The Butcher of Gadobhra

"The beast is unhappy, complaining, and struggling against us."

Callendish Maer's face held a wry smile as he replied, "Of course it is. It's a Dragon. They are vain and pompous creatures, assured of their place at the top of the food chain. A Dragon hates to be confined, controlled, ordered about or told what to do by anyone, even by another Dragon of greater rank. This one in particular has an overinflated hubris. It's pinned beneath hundreds of tons of rubble and can't move. The only food it gets is from us when we release a creature in front of it that it can snatch with its tongue. It still complains constantly, and asks for barrels of caviar, veal, halflings in cream sauce, and marinated elves grilled medium rare."

"But, I think..." Further conversation ended as the journeyman wizard's tongue froze in his mouth.

"Go feed it the two prisoners we took in our last raid upon the Fire Mage's tower. Maybe it will appreciate some spicy food. And increase the amount of mana the conduit is feeding into the beast. I'm anxious to end this part of the project and begin our conquest." Callendish had pressing business at home, not the least of which was dealing with an Icewitch. He hoped their next meeting was as memorable as their last.

Callendish Maer had spent the last three centuries studying Wizardry in Hyperborea. The sudden onset of a Winter in the decadent Southlands had meant nothing to him until the Frozen Council had approached him and offered him a position in the host. He turned them down. Glory and battle meant nothing compared to the study of magical forces in his icy tower of rock and steel. And the South had horrible weather! He preferred the North where the winds were hard and sharp, cutting into your lungs like a dagger.

The Council paid him the honor of a personal visit to his tower but failed again in their arguments. Even the knowledge that two Cyclones from the Realm of Ice would push south, driving the host of creatures they had gathered didn't sway him. He had spent time in Ice, and Cyclones were always assholes, smug in their superiority over lesser creatures of matter. The Frozen Council understood this, it was why none of them wanted to go on a hellish campaign to the warm lands. It was Glacia of the Mists who weakened his resolve. She suggested to the rest of the council that she had a better chance of convincing Callendish without their inept whining.

Glacia had the sharpest tongue on the council. Rather than argue with her, the council retreated, leaving her to discuss the finer points of diplomacy with Callendish. Half of them hoped that Callendish would put a dagger in her heart, but they had little hope of that happening. Glacia and Callendish had been at each other's throats since they were students, neither seemingly able to permanently kill the other. Even as the council left, the temperature was dropping and they could see her knives coming out. Callendish had manifested his claws and fangs, growing fast. The council left his tower just as the battle began.

An hour later, they took a break. All of the furniture was broken and they were clothed only in mist. "Care for a refreshing drink, my little Icebitch? I have a bottle of Angel's Tears, aged for a century. He levitated a bottle and two glasses to them from an unbroken cabinet. She stretched languidly, it had been a long time since she visited.

"That's what I love about you, Cal, you know how to treat a woman after you knock her around and give her bruises." She accepted the glass of clear liquid, finding it perfect.

Callendish laughed without humor. "I'm missing a kidney and half my fingers, and you complain of a few bruises? Or were you complimenting my technique?"

"Oh, I've never had a problem with your technique. It's why I keep finding reasons to come back. But, we have to talk about this situation before getting back to pleasurable pursuits. You need to go on this expedition."

"No, I don't. You'll have to give me some logical reason."

"Well, have I mentioned that Ortheus has been making obvious hints of a partnership with me? Very obvious and embarrassing hints made in front of the other Council Members."

"Oh dear, and he's still alive? You're slipping. Is the IceBitch of the Mist not killing someone for such a slight? Sad to see you going senile so early."

"Simply playing a longer game, Cal, you know me. Ripping out an old man's spine for insults would be enjoyable, but the fun doesn't progress any of my plans. His death would leave a power vacuum. I need some gullible fool ready to fill that vacuum to forestall the others bringing in someone equally annoying."

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"And suddenly I see the shape of my future. You will return to the council, explaining that the only thing that would move me to accept the lofty position of Head Lackey to two windbags is to be named next in line for a council seat."

"Yes, and I will emphasize that you were difficult to convince. We argued and we battled. You argued with superior logic and sharp claws, showing the power that a lifetime of study brings. And in the end, I accepted your condition on behalf of the council. One short, victorious war and you can return for a boring ceremony and meaningless medal. Sadly, Ortheus will have an 'accident', and you will ascend to the Council."

"Just in time for the election of the new leader of the council. You have at least three votes lined up, with my vote giving you a majority unless I cut a better deal."

She stepped from the ruined bed, dropping the concealing mist around her thin, white body, and moved close to him. "I'm confident I can make you a far better offer than those old fools."

He grabbed her and they kissed. He looked into her inhuman eyes, "I'm about to lose my other kidney, aren't I?"

"At the very least."

Arthamax, King of the Frozen Wyrms, roared his displeasure and struggled once more to free himself from the weight of hundreds of tons of stone. His enemies had struck at him while he was distracted by a cute tail. Red Dragons, even a young one like his most recent fixation, were known as violent and passionate lovers. Arthamax had grown bored with the white and blue drakes of the north after six dozen wives and hundreds of children. He'd wanted an exciting mate, someone that brought his blood to above freezing.

She had winked and honked at him, then deftly avoided his first mating approach, enticing him to chase her. That was when the warmland wizards struck! Their treacherous siphon had robbed him of flight and the fools had destroyed their entire tower in an attempt to kill him. And they had failed! He was still alive and would have his revenge. If his mighty muscles couldn't lift the weight, then he would use his magic. Below him pulsed a source of unlimited mana and above him was a conduit to expel it. Rather than let the mana flow around him, he pulled at it hard, absorbing it into himself, and then thrust hard to push his icy aura into the teleportation stone. Each time he did this, he gained a little more control over his growing aura. Below and above him, the channels widened, letting him move more mana. It was only a matter of days until he could free himself.

Callendish stood frozen in place, enjoying the Ice tainted mana the beast was exhaling and sending into the warmlander teleport system.

With each effort, the Ice Drake corrupted the Tier Six teleportation stone that served as a distribution point for the mana vortex below. Soon it would begin to spread the magic of Winter throughout the north. His armies would be enhanced and his Ice Wizards would have more power to draw upon. He was ready to flex his growing power and eradicate the nearest threat. Even here, deep in the earth with the power of Winter filling his veins he could sense the fires of the warmlander wizards nearby. They had been canny foes, even with the Arthramax's attack taking them by surprise and shattering their outer defenses.

Fire Mages and Ice Wizards dueled in the ruined hallways and burned libraries. The Fire Mages struck again and again from their fortress deep in the fortified sublevels, but Winter was all around them. The unnatural storm created by the fall of the tower and the uncontrolled release of wild magic gave Winter the advantage. The raging storm kept them isolated, killing any messenger and preventing reinforcements from traveling to their aid. Cold crept into the college faster than they could warm it.

Winter and entropy were inevitable. And so were the complaints of certain creatures. Besides the constant moaning and demands of the Ice Drake, Callendish had to deal with the windbags who wanted quick victories over the warm lands. A shame, as Callendish was enjoying the game he was playing with the Arcane Academy and its army of warm land mages. One rarely got such sport in the north. Sadly, he was being forced to end the game soon. His agents were in place in Wolfsburg, the Dragon was playing his part in corrupting the mana distribution system, and the forces of Winter were traveling the lands making offers no sane person would refuse. His part of this little War would be over soon and he would leave the Cyclones to play in their frozen domain.

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