Frostnova quietly walked through the snow, sweeping over the snow behind her as she walked and leaving no trace of her presence. Ahead of her, the other Yetis were doing the same, hiding their trails as to avoid being tracked.
She doubted it would work against any experienced trackers – as the old hunter had demonstrated – but the Infected Patrol had none loyal to them. They were back in the flat, snowy tundra, not a tree to be seen on the flat, rolling hills of snow and frozen dirt. Little grew here, and as such villages were rare, the only civilization present the mines, kept fed and clothed by a constant stream of convoys.
The sky was a muted blue, stretching forever and encompassing all with its gaze. As Frostnova looked up at it, crystal-clear skies looked back down.
"It's beautiful." Andrey said.
"Yes."
A few of the Yetis made casual chatter as they moved on, weapons sheathed but kept ready. The afternoon sun shone upon them, warming them slightly as they walked. It had been a few hours since they had ambushed the Patrol, and many of the Yetis were still celebrating, the food and fuel they had acquired easily sufficient to sustain them for a month.
They had taken an additional cart from the camp, now piled high with supplies and slowly trundling through the snow, pulled by two mules. The Yetis were taking turns sitting on the carts, resting their legs after the hours of walking.
As Andrey looked at the Yetis, a thought came into his mind. "How well-trained are the Yetis?"
"We don't have much official training... aside from some training from Patriot and his Shieldguards."
"Patriot? Who exactly is he?" Pulling back out into her mindscape, Andrey picked up his Codex and flipped to the page labeled "Patriot".
"He's a tall Sarkaz, formerly Ursus military, though he hasn't given me more details about his past. He leads a group of shieldbearers known as Shieldguards, as well as his Guerillas, similar to the Yetis. His Oripathy has worsened recently, and he cannot talk well, though he was apparently known for giving stirring speeches."
"He uses a halberd and shield, correct?" It matched with what Andrey had.
"You knew about him?"
"Some of the information I have doesn't match up, but yes. From what I know, he was a powerful commander in the Ursus Military, famed as the Last Wendigo and supposedly an extremely dangerous threat."
"To who?"
"I'm not sure. In terms of outright combat strength, he is to be "avoided at all times," apparently."
"Are you sure you have the right man?" Frostnova asked.
"Unless there's another Patriot, who also wields a halberd and shield, and who is also three meters tall, yes."
"That explains why he was so successful in liberating the Infected."
"Yes, and by extension, why your group is skilled."
"We barely had a month of training from his Shieldguards. We're desperate, not skilled. You think any sane soldier would bury themselves in freezing snow for a day just to ambush a small convoy?" Frostnova said with no small amount of frustration.
"What?"
"Yes, we did that once. And we'll do it again if necessary."
As the sun came down, the Yetis settled down for the night. Consulting her map, Frostnova verified that no Infected Patrol were nearby, before allowing the Yetis to start their fires.
It never hurt to be careful in a position like this.
Around her, the warm glow of fires lit up the snow, the Yetis huddled around them, making small talk and eating their meals. Plumes of smoke stretched into the sky, scattering with the wind. The Yetis were smiling and laughing, their victory still fresh in their minds.
Yet even now, they were ready. Their weapons were still ready; crossbows were still slung across their backs; their swords were still hanging from their hips. Surrounding the camp, a shift of Yetis was patrolling, silently regarding the snow, searching for movement. At the eastern end of the camp, away from the other Yetis, Frostnova sat down cross-legged, looking at the sky and the ground in front of her.
The snow beneath her didn't bother her; all she felt was her legs growing slightly numb, her body having long before adapted to the cold.
At peak strength, the Yetis had almost double their current number, former miners from the mining camps and Infected from the villages giving them a near-infinite supply of manpower. They had thought themselves invincible then, with their numbers leaving the Infected Patrol cowering in their mines and fortifications.
And then the Army came. Frostnova didn't and couldn't know who had ordered it, but some glory-hungry general of the Army had sent more than a thousand troops hunting down them specifically and had caught them entirely by surprise.
The ensuing siege had left Frostnova with barely ten Yetis left alive, and they had escaped to the wilderness with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the weapons they held. All from a slight mistake.
Had she sent out sentries that day, perhaps it would have been different. Perhaps, but now she would never know.
The Arts field surrounding her grew, the moisture in the air crystallizing to become snow as she closed her eyes in silent rage.
"Memories?" Andrey asked.
Frostnova tersely replied, barely restraining herself from lashing out. "Unpleasant ones."
"May you share them with me?" Now he was truly testing her limits.
Sighing, Frostnova focused her rage into her Arts, waves of snow and ice spreading out, snuffing out a torch near the border of the camp. "Not now."
This was the problem with having a tangible connection with others. She would have to bend, somehow, to their wills – and it was never easy to refuse them. It was much of the reason she avoided contact with the other Yetis – but she couldn't exactly do so with Andrey.
"Huh. Okay, then. Anything I can do to take your mind off whatever this is?"
"Later." Hopefully, this could get him to stop bothering her.
"When is later?"
"Fine, you win." Frostnova sighed. "We were surrounded, before, not far from here. Double the number of Yetis we have now, and all but a few of them died to the Army. Pointlessly."
"When?"
"A year ago." Looking at the camp and closing her eyes, Frostnova imagined what it would have been like, had they still been here. More than a hundred Yetis, laughing and chatting by the fires, the camp lit up by torches and fires, glowing in the tundra.
Then she opened her eyes, and reality came back to her. Those Yetis would never return. No amount of anything could bring the dead back to life.
"The camp would have been twice as large then… was it different, then?"
"We took any number of Infected Patrol on, believing in our own superiority; and losing many in the process. This drew too much attention, and the Army came after us." Frostnova summarized it as succinctly as possible, still uncomfortable with the topic.
"I assume you avoid losses now?"
"We rely on ambushes, though those also entail losses… we've lost much of our equipment, so there have been some Yetis who have died from hypothermia or frostbite while lying in wait." Frozen corpses lying in the snow had not been a pleasant find.
"With clothing that thick?"
"Anything can happen, in these temperatures. At least most the Army is distracted fighting wars, and so they can't spare more forces to end us."
"Your fate rests on the will of your enemies?"
"All Infected in Terra are like this. At least we can fight back." Lightly, Frostnova tapped the wand on her hip.
"And what point is there in that?"
"We can survive a few years longer, then the Infected in the mines. Perhaps we'll die a 'natural' death from Oripathy, rather than die earlier, to the swords and whips of the Patrol."
"That… yes, I suppose that is better."
The empty night gazed down on the Cautus sitting in the field of snow and ice. The twin moons' reflected light just barely provided enough light to see in the darkness, the snow faintly reflecting it and almost glowing in the darkness.
Quietly, the girl returned to the tent, the fibers of the tent providing some protection from the elements. To the south, a blizzard was growing, due to pass by in days; to the far east, another Infected villager had just been cast out.
Nobody cared, save for the few that knew them; all minor dramas, mere numbers on a chart for the lords and kings; even less to the emotionless moon now gazing down towards all of them.
But all fires start from a spark.
AN: Sorry for the late (and very rushed) chapter. I screwed up my time management and didn't spend enough time on writing, and hopefully I'll be able to avoid that in the future.