The transition from the deep, controlled environment of Grimfang Deep back to the chaotic surface felt like being violently expelled from the mountain's gut. Lunrik and Kaelith stood once more on the narrow, windswept ledge outside the newly re-sealed Cog Gate, the roar of the wind replacing the hum of dwarven machinery, the biting cold a stark contrast to the tunnel's geothermal warmth. The immense weight of the mountain was behind them now, but the feeling of being watched, constrained, hadn't lessened.
Forgemaster Borin stood with them, flanked by two heavily armoured Gate Wardens. He had provided a curt, efficient briefing within a small staging chamber just inside the Gate: Ashfang reinforcements, estimated pack strength twenty to thirty, led by a known commander named Grakkus (a brute notorious for recklessness), last detected converging on the western edge of the Shadow Peak Glaciers, likely aiming for the area near the ice caves where Lunrik and Kaelith had briefly sheltered. Their objective: ascertain precise Ashfang numbers, confirm Grakkus's leadership, determine their immediate path and objective (finding Eryndor's trail vs. searching for dwarven entrances), and report back within twelve hours. Deviation or failure meant the Gate would remain sealed to them. Permanently.
He had provided minimal gear: insulated cloaks heavier and stiffer than their familiar Dravenwolf furs, sturdy dwarven climbing spikes that attached awkwardly to their boots, concentrated nutrient paste in metallic tubes that tasted vaguely of stone dust and regret, and a small, complex communication device.
"This unit," Borin had explained, tapping the device strapped to Lunrik's wrist, "is keyed to my command console. Short range only, sufficient for reporting from the glacier basin or immediate foothills. One activation pulse every hour for status check. Two pulses for imminent danger or sighting confirmation. Three pulses to request Gate reopening – use only when mission is complete or aborted due to overwhelming threat. Misuse will be… noted." His tone made it clear "noted" meant "severely punished."
Kaelith had listened impassively, absorbing the details, her relief at being reunited with Lunrik carefully masked. Lunrik saw the flicker of concern in her eyes when Borin mentioned Grakkus – clearly, his brutal reputation was known even in the northern woods. Seeing Lunrik's bruised ribs and the lingering limp from his twisted ankle likely didn't help her assessment of their odds. They were being sent out injured, under-equipped by surface standards, with a strict time limit and lethal consequences for failure, essentially acting as expendable dwarven scouts.
Now, standing on the ledge, the wind tearing at their new cloaks, Borin gave his final instructions. "The Gate remains sealed behind you. Detection runes are active. Do not attempt re-entry without the proper signal protocol." He eyed them both sternly. "Remember the arrangement. Information for sanctuary. Succeed, and perhaps further cooperation can be discussed. Fail…" He let the implication hang, as heavy as the mountain itself. He gave a curt nod to the Wardens, turned, and stepped back as the Cog Gate began to grind shut again, leaving them utterly alone on the precipice.
The silence after the Gate sealed felt profound, broken only by the wind's relentless howl. Kaelith immediately knelt, examining the ledge, the surrounding snow, her senses instantly shifting back into Dravenwolf tracking mode.
"No fresh tracks near the Gate," she reported quietly, her voice tight against the cold. "The hunters didn't double back here. And no sign of the Ashfang yet. Good." She looked towards the vast glacier stretching out below them, grey and forbidding under the overcast sky – the brief moonlight of the previous night replaced by the flat, shadowless light of a stormy dawn. "Twelve hours. To scout thirty warriors led by Grakkus, potentially shadowed by unknown hunters, in dragon territory." She shook her head slightly. "The dwarves ask much."
"They hold all the cards, Kaelith," Lunrik replied grimly, adjusting the unfamiliar communication device on his wrist. It felt cold, alien, a technological shackle. "Cooperation, however forced, is our only path right now. For us, and for Eryndor." He hoped the Frostmane was truly safe, or at least safer than they were about to be.
"Then let's not waste time," Kaelith said, her practicality reasserting itself. "The Ashfang were last seen heading towards the ice caves. We circle wide, approach from the south ridge if possible, get eyes on them without revealing ourselves." She started moving along the narrow ledge, testing the dwarven climbing spikes. They bit into the ice with satisfying security, but felt clumsy compared to her natural claws.
Lunrik followed, carefully putting weight on his injured ankle. The pain was a dull, constant throb, but manageable for now. Adrenaline, or perhaps just the sheer cold numbing the nerves, kept the worst of it at bay. He focused on Kaelith's movements, on the hostile environment, pushing down the resentment he felt towards their dwarven 'protectors'.
They descended carefully from the ledge onto the glacier surface, moving away from the cliff face that housed the hidden Gate. The vast, empty expanse felt even more intimidating now, knowing what lay beneath and what potential enemies might be converging upon it. They kept low, using ridges of ice and scattered boulders for cover, constantly scanning the distance.
After nearly an hour of cautious travel, paralleling the route the Ashfang likely took towards the ice cave area, Kaelith signaled a halt behind a large, wind-sculpted ice formation. She pointed towards a series of ridges further west, where the glacier met another arm of the mountain.
"Smoke," she breathed, barely visible puffs of vapour accompanying her words. "Woodsmoke, faint. And… cooking meat. Ashfang camp."
Lunrik strained his eyes. She was right. Just visible over the ridge line, carried sporadically on the shifting wind, was the faintest hint of smoke. Grakkus hadn't wasted time establishing a base camp, likely near the ice cave where Vorlag's party had last rested, to begin his search or await further orders.
"How do we get closer?" Lunrik asked, surveying the terrain. The direct approach across the open ice was suicide.
"The ridges," Kaelith decided, pointing towards a network of smaller ice hills and pressure ridges that offered intermittent cover leading towards the camp's suspected location. "Slow work. Dangerous. We'll have to cross open ground between them. Need perfect timing."
They began the painstaking process of flanking the camp, moving from one piece of cover to the next, sometimes crawling flat on the ice, using every shadow, every rise and fall in the terrain to remain unseen. The wind was both a blessing and a curse, masking their sound but also potentially carrying their scent towards the camp if it shifted unfavorably.
It took another hour of tense, exhausting stalking before they reached a position on a high ice ridge offering a clear, albeit distant, view of the Ashfang encampment. Lunrik's heart sank. Borin's estimate had been conservative. It looked like closer to forty Ashfang warriors clustered around several sputtering fires in a sheltered depression near the ice cave entrance. They were heavily armed, clad in thick furs over their crude armour, their movements aggressive and restless. Hulking figures in crinos form patrolled the perimeter, sniffing the air suspiciously. In the center of the camp, Lunrik could just make out a larger, particularly scarred werewolf bellowing orders – Grakkus, presumably. They had also erected crude barriers of ice blocks, suggesting they were digging in, wary of attack after Vorlag's fate.
Worryingly, there was no sign of Eryndor. Had they left him guarded in the cave? Or had something else happened to him?
"Forty, maybe more," Kaelith confirmed Lunrik's count, her voice grim. "Well-armed. Alerted perimeter. Getting closer undetected will be nearly impossible."
"We don't need to get closer," Lunrik decided, Alaric's tactical sense kicking in. "We have the intel Borin needs: numbers confirmed higher than expected, Grakkus present, location established, defensive posture indicates awareness of threats." He touched the communicator on his wrist. "Time to report."
He activated the device as Borin instructed: one short pulse. He waited, hoping for some acknowledgment, but the device remained inert. Standard procedure, perhaps. Report received, no reply necessary unless critical.
"Now what?" Kaelith asked, scanning the camp. "Do we try to ascertain their objective? See if they search the cave for Eryndor? Or pull back now?"
"Borin's orders were clear: numbers, leader, location, path," Lunrik recited. "We have that. Their specific objective beyond 'find the pass' is secondary to the dwarves' border security concern. Our priority is returning with this intel before the deadline, or before Grakkus sends out wider patrols." He looked back the way they came, towards the distant, invisible Cog Gate. "We pull back. Carefully."
Just as they prepared to withdraw, movement at the edge of the Ashfang camp caught Lunrik's eye. A smaller group of werewolves, perhaps five or six, were detaching from the main body, heading not towards the ice cave entrance, but scrambling up onto the very ridge Lunrik and Kaelith occupied, further down the line. Scouts. Spreading out to secure the high ground around their position.
And they were heading directly towards them.
"Move!" Lunrik hissed, shoving Kaelith backwards, away from the exposed viewpoint.
They scrambled back down the ridge, seeking cover behind a jumble of ice blocks. They had been spotted, or were about to be. Retreat was no longer an option. They were cut off, with a large Ashfang force below and a determined patrol closing in on their position. The shackles of their dwarven mission had just snapped tight, trapping them between hostile ice and snarling Ashfang fury.