wounds until he finally got what he sought.

He grabbed her wrist, squeezed it tight enough to draw a snarl of pain from the Queen of Frost, and hauled her bodily off her feet so that she dangled, hung by her arm above the ground.

"You are mine!" He shouted as he held the slender little dragonid aloft, but her pulsing horrifying stare never wavered, he raised his sword overhead to bring it down and cleave her in two at the shoulder.

[Lesser Strength], [Fortress], [Dragonskin]. Neia activated her martial arts, her other hand went up and snatched his sword arm at the wrist and held firm. Then her talons closed in on the tendons, pierced the nerves… and tore them out.

Sudden agony shot through the Grand King, and he released his hold on her in shock. No sooner than her feet touched the ground than she jumped into his chest again, gripping his throat with her fingers facing opposite directions, she pierced the flesh, and tore it open.

The Grand King of the Bafolk, toppled backwards not with a roar, not with a bellow, but with a disbelieving gurgle. Confusion filled his once fierce eyes as his life's blood poured out into the dirt, and with its departure, he died at last.

Neia rose. "The Grand King Buser has been slain by Neia Baraja, Queen of Frost. Surrender, and your lives will be spared!" She announced as the drums of her larger force became far more audible, and the little ring of wooden carts was further surrounded from the outside.

The stillness of their disbelief continued for several seconds as the fallen giant of a Bafolk was simply stared at by those waiting for him to rise up to his hooves again.

But as he failed to rise and the moment stretched out, one by one the bafolk cast down their spears with anger and disbelief, or let them simply slip from their fingers in despair. They made a low bleating-like noise of mourning as the world they knew ended, and a new, unfamiliar one began.

Thalren made his way into the remnants, while the orcs bound bafolk prisoners in thick ropes for the Queen's final judgement, and knelt before the Queen of Frost. "Majesty, there's nothing left but Bladers, the Vah Un, and the Spriggans. If we send word for peace, give good promises, they will submit. Champions or chiefs are dead there, they will destroy themselves, they know this. They will not fight you."

"What about the bafolk settlements?" Neia asked while the last bafolk warriors were led out of sight after being bound.

Thalren thought that over, and while he did, Neia crouched down, picked up the armor at the shoulders, and began to haul it off the fallen bafolk champion and chief.

She set it down, shimmied out of her more crude chainmail armor, and then slid Buser's green colored armor on instead. She felt it conform to her body as only magic armor could do. 'Yes, that feels right somehow, like I belong in this.' Neia thought and sighed with contentment.

"They have almost no one left to defend, we show captives, they submit, we show Buser's head, they swear loyalty. They cannot stop you now. You are Queen of Abelion Hills." Thalren said with a reverential, hushed tone that fairly compelled him to his knees.

"No… we will give it a better name. The Abelion Hills is a name humans gave it, they don't and won't respect it as its own Kingdom if we keep the name they gave us." Neia shook her head, "That is the way of humans, to name it, is to own it… sort of. This will be…" Neia thought about it and picked up the sword once held in Buser's hands, she rested it on her open palm and looked down at the long weapon, it had taken many lives, that much she was sure of. Many lives from many demi-human races over the years of war.

"We will call this land, where all demihumans may belong, 'The Kingdom of Demalbion' and it will be a haven for non-humans. We will make it strong, we will make it great. And nobody will take it from us." Neia said, and hearing her words, the army began to cheer while the birds continued their echoing calls of approval, feasting with glee on the gift of death from the Queen of Frost.

She handed the sword off to Thalren, "Keep it, a gift to commemorate your hard work for me, first of my demihuman followers. This victory wasn't mine, this was ours, all orcs, stone spitters, and the rest, deserve praise for this day."

"My Queen…" He accepted the gift of the blade with reverence, bowing his head, and then raising it up overhead, his large maw opened and his deep set eyes filled with devotion, he bellowed out his praise.

"Kingdom of Demalbion ours! Frost Queen ours! Victory, ours! Hail Frost Queen! Hail Kingdom!"

The call went up, and as it did, Olasird'arc nudged at Neia with his snout.

"You're off to a good start." He said under his breath.

"Aye," she said, glancing back to meet his eyes, "but any good sword arm can build a kingdom, the hard part is ruling it."

Olasird'arc, recalling the loss of his own and the very limited progress he made despite years of effort, did not disagree.

Though it didn't make either of them enjoy the moment of triumph and cheers any less before they went to finish the last remnants off… one way or another.