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"SHOWTIME"

Chapter 30

White Against Might

Part 2

Lashwind Toll, small set of islands near the coast of Greenland, several leagues distant from the shores of England, 11:12 p.m., Aug. 8, First Year of the War of the Long Twilight.

The soldiers of the Ministry outpost rushed to grab their weapons before the white clad soldiers marching on them reached the front of the outpost, but the warning had been too little, too late- even as Private Traven's body fell (pierced by an arrow), the White Shore was reaching the front gates of the outpost and preparing to throw themselves into battle against the soldiers inside. The Ministry soldiers up front were cut down before they had a chance to grab their weapons; with their deaths, however, they bought time for the remainder of the Ministry troops to grasp their weapons and turn to fight. The Ministry faced their opponents, and right then, right there, the future of all Ministry and White Shore battless was decided.

When White faced Might, White won. Always.

The first Ministry troops, carrying short swords, faced their enemy. They would have charged the polearm-carrying front line, but side by side to each spear carrier was a swordsman, and the broadswords they carried looked mean. The White Shore armor, too, looked mean, as each was designed to resemble an animal of some sort (something the White Shore had done as a sort of homage to the Beastkeepers who had joined them; Walter and the rest of them were highly flattered by the compliment). The front line resembled a moving wall of spear carrying eagles, accompanied by tigermen with swords. Each tiger-soldier carried two broadswords, one in each hand. No one had a shield.

The Ministry soldiers began to get worried.

Ron, his helm made to resemble a great howling wolf, began to get worried, too.

Worried his men would turn and run. They were years younger than most of the enemy; how would they react when ordered to kill their "betters"? How would they react when it came down to a real, great, big, bad war?

His men proved to him in the next second that they would react to it by fighting.

The first Ministry soldier who decided to charge was swiftly met by what seemed to him to be a whirling wall of shining blades. One of the tiger men had leapt out at him and struck in a strange circular pattern, his left hand sword going up while his right hand sword curved down. The blades seemed to circle the air in front of him, and for fear of being struck low if he held the shield high and high if he held the shield low, the Ministry soldier moved his shield away from his body, pushing it out towards the tiger man so that he would be forced to keep his distance from him.

A spearmen to his left, unseen by him, stabbed him through the heart when he moved his shield out from his body enough to let the iron tip in. The Ministry soldier let out an "urk" and died. The spear retracted, and the tiger man pulled back as well.

At this point, the main White Shore army had arrived at the front gates of the compound, which were about 150 feet from the actual entrance of the military outpost. The outpost, too, had gotten its shit together and lined up outside the front gates as well.

Ron, standing behind his men, closed his eyes and activated the com link in his helm.

" MEN" he roared.

" SIR" they roared back. Good. He could hear the excitement in their voices. They wanted to fight. After all the training they'd been through, most of them couldn't wait to fight a real enemy and not just their partners in sparring matches. They wanted to kill.

Wondering if that in and of itself was a good thing, Ron said" BRING THEM DOWN"

" SIR" they all cried back, and the pikemen lowered their spears. The swordsmen, human faces inside mimicking the fierce snarls of the tiger helmets they wore on the outside, began to march towards the gate, and the eagle-faced spear bearers marched slightly behind them, spears slowly advancing, using the swordsmen as cover so that they would get a chance to use the incredible weight and force of their weapons without the fear of leaving themselves open to enemy attack. Ron, picking up his pace, stepped into line beside the front line, Lyonheart out and fiercely glowing.

In the snow and the wind, his men cried out in one voice.

" HO"

They charged.

-

In the air to the north of Lashwind Toll, inside a magically generated stormcloud, same time.

The Bleak Anchor swayed over the seas, great anchor chains drifting lightly in the wind, wicked tips glinting whenever the electricity in the thunderstrom showed itself with a flash and a crackle of lightning. Capt. Kaleb, magically enhanced sight looking towards the south, where the first group lay, raised his hand and made a signal.

" All hands, forward" First Mate Vustag shouted. He was currently standing behind Kaleb, a large and somehow sober black pirate's hat on his head. Above them, flapping lightly in the breeze, the ruined sails that were the hallmark of ghost ships the world over clung hideously to the decayed mast. Vustag looked up at them, and the slight, half-seen turning of the ghosts that floated among them simultaneously thrilled him and chilled him to the core. He was glad they were on his side, glad that the ghosts had chosen to help them; yet scared of them, as Life is always terrified of Death. Turning his head, he said" Prepare to move forth! All men, prepare for battle"

Cheers and shouts echoed throughout the massive galleon as the deck hands swung the ship's rigging about and prepared it to move. A great groan echoed in the air, possibly of wooden boards creaking as it moved but more likely (far more likely, on a ship like this) the groan of the mighty spirits aboard the vessel, and with a noise like the flapping of high sails in a fierce wind, the ship sailed forward in the air. The Thunderbird who had circled the ship to keep it covered stopped its flight and rose up higher in the air, giving out a great cry, flying forward to strike at several predetermined enemy outposts where the runes of defense shone brightest and strongest. They may not have been aiming to tear the compound down, but they had to remove the runes over it first, or they would never complete the spell Hermione had come up with over the past few days with Ron. She herself was aboard this ship, leading a group of Wizards behind her. This group, which had formed inside the Shore recently, was composed of specialists in cold and frost magics. Somewhat unnervingly, they had decided to call themselves "Cold Ghosts".

Hermione turned to them, and said" Are you ready"

The self-appointed "leader" of the Cold Ghosts, a girl named Janine, smiled at Hermione. Hermione, of course, couldn't see it, from where she was at; like all the Cold Ghosts, Janine affected a large, bluish white cloth that covered her mouth, and combined with the cowl over her head, the cloth hid all of her face from sight with the exception of her eyes. Those two brown orbs sparkled at Hermione, and then Janine said" Yes, my Lady. We are ready."

Turning to the other white-robed Ghosts, Janine said" Get ready"

They nodded to her, and then each closed their eyes and looked up into the clear night sky. Each smiling underneath their cloths, the group began to chant with a unity that was disturbing to Hermione, even as she realized the great power it granted them. Adding her own considerable magical might to theirs, Hermione began to cast the spell as well, though she used no chantings in her magic. Hermione preferred to simply say the words once, while focusing on her desired results. The two styles were contrasts; chanting created a quantity of effects, while merely saying created a quality of effect. Because of these differences, Hermione and the Cold Ghosts were each focusing on a separate task. Because they were producing a much wider (though weaker) string of effects in their spell, the Cold Ghosts were focusing on the base as a whole; Hermione was focusing on only a few separate sections of the base, but, because her spell was being said versus chantied, she was producing a greater, though narrower, effect on the sections she chose. The result was that the Cold Ghosts ended up totally freezing all inaminate objects in the areas of the base they attacked, and partially chilling any animate objects as well, and they also managed to partially drain the magic out of most objects in the areas they chose. Hermione totally froze all inanimate objects and animate objects as well, though any magic in the rooms she attacked was left unaffected by her spell. Combining these two powers, they accomplished their goal. The inside of the base was now a frosty hell, and the unarmored soldiers inside (who didn't wear armor when not on duty, since it was heavy and the Ministry army had not, until recently had any enemies in this area) would soon be struck down with hypothermia and die. Also, the partial drain of magic prevented the automatic heaters from kicking on, henceforth ruling out that a sudden wave of heat would pass through the rooms and save the lives of the soldiers inside. It was a cruel, sneaky trick, but it was a stroke of pure tactical genius, and the move had probably saved the lives of countless White Shore soldiers, who would otherwise have been forced to fight room-by-room, dealing with an enemy who not only had intimate knowledge of the base and its design, but also had the advantage of being able to lie in wait and let the enemy come towards them. Now, the Ministry had no choice but to fight, and fight hard, hoping to solve the problem of the cold as soon as they had dealt with the enemy army on their doorsteps. Hermione and her soldiers had done what they were supposed to; now, they were to fly over the front gates and see if they could kill any Ministry officers from above. Air attacks being what they were, Ron had hoped to cause much confusion and terror among the ranks when it seemed as if the sky itself was against them. Huge chunks of ice were to be formed in the air, and then dropped upon the enemy, causing the death of anyone beneath them.

Hermione, thinking to herself as the ship wheeled around to approach the front gates over the now-defunct runes, hoped that they didn't miss. Nothing would hurt her more than to know that she, even by accident, had managed to hurt one of the soldiers who so fervently believed in her. Remembering that she was supposed to send a signal to Pierre aboard the Grand Star, she waved her hand at a nearby attendant, and then held up one, two, then three fingers, closing her hand fully each time. He nodded and ran off, a magical light in his hands, towards the back of the ship, where he would shine it at the Grand Star in a series of one, two, and then three flashes, with a one second pause between them.

At the front of the ship, Capt. Kaleb waited for battle.

-

To the north of Lashwind Toll, in the same airspace where the Bleak Anchor had been, a minute later.

Aboard the airship Grand Star, which had been renamed when the White Shore had based itself at Durmstrang (it's former name had been Onager, an old Roman word for "wild ass", also the same word they used for "catapult"), Pierre rubbed his head and looked anxiously at the Bleak Anchor. When Hermione and the Cold Ghosts had finished their spell, they were to flash a signal to them. The signal given would depend on the situation: one flash with no follow-up indicated that the mission was a failure and that they were to run home as fast as they could; one flash, followed by two one second later, would indicate that they were to proceed, but cautiously; one, followed by two, then followed by three, meant everything was a blazing success and that they should proceed with all haste. He waited anxiously for the moment to come; a jumpy man by nature, war was eating up his nerves. Observing him later, one soldier told Ron that Pierre " always looked as though something large and nasty was about to come out and beat him down." It was just about the truth.

Despite his nervousness, however, Pierre was a good man and an able soldier; in the middle of battle, he seemed to be an absolutely impregnable man, not noticing wounds, disasters, or even the closest of calls, taking them all as calmly as another man might take his tea. It was before he did things that he started spazzing out. Waiting had never sat well with him.

Standing beside him, Capt. Olaf Ahnren looked over at the young man with kindness, then said" Hey. You."

Pierre's head snapped over, and he said" Yeah"

Olaf smiled through his thick yellow beard. " It's okay" he said. " You'll be all right. Just wait for the battle and tell yourself it will all be okay." Olaf's smile and genial manner seemed to tell everyone around him that everything would be okay. A tall, thin man, he was a very kind sort of soul. Pierre's jumpiness was not, however, impressed by his manner.

" I know" Pierre said, twitching, looking about, and seeming for all the world as if he did not know. " It's just... I don't like waiting."

Olaf smiled. " Yeah" he said" tell me about it. Still, nothing else we can do, so let's just... hey, was that a light"

Pierre's head whipped around, and he caught just a brief glance of the signal before it flashed out of view. An eternal second later, two more flashes followed. Pierre was about to yell for joy when another set of flashes, this time three in a row, blinked on and off in the cold summer night before going out permanently and leaving the rear end of the Bleak Anchor in darkness. Pierre smiled. His nervousness seemed to fall off of him like water down the back of a tall stone building. Turning his small, slender body around, Pierre said" All right, then. You saw it. Let's get moving."

As Olaf shouted out commands to his crew, Pierre said" Finally! Let's get ready, people." Putting on the face of a bear, Pierre picked up the slender rapier he chose to fight with. " Let's bury some dead."

The cheers of his men rang in his ears as the Grand Star began its flight towards Lashwind Toll.

-

Inside the sleeping quarters of the Ministry outpost on Lashwind Toll, same time.

The soldiers getting up felt something was wrong in the air the instant they began to move. Hearing only half-understood shouts in their ears, the groggy watchmen stumbled up out of their wool covers and began to ask what was going on... before feeling it hit them with an almost physical smack.

The air. Something was wrong with the air. As each man tried to figure out for himself what was wrong with the world around them, their toes and fingers began to turn blue from the cold. And as each man looked at his hands and feet, every one of them figured it out, almost at the same time.

The air. The air was cold.

And the Ministry always kept the temperature at something like seventy five degrees Farenheit. What was...?

What was going on...?

The men stumbled out of bed, and the first thing their feet felt was the sheer, almost impossible cold of the floor. It was the absolute last thing they would ever feel out of their feet, ever again.

-

Front gates of Lashwind Toll, same time.

The Ministry soldiers held up the swords they wielded and vainly tried again, but it was no good. Something was wrong with the world here. Somehow, nothing they did seemed to affect the army of beast men that even now began to advance again, slowly and slowly pushing them back against the compound, cutting swathes and swathes of their ranks down with each advance, beating them back every time they rushed forward to retake their land and drive the invaders out. They seemed to be invincible, and as the Ministry soldiers looked about the battlefield, they could almost admire their enemy for the incredible skill they displayed in combat, and would, if the enemy had not been using it on them. A tiger man, blades out, performed a whirling dance, one blade catching his opponent's sword and knocking it aside, his other blade whipping through the air as he turned to bury itself deeply in the man's head. One brave Ministry soldier, armed with an axe, rushed forward, but two stepped up to meet him, and when he drew his axe over his head to strike, one put its twin blades into his neck and the second stabbed him in the stomach. He dropped his weapon and died gurgling. An eagle man, spear in hand, walked forth, and when two soldiers rushed him, he made his long pole a tripwire, sweeping it low and knocking them off their feet, finally raising his weapon up in the air and bringing it down with crushing force. Both men died with their faces gone. A particularly ferocious enemy, bearing the visage of a raging wolf, walked forward, a strangely shining sword in hand, and with one blow he was cleaving apart even the strongest of protective magics with the razor edge of his sword. Three men had tried to bring him down. All three died.

The men fell back and fell back, and soon they felt the chill walls of their compound behind them (very chill; none of the men noticed it at the time, but theier compound felt absolutely frigid at their backs). Prepared to make a stand right there and then, they readied their weapons to meet the charge.

The chunks of boulder-like ice that fell on them from above busted open their skulls and cut them down where they stood. Men screamed as chunks rained down on them, huge blocks of sheer ice that seemed to move the earth when they hit. Each impact was like a meteor, crushing flesh and breaking bone, killing groups of men at each go. Worse, the sound of a great, bellowing war cry behind them (completely unlike the totally silent, almost statue like beast men before them and yet, somehow, horribly, exactly the same) made them fear in their hearts, and tremble in their shoes.

Finally, feeling the end was near, they made a run for it.

None of them escaped.

-

Durmstrang, four days later, Aug. 12, 3:00 p.m.

The cold roof of the world was alight with excitement that day, as the first shipment of soldiers to the newly created port of Bear's Claw (named after the great bears the White Shore was using as load bearers- no one would use the term "beast of burden") was heading off that day. Waving goodbye to the valiant soldiers who were onboard the Frost Cap (a new ship Kaleb had recently stolen, in his second raid, this time from a Ministry naval base in the northern part of Ireland- Kaleb was starting to enjoy stealing from his enemies, and privately relived every moment of his two captures in his dreams), Ron viewed their departure with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. His men had fought well- extremely well. He had been surprised at the tenacity with which they fought, and the fact that they had lost only ten men- only ten- against a force that was of nearly equal size. All of them had been killed when the Ministry soldiers had "snapped" under the strain of having icebergs dropped upon their heads and rushed pell-mell at them, swords swinging. Such berserker fighting tactics were hard to deal with. Still, with only ten losses, Ron's head was swimming. He'd had no idea that his men could fight so well. He'd bought them all a round of the rare Firewhisky that Durmstrang had kept in its basement over the years (and had brought out when the White Shore arrived, selling to souls underage in body but overage in mind, for prices that were very, very inflated). One of the more popular jokes running around nowadays was that, while Ron may be "Old Grim", he sure as hell wasn't "Old Stingy". His men often waved at him when they saw him passing in the halls, feeling very friendly towards him after the last battle. Surprising himself, Ron often waved back. Things were going too well to be depressed anymore. He didn't go so far as to begin stargazing with the rest of the White Shore, but he was considerably happier than he had been in a long, long time. Standing on one of the freezing outer balconies of Durmstrang's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ron shivered in the cold and smiled. Things weren't so bad after all. He looked at Hermione, standing beside him, and once more surprised himself, wrapping his arm around her and hugging her close. Hermione, shocked at this unusual display of love and affection, looked confused for a moment, then looked up into his eyes and smiled. Turning her head, she snuggled up to him, and sighed happily.

" Hermione" Ron said, holding her. He played with a strand of her hair. White and brown curls mingled in his hand.

" Yes, Ron" Hermione said, leaning against him as the Frost Cap disappeared in the distance. She would remember it later as one of the happiest moments of her life.

" I love you" he said. Hermione sighed against him.

" And I you" she said. Later that night, she lay in his arms and wondered what he was dreaming, as he slept beside her. It was something she would wonder often, in coming nights.

Ron's insomnia had disappeared.

- Hope you guys like this! See you next chapter!