Rurrak stood in the central hearth chamber, his pack already secured at his feet. The weight of responsibility pressed against his shoulders, but his voice remained steady as he reviewed the plan one final time with Rurran and Ygrana.

  "Three days northeast to Glasshold's outer holdings. I'll keep them on stable ground, away from the ice fields. First stop is Garrik's inn."

  Ygrana held out the sealed letter she'd prepared, her weathered hands steady. "Present him with these papers. He'll recognize my mark." She held the documents toward Rurrak. "Garrik's cautious, but fair. He won't turn away gnoll-guided travelers if they carry proper introduction.

  Rurrak accepted the papers, tucking them carefully into his vest pocket.

  "Once inside Glasshold proper?" Rurrak asked.

  Rurran's expression darkened. "That ritual circle we found wasn't abandoned. Whoever raised those draugr proved their methods work. They'll try again, bigger." His hand rested on his glaive's haft. "Try to make them listen, nephew. Even if they don't want to hear warnings from our kind."

  Rurrak's jaw tightened, fangs pressing against his lips. He knew the likely reception—gnolls were part monster in some peoples eyes, rarely trusted messengers. But Rurran's faith in him steadied his resolve.

  "I'll try my best," Rurrak promised.

  With final farewells exchanged, Rurrak hefted his pack and moved through the tunnels toward the northern gate. The settlement had returned to familiar rhythms—kobolds working the mines, goblins tending the hearth, younglings learning their trades. Normal life.

  The Colossagoat's massive form dominated the gate clearing, it's breath misting in the cold morning air. The beast women, Tanna, stood beside it, checking harness straps while her magical rabbit was perched on the wagon's edge.

  "Supplies go in the rear compartment," Tanna said without looking up, her ears flicking toward Rurrak's approach. "Your pack should fit beside Calen's gear."

  Rurrak nodded, moving to the wagon's rear. The interior revealed itself as he lifted the canvas—healing tonics secured in padded crates, food stores packed with care, and gleaming bronze devices he now recognized as radios. His pack slid into place beside traveling gear marked with careful organization.

  "We leave soon?" Rurrak asked.

  "Shortly." Tanna's fingers traced Colossagoat's neck, the beast lowering his head for her touch. "Doc, Calen, and Marron are with Kraggir. Final radio setup and..." she paused, searching for words, "...map exchange."

  Rurrak's ears perked forward. "Map?"

  "To our settlement." Tanna's voice carried quiet pride. "Kraggir's already planning trade runs."

  Rurrak's ears flattened slightly against his skull, processing the revelation. The speed shouldn't have surprised him—Kraggir always moved with purpose, seeing opportunity where others hesitated. And these traders had proven themselves more than friendly. They'd saved younglings, fought alongside the settlement's warriors, and signed a magically binding contract just yesterday.

  Still. An expedition already.

  "Safe route?" Rurrak asked, keeping his tone neutral. The northern wastes held dangers even organized caravans avoided.

  Tanna's amber eyes met his, steady and calm. "We encountered nothing between our settlement and here. Doc's... devices tracked threats before we saw them. Marron mapped every mile." Her fingers paused on Colossagoat's harness. "The route Kraggir's people will follow is tested ground."

  "Draugr?" Rurrak pressed.

  "None on our path." Tanna's tail swished once, a small tell he recognized from watching her work with the rabbits. "But after what Rurran found in that cave, I won't promise they'll never show."

  Honest. Rurrak appreciated that.

  "Strange times," Rurrak muttered, more to himself than Tanna. "Weeks ago, we barely survived winter. Now we trade with a powerful settlement, plan expeditions, talk through bronze boxes."

  Tanna's ear flicked—amusement, he thought. "Doc says change comes whether you plan for it or not. Better to guide it than fight it."

  Rurrak's fangs showed in what might have been a smile. "Wise words. For a paladin."

  "He's not—" Tanna stopped herself, tail swishing again. "Actually, explaining what he is would take time we don't have."

  Before Rurrak could press that intriguing comment, voices echoed from the tunnel—Kraggir's bright tone mixing with deeper responses.

  The expedition was gathering.

  Rurrak watched the strangers pack their wagon with the efficiency of seasoned travelers. They moved with the efficiency of shared practice, each gesture deliberate.

  The orc woman—Mazoga—secured crates with practiced hands while the younger human, Calen, checked straps and canvas ties. Marron directed the loading with quiet authority, his merchant's eye tracking every item.

  And the paladin. Doc.

  Rurrak's gaze kept returning to him despite himself.

  The armored figure moved between tasks, helping where needed but never commanding. His cloak caught the morning light, shifting pale and ethereal—almost alive.

  Kraggir's cheerful voice pulled Rurrak's attention. "Rurrak! Come. Proper introductions this time."

  The kobold foreman gestured him closer to the wagon. The strangers paused their work, turning toward him with varying degrees of curiosity.

  "You met them all unconscious," Kraggir said with a grin. "Not ideal for first impressions."

  Rurrak's ears flattened slightly, embarrassed. He remembered fragments—waking briefly to voices discussing fever tonics, Doc's calm tone explaining injuries, Mazoga's solid presence keeping watch. But the details had blurred together in pain and delirium.

  Kraggir pointed to each in turn. "Marron, merchant and expedition leader. Tanna, beast tamer. Calen, he's got that energy-sense skill that helped us in the mines. And—"

  "Mazoga," the orc woman interrupted, stepping forward. "Warden. Level forty-six."

  Her directness cut through formality. Rurrak appreciated that.

  "And Doc," Kraggir finished, gesturing to the armored figure. "Who saved your life and Brikka and Sivvy's."

  Doc inclined his head slightly. "Rurrak. How's the shoulder?"

  "Healing." Rurrak rolled it carefully, feeling only mild stiffness. Whatever that tonic had been, it worked fast. "Better than it should be, thanks to your people's medicine."

  "Ironha's work," Doc said. "She prepared the cure before we arrived."

  Mazoga crossed her arms, studying Rurrak with the assessing gaze of someone who'd spent decades evaluating combat partners. "What's your class?"

  "Frostbound Lancer," Rurrak answered. Not his primary class, but the one most relevant for this conversation. "Scout and forward fighter. I know the terrain between here and Glasshold."

  Mazoga nodded slowly, her expression shifting from assessment to decision. "Good. If we hit trouble on the road, you'll guard the wagon. Doc and I will handle the fighting."

  Rurrak's ears perked forward, surprised by the casual confidence. Then again, after what he'd heard from the other gnolls...

  "You took down the Greater by yourselves," Rurrak said. Statement, not question.

  Mazoga shrugged, one shoulder. "It needed doing. So we did it."

  Rurrak had fought draugr before. Common ones were dangerous enough—relentless, immune to pain, moving until you destroyed them completely. A Greater coordinated entire packs, amplified their aggression, and possessed armor-like ice plating that turned aside most weapons.

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  Two fighters eliminating one while being swarmed by a horde...

  His ears flattened again, this time in respect.

  "No argument here," Rurrak said. "I'll keep the wagon secure. You handle whatever finds us."

  Doc nodded once. "Works for me."

  Marron clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Now that we're all acquainted properly, let's finish loading. Glasshold won't get closer while we stand here talking."

  The group returned to their tasks. Rurrak moved to help, lifting crates despite his healing shoulder.

  As he worked, he caught Tanna's amber eyes watching him with that calm, measuring gaze beast tamers seemed to share.

  "Question," Rurrak asked quietly. "That wolf of Doc's. The one that phases. Is it..."

  "Fish," Tanna supplied. "And no, she's not corrupted. She's bonded to him. Protective, loyal, intelligent."

  "I've never seen anything like her."

  Tanna's tail swished once. "Neither had I, until I met Doc." She paused, then added softly, "There's a lot about him you'll find... unexpected."

  Rurrak's ears swiveled forward, curiosity piqued. But before he could press further, Kraggir called out about final inventory checks.

  The questions could wait.

  Right now, he had a journey to prepare for.

  Doc settled into the rhythm of travel.

  Snow Tusk pulled steadily forward, his massive frame unfazed by the loaded wagon. Tanna walked beside him, one hand occasionally brushing his flank. Moss-ear perched on the wagon's edge, small ears swiveling.

  Marron sat on the bench beside Calen, maintaining their heading northeast. Mazoga flanked the left side while Rurrak took the right. Fish ranged ahead, her dark form appearing and disappearing through the snow-dusted terrain.

  The first day passed quietly.

  Rolling hills gave way to rockier ground. Temperature dropped steadily. The horizon stretched white and pale blue, broken only by distant peaks.

  Radio check, Lux reminded.

  Doc activated the suit's comm. "Settlement, this is Doc. Status check."

  Edda's voice came through clearly. "Received. All systems normal here. How's the road?"

  "Uneventful," Doc replied. "Continuing northeast. Estimate four more days to Glasshold."

  "Acknowledged. Check in tomorrow same time."

  "Copy."

  The line went quiet.

  They camped that night in a shallow basin, wind-sheltered and defensible.

  Day two brought colder air.

  Rurrak guided them along a wide arc, keeping several kilometers south of what he called "the edge of the Waste." Doc couldn't see any visible boundary, but Lux's thermal readings showed a sharp temperature gradient to the north—an unnatural cold front that didn't shift with wind patterns.

  Magical influence, Lux noted. Sustained ambient effect. Temperature differential approximately eight degrees Celsius.

  Doc filed that away.

  Fish returned from scouting, phase-stepping beside the wagon. She fell into pace with Doc, her amber eyes scanning their surroundings.

  "Anything?" Doc asked quietly.

  Fish's ears swiveled forward once. Nothing concerning.

  Marron initiated the radio check that afternoon. Edda confirmed signal strength remained strong.

  They made camp near a cluster of wind-carved stones.

  Rurrak pointed out old territorial markers—scratches on rock indicating previous predator ranges. Nothing recent. The area seemed abandoned.

  Mazoga took first watch. Doc took second.

  Nothing disturbed the night except wind and the occasional distant howl.

  Day three started cold.

  Frost clung to the wagon canvas despite the heating core. Doc's breath misted inside his helmet until the temperature regulation kicked in fully.

  Rurrak shifted their heading slightly northeast, explaining they needed to navigate around a frozen lake. The ice looked solid enough, but the gnoll insisted the surface concealed deep cracks that could swallow a wagon whole.

  Doc trusted the local knowledge.

  Around midday, Fish stopped.

  She'd been ranging ahead, perhaps fifty meters distant. Now she stood motionless, ears locked forward, body tense.

  Doc raised one hand. "Hold."

  The wagon slowed. Mazoga's head turned toward him, immediately alert.

  Fish didn't growl. Didn't retreat. Just... watched. North.

  Lux?

  Scanning.

  Doc activated his helmet's enhanced vision, zooming toward where Fish was looking.

  Nothing visible yet.

  Thermal signature detected, Lux reported. Bearing zero-four-seven degrees, distance approximately six hundred meters and closing. Mass estimate exceeds one thousand pounds. Movement pattern consistent with quadrupedal locomotion.

  Doc's hand moved to his plasma gun. "We've got company. Large contact, northeast, heading our way."

  Mazoga's warhammer came off her back. "How large?"

  "Over a thousand pounds."

  Rurrak's ears flattened against his skull. "From the Waste?"

  "Appears so."

  The gnoll cursed in a language Doc didn't recognize, then switched to common. "Nothing good comes from the Waste. If it's big and heading toward us..."

  He didn't bother finishing. They understood.

  Doc watched Fish. She remained statue-still, tracking something only she could sense clearly.

  Distance?

  Four hundred meters. Steady approach. No deviation in trajectory.

  Whatever it was, it had picked up their scent.

  And it was coming.

  Rurrak's didn't like what was about to happen. Monsters from the Waste. He'd heard the stories all his life—tales told by Rurran and the older gnolls around dying fires, voices dropping to whispers. Avoid them if you see them. Run if you can't. Fight only if there's no other choice.

  He gripped his spear tighter, the bone-and-iron weapon suddenly feeling far too light. What could he possibly say? How did he warn them about something he'd never faced himself?

  Then it stepped from the storm.

  A Frostmaw Ursar.

  Rurrak's thoughts scattered.

  The creature was massive—broader than Snow Tusk, longer than the wagon. Its hide was layered with frost-caked fur so dense it seemed carved from the storm itself. Ice formed along its shoulders and spine in jagged ridges. The plating beneath was visible in patches, scarred and crystalline, like frozen stone.

  Its jaws hung slightly open, oversized even for its body, frost vapor leaking between fangs the length of daggers. The creature's eyes—pale ice-blue,—stared at them.

  Rurrak couldn't move.

  The Ursar opened its maw and roared.

  The sound a subsonic rumble that hit Rurrak's chest like a physical blow. His limbs locked. The cold hit like a vice, freezing his breath and blurring his vision as his grip on the spear faltered.

  Around him, the others staggered. Tanna dropped to one knee, Moss-ear vanishing in a flicker of light. Marron braced against the wagon, gritting his teeth. Calen swayed but stayed upright. Doc's helmet flared with light as he stood ready for what's to come.

  Fish growled low, her fur rippling violet as she fought through the stiffness.

  Rurrak's ears rang. His body refused to obey.

  The Ursar charged.

  Each step shook the frozen ground. Ice formed in its wake.

  Then Mazoga was there.

  She met the Ursar mid-charge, her warhammer swinging in a brutal upward arc. The impact rang across the frozen ridge. The Ursar's head snapped sideways, frost exploding from the point of contact.

  The creature pivoted, swiping with one massive forelimb. Mazoga braced, her Ravageboar armor absorbing the blow as she slid backward through the snow. Her boots dug furrows in the ice.

  Rurrak blinked. His body unlocked enough to stumble back a step.

  Mazoga didn't retreat. She advanced.

  Her warhammer glowed with blue-white energy, as she brought it down on the Ursar's shoulder. The crystalline plating cracked. Ice shattered. The beast roared again, but the roar didn't seem to affect her..

  The Ursar reared up. Both forelimbs lifted, high and wide, and for a moment the creature hung there, massive and unstoppable.

  Mazoga didn't flinch. She shifted her stance, dropped her weight, and brought the hammer up just as the forelimbs came down.

  The collision cracked like thunder. Ice exploded outward, grinding against stone and frozen earth, and the shockwave slammed into Rurrak's chest. Mazoga's boots sank deep into the frozen ground.

  Her arms trembled.

  But she held.

  Rurrak stared. He'd seen Rurran fight. He'd watched the strongest warriors in Threeburrow defend the walls with everything they had. But this was different. The beast had thrown everything it had behind that strike. And Mazoga had met it.

  When the dust settled, it was the Ursar that stumbled back; not her

  Rurrak hadn't even processed what he'd just seen when Doc moved.

  Something in Doc's hand hummed, low and steady. Rurrak hadn't seen him draw it.

  He fired.

  A bolt struck the Ursar's exposed flank, right where the plating had cracked. Blue-white energy punched through fur and flesh. The beast lurched, a sound escaping its maw that was less roar and more grind, like stone splitting under pressure.

  It turned toward Doc.

  Rurrak's blood went cold.

  The Ursar's pale eyes locked on the source of the heat. Its head lowered, frost vapor pouring from its jaws in thicker waves. The wounds on its shoulder and flank were already sealing; ice creeping back across the breaks, knitting the plating together.

  It wasn't slowing down.

  "It's healing," Doc said, his voice flat.

  Mazoga adjusted her grip. "Then we don't let it stop bleeding."

  She charged again — not at the head this time. She went low, driving the hammer into the same shoulder she'd already cracked. The impact was sickening. The plating shattered again, deeper this time, chunks of crystalline hide spraying across the snow. The Ursar bellowed and swung its forelimb down.

  Mazoga wasn't there.

  She'd already moved, rolling beneath the strike, coming up behind the beast's rear leg. The hammer connected with a crack. The Ursar's leg buckled.

  Fish struck next.

  She'd been circling, silent, violet energy rippling through her fur. She lunged at the Ursar's throat, jaws closing around the soft tissue beneath the jaw where no plating could reach. The beast thrashed, trying to shake her loose. Blood, dark, almost black, steamed where it hit the snow.

  Doc raised the artifact again. Same spot. Deeper this time.

  The Ursar staggered.

  Rurrak watched the creature fight. Even with one leg giving, even bleeding from its throat, even with Mazoga's hammer cracking its hide again and again, it kept moving. Kept swinging. The stories had been right about that.

  It didn't know how to stop.

  Mazoga came around again, hammer raised. Rurrak could see the exhaustion now; the way her shoulders pulled, the slight drag in her boots. Highlevel or not, the beast had hit her. More than once.

  She didn't slow.

  The Ursar reared one final time, wounded leg trembling beneath its weight. It swung both forelimbs — wide, desperate, freezing the air in a blast that hit everything within ten feet.

  Doc fired a third time.

  The bolt struck clean, straight into the cracked plating, deep into the core beneath. Something inside the beast flared.

  The Ursar stood there for a moment, swaying.

  Then its legs gave.

  It collapsed into the snow, heavy and final, frost still curling from its jaws. The pale ice-blue eyes dimmed slowly, the emptiness in them fading into something that looked almost like stillness.

  The ridge went quiet.

  Mazoga stood over it, hammer resting against the ground, breathing hard. Fish sat at the edge of the carcass, licking blood from her muzzle.

  Rurrak exhaled.

  Fish moved first.

  She lifted her head from the carcass, ears locking forward. The violet in her fur flickered — once, twice, and she went still. Coiled.

  Doc watched her. Something shifted in his posture, it was subtle, but Rurrak caught it. The way his grip tightened. The way his head turned, scanning the ridge beyond the Waste's edge.

  Then Doc spoke.

  "Multiple contacts. Coming from the Waste."

  Mazoga didn't hesitate. "We move. Now. Go."

  Thanks for readin!

  Chapter 79 drops next tuesday!