Cloudtop Queendom, here we come. Again.

From this vantage, far to the south, but approaching fast, the spurs of the distant queendom looked like claws gripping tiny tufts of cotton clouds; barely discernable against the looming shadow of the world tree’s trunk.

Having retrieved Princess Vask from Firespring on their way back, as promised, they were now taking her home. With any luck, there might be a reconciliation with her mother as well—assuming Queen Atka didn’t shoot them out of the sky before they got a chance to make their case.

One way or another, she expected their time in Cloudtop to be brief. After that, it would be time to say goodbye to Grongarg.

She’d be a little sad to see the last of this branch, truth be told. Despite its many perils and strange customs, it felt more hospitable than Ciendil ever had. Saskia could imagine finding a home for herself here. She could always come back, of course, but first, she had another branch to save. Even if sometimes Ciendil didn’t seem worth saving.

The dragon lurched, buffeted by the sudden appearance of a miniature stormcloud in the air beside them. Letting out an exasperated moan, Zarie, steered them away from the disturbance.

“Stop that!” chided Saskia, glaring at the little floofball sitting on her shoulder.

He let out a defiant chitter. A moment later, one of the adults sidled over and whacked him across the back of the head. The storm dissipated as the critter responsible for the disturbance hopped onto a nearby compartment and licked his paws. These creatures may be part of a hive mind, but they still retained some individuality, it seemed.

One consequence of their vassalhood was that the younger generation of frostlings were now full-fledged tempests, with the same general repertoire of abilities as Zarie—albeit with far less restraint. These storms had been appearing sporadically throughout the journey north, and a couple of times they’d almost caused a crash. Those were the times when Saskia had felt like throwing them out the door. But one look at their liquid brown eyes and tiny pug noses, and all thoughts of harsh discipline faded. She was so not cut out to be a mum.

The ice magic available to all of their kind also seemed to have evolved since they became her vassals. She’d seen them forming spears of ice at the ends of their paws and conjuring up patches of frost at a distance. One of the little tempests had even demonstrated the ability to combine the two magics, sending hailstones flying through the air on a gust of wind.

With all this magic being thrown around—with the entire species drawing on her essence at the same time—it was a wonder she was still here. Shouldn’t they have turned her into a crispy barbecue?

She’d absorbed a ludicrous amount of arlium at Fireflower Isle, but never had she imagined she could support this many vassals. Did the fact that it was mostly ice magic counter the effect? Or was the nature of their bond different, because she’d joined with them indirectly, through their queen?

Well whatever. It was what it was, and it was good. She wasn’t on fire, and her new vassals might be just what she needed to save Ciendil.

She rather doubted ice magic alone would staunch the flow of arlium from a volcano. It’d be like hurling ice cubes at the sun. But with the frostlings’ help, someone like Sarthea with the ability to manipulate arlium might be able to get close enough to to seal Ciendil’s rifts without being vaporised in the process.

Regarding her connection to her furry friends, there were still some…niggles that had to be worked out. She eyed the frostlings’ mirror on her oracle interface the same way that she would have looked at a dentist’s drill or a nurse’s needle back on Earth. One mirror—for the entire species. One tap of a virtual fingertip, and she’d find herself seeing out of a truly crazy-making number of eyes. She really wasn’t looking forward to diving down that rabbit hole again, but it had to be done. She needed to find a way to filter out the perspectives she wasn’t interested in—bring the number down to something her primitive meat brain could cope with.

She drew in a breath, exhaled, and activated the mirror.

And just like that, one set of eyes became squillions. Swept up in the chaos of this many viewpoints, it was all she could do just to keep track of what her own eyes were seeing. Already feeling the agonlings oozing their way into her brain, she closed the connection. If just a few seconds exposure gave her this much of a headache, there was no way she could sort through that mess.

Frock this. There had to be a better way.

From her minimap, she selected a map marker representing one of the fuzzy critters in the cabin—and found herself looking out of just one other set of eyes.

Oh yeah! She did a little fist pump—and stopped, as she realised Princess Vask was was staring at her.

Vask leaned close to Rover Dog and asked, a little too loudly, “Should we be checking her brain for mindfly larvae?”

“Princess imagine success,” said Rover Dog. “Princess have wild imagination. I like.”

Ruhildi snorted.

Doing her best to ignore them, Saskia turned back to her thoughts. It had never occurred to her to look out of the adorribles’ eyes before she made them her vassals. The spy cam thing didn’t work with animals—except Nuille in animal form—but frostlings were not like other animals. They were clearly sapient, even if they didn’t build houses or use tools.

So far, so good, but could she see multiple views at the same time, without having to see all of them?

Saskia imagined herself dragging a selection box around all of the blue markers in the cabin. Next thing she knew, she was seeing through the eyes of all of her vassals; not just the adorribles but Ruhildi and Kveld and Zarie as well. Experimentally, she tried deselecting her furless friends, one at a time.

It worked! Now she had just the frostlings selected.

Strategy games often had ways of saving and recalling unit selections in the form of control groups. Could she do that here too?

The answer, following some mental contortions, was yes. A new mirror appeared in her interface representing just the vassals she’d selected—the nine adorribles she’d brought with her from Ciendil.

It’d be a good idea to make a control group for some of their Grongargian cousins before she left, so she could keep an eye on how things were going in this part of the world. She found several tribes of the little critters within the hundred kilometre reach of her map. One was just this side of Cloudtop, actually. Those would be handy little spies.

A few minutes later, she had four control groups; three Grongargian tribes and the one smaller Ciendil family travelling with her. Fantabulous! In time, she’d have eyes all over Arbor Mundi. That donkhole who called himself a god would have nothing on her!

“What do you think she is imagining now?” asked Princess Vask, intruding on her thoughts once again.

“Princess thinking about me,” suggested Rover Dog.

“In your dreams, bud,” said Saskia.

“I don’t ken what you were doing, Sashki, but the tyrant on the amber throne will have cause to fear you, methinks,” said Ruhildi.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Saskia. “I don’t think Abellion’s quaking in his boots just yet.”

As they hurtled northward, Saskia watched the outer limits of Cloudtop Queendom crawl onto the edge of her minimap. The lowlands beneath the spurs were a patchwork of fields and forests, green and gold, shrouded beneath a perpetual layer of fog. Most of the population lived atop the spurs, however. She’d only seen Pinnacle up close, but there were many other spurs, holding other towns and villages; each home to hundreds or thousands of sky trolls.

As more of the queendom crept into view, a frown spread across her face.

“Something’s wrong.” Saskia shared her map with her vassals. “See those red dots, and that violet one? They don’t look like animals…” She pointed outside at the still-distant spur of Pinnacle. “And I think that’s smoke, not cloud.”

Ruhildi followed her gaze, then went a little cross-eyed as she consulted the map. “Sashki’s right. I’m sensing fresh corpses. Trows and…something else.”

Vask’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “Someone is attacking my people! Who would dare!? If it’s the crag-hoppers, we will stomp them into a fine red paste!”

Crag-hoppers was a derisive name she gave to the neighbouring, and somewhat more primitive, Cragspear Queendom.

Watching through the combatants’ eyes, Saskia saw that the invaders were reptilian, with leathery skin in a range of fiery hues. Elves and mer, it seemed, were not the only tools in Abellion’s arsenal.

“Skarakh,” said Ruhildi.

“What?” said Saskia.

“That is what they are called. We have met one of their ilk, you may recall.”

The demon she’d seen in her vision at Firespring had looked like these creatures, but he wasn’t the one Ruhildi spoke of. Saskia remembered all too well the Chosen they’d fought outside Spindle. Like that Chosen, one of these skarakh was garbed in white, and wore a pale mask.

The attackers rode winged beasts with short bodies and long tails, like smaller, stubbier dragons. Wyverns, then?

“Wivorns, aye,” said Ruhildi.

“Okay, so it’s definitely Abellion,” said Saskia. “His Chosen, at least.”

If Abellion hadn’t already known she was on Grongarg, she suspected their visit to the Night’s Dream would have tipped him off. And now he was coming for her.

“Squishy god stupid if he attack Cloudtop,” said Rover Dog. “Could ally against us. Queen Atka not our friend.” He cast an apologetic glance at Vask, who gave a trollish shrug.

“Maybe the Chosen tried, and she spat in his face or something. More likely, though, Abellion doesn’t know anything about Atka’s beef with us, and simply sent him to pacify everyone.”

“You may be right,” said Ruhildi. “If so, ’tis dire news for this branch. Even after we are gone, they will keep coming.”

Saskia nodded. “Let’s worry about the immediate threat. What are we going to do about this Chosen?”

It took them nearly an hour to reach the scene, by which time they’d formulated a plan, a backup plan, and an exit strategy.

They needn’t have bothered.

Rising up from the town to meet the skarakh was a huge airship, sleeker and darker than the one Saskia and Rover Dog had encountered. As it drew level with the approaching swarm, she spotted half a dozen holes along the side of the gondola suspended beneath the balloon. Expecting cannon fire to issue from those holes, she was surprised to see not cannonballs, but wire nets that enveloped several of the wyverns and their riders, slicing into them. The flailing forms fell from the sky, and were gone, swallowed by the clouds.

The skarakh retaliated with flaming arrows, and what to Saskia’s eyes looked to be a fireball, conjured at the tip of a staff. Not the Chosen’s staff, but that held by one of his cronies. Seconds later, the airship itself became a fireball. The explosion took out two more wyverns and their riders, but there were plenty more where they came from.

As the airship completed its fiery descent, a pair of roptir riders emerged from the clouds to harass the outer edge of the swarm, firing oversized crossbow bolts into the wyverns from beyond the reach of the attackers’ arrows. One of the riders looked a lot like Vask. She was dressed like Vask as well—that is to say she wore little else but jewellery.

Meanwhile, the main body of the swarm rained fiery death down on Pinnacle. Burning arrows, fireballs, and what looked like Molotov cocktails set alight buildings and trolls alike. A swarm of ballista and crossbow bolts rose up to meet them. Fired from the ground, they lost much of their oomph and rarely hit their mark, but a few got through, stabbing into wyvern bellies and skarakh chests. This did little to dissuade the attackers, who continued their bombing run across the town. Flames erupted in their wake, punctuated by brief, violent explosions, and the shouts and screams of the dying.

Two roptir riders became twenty, as helpers arrived from neighbouring spurs. They were doing some real damage now, shredding the wyverns and their riders, who turned to face the new threat.

Then the Chosen raised his staff.

A wall of fire filled the sky, engulfing the sky troll riders and roptirs alike in one titanic burst of heat and light. They didn’t even have time to scream.

Saskia swore silently. She’d been wondering what this Chosen’s powers were. Well now she had her answer. He was just like the lizard wizard she’d fought last time—a much stronger version of the fireball-flinging pyromaniacs he commanded.

Having played his hand, the Chosen had no more reason to hold back. Fire consumed the palace and surrounding buildings, melting stone into slag.

Taking a moment to focus on her own surroundings, Saskia realised they weren’t going to make it. By the time they arrived, there wouldn’t be anything left of Pinnacle to save…

Then, out of the blue—quite literally, in this case—a huge pale body dropped from the sky, latching onto the Chosen’s wyvern with great clawed hands. The great beast let out a screech of pain, and flapped its wings furiously, struggling to stay aloft with the unwanted burden hanging from is neck. This brave, suicidal troll had leapt from the back of her roptir, circling high overhead. Saskia felt like cheering.

A moment later, she felt like throwing up. Flames had erupted across the troll’s body. The sound of her screams curdled Saskia’s blood.

But while the Chosen might be impervious to the fire, his wyvern mount was not. The troll wrapped her burning arms around the beast, and soon, it too was a blazing inferno, plunging into the lake at the town centre.

The water of the lake began to bubble and steam. The Chosen dragged himself ashore, cloak sodden, pale mask askew—

And jerked, as dozens of giant crossbow bolts pierced his body from all sides. He sagged back into the water, and did not move. But just for good measure, one of the trolls dashed forward, tore the Chosen’s head from his shoulders, and mounted it on the tip of his pike.

Having missed their chance to swoop in and save the day, Saskia’s group suddenly found themselves drawing the wrong kind of attention. The bone dragon banked and weaved, evading the spears and bolts hurtling their way. It wasn’t until they neared the ground that the sky trolls spotted Vask’s banner, hanging from the side of the dragon, and called off their attack.

They touched down on the west side of town, near the pile of slag that had been the royal palace. There, a scene of orderly desperation unfolded around them. Armoured trolls prowled smoke-filled streets, eyes darting nervously to the skies. Bucket brigades had formed around many of the burning buildings, while rescuers hauled wounded trolls to triage tents erected in the market plaza.

When Vask stepped out of the bone dragon, the defenders breathed a visible sigh of relief. As unlikely as it must have seemed to them, the terrifying assemblage of metal and bone had brought their princess home, safe and sound. The trolls crouched low before her. Their soot-stained faces were sombre.

“Your eminence,” said one of the crouching trolls. “Apologies. We did not realise…” Her voice trailed off as Rover Dog and Saskia emerged from the dragon. All other eyes turned to them.

“Princess Saskia and her rover consort are our honoured guests,” said Vask. “As visiting royalty, they are to be granted…diplomatic immunity, and pardoned for any and all past transgressions. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, your eminence,” said the troll. “But are they not the trows who—”

“Any and all past transgressions,” repeated Vask. “Now tell me, where is she? Where is the queen?” Her gaze swept across the ruins of the palace.

The troll swallowed hard. “Queen Atka was in the palace when the invaders struck. No-one has seen her since. We fear the worst.”

Vask’s face froze, and it was a few seconds before she spoke. “I…see.”

The palace had been reduced to a puddle of molten stone. There was no hope a troll—not even one with the hardened flesh of a queen or princess—could have survived in there.

“And what of my sisters?” said Vask. “Tell me they are safe.”

“Your eminence, Princess Zue and her family took shelter in the catacombs,” said the troll. “But Princess Espet…she gave her life to pull the fire demon out of the sky. We have recovered her body from the lake. There is nothing we can do now but honour her sacrifice.”

Swaying on her feet, Vask closed her eyes and put her head in her hand. A moment later, Rover Dog was at her side, steadying her, as he’d done on more than one occasion for Saskia. His ears drooped, and his face creased with uncharacteristic sorrow. He’d been close (a little too close) to all three princesses, and even fathered a child on Princess Zue.

Vask let out a ragged sigh. “Espet died well. I am proud to be her sister.” She looked at Saskia. “The one she killed, he was a…Chosen, you called him?”

Saskia nodded. “A puppet of Abellion. He won’t be the last.”

Vask’s expression turned venomous. “Let them come! We will pop their eyeballs like balloons! For the queen! For my sis—” She choked back a sob, but quickly covered the sound with a snarl. “For Espet! For all who died today!”

“As you say, your eminence,” said the troll spokeswoman. “But before we pursue vengeance, we must first quench the flames that threaten to consume Pinnacle.”

As if in answer, nine fuzzy white forms chose that moment to hop out of the dragon. The littlest ones floated on streams of super-chilled air, trailing snowflakes.

The gathered trolls stared at them in shock. “Flying frostlings?” one muttered. “What will we see next? Flying behemoths?”

“Tempests,” said Saskia. Inspired by her tiny vassals, she looked at Zarie. “Can you make it rain?”

“If the air is damp enough, yes?” said Zarie. “I cannot do it quickly, though. But the frostlings…”

Saskia completed the sentence for her. “Can create snow. Oh, only if the air is damp, though. We’re gonna need a lot of water.” She paused, thinking. “What about the lake? If we boil the lake water, steam will rise. Then you and the frostlings condense the steam back into water and ice. Combined with your magic, and that of the frostling tempests, and we can create a snowfall that covers the whole town.”

“That sounds…complicated,” said Vask.

“Princess complicated,” said Rover Dog. “Sometimes complicated is what we need.”

“How do we boil the lake?” asked Zarie.

Saskia frowned. She could use wild magic, but that would likely do more damage than the current fire.

“Kveldi and I can channel the molten stone into the water,” said Ruhildi.

“Good idea!” said Saskia. “But you’ll need to be in the dracken, or at least close to it, for us to fly it.”

“Not if you are in it, methinks,” said Ruhildi.

“What, really?”

“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “As ’twere with the expansion nodes in Torpend, so ’tis with you. Through you, I can keep the dracken under my sway, even from a great distance. Even while I work my other spells.”

A minute later, Saskia, Zarie and the frostlings were back in the air. Princess Vask and Rover Dog joined the bucket brigades on the ground, while Ruhildi and Kveld directed the flow of molten stone into the lake. Steam billowed up from the lakeshore where fire met water. The dragon swooped over the cloud, and within moments they were surrounded by a swirling vortex of water and ice. They, and the storm, rose high into the air, circling the town.

And everywhere they flew, they dropped a blanket of snow.

Come morning, the fires were out, and the town resembled an apocalyptic winter wonderland. They couldn’t bring back the dead (well, most of them couldn’t), but lives and homes had been saved nonetheless.

The sky trolls regarded their saviours, big and small, with a mix of awe and disbelief. The adorribles gathered around Saskia, and piled into her arms; a great mass of frigid purring furballs. To her surprise, Vask drew close and hugged them as well, though she had to pull away a few seconds later with a half-frozen chest.

“I will not soon forget what you did for us,” Vask told Saskia and her friends. “I will make sure they do not forget it either.” She cast her gaze back at the gathered trolls.

An attendant drew close to Vask, and whispered in her ear.

Vask turned back to them. “If you would stay a short while longer, I would have you attend the contest of queens.”

“What’s that?” asked Saskia.

“The Queen is dead,” said Vask. “Now we must choose a new queen.”

“Doesn’t the eldest daughter automatically become queen?” asked Saskia.

Vask snorted out a laugh.

“Did I say something funny?” said Saskia.

“Your queendom has such strange notions,” said Vask. “That is not how we do things in Cloudtop, or anywhere on Grongarg.”

“Eldest not make best queen,” said Rover Dog, coming to her rescue. “Strongest become queen. You will see.”

They walked to the snow-covered ruins of the palace, where a large gathering had formed. Vask joined another smooth-skinned, bejewelled troll, standing apart from the crowd. That must be her surviving sister, Princess Zue.

An older troll woman in a colourful feathered garment addressed the crowd. “Tradition dictates that the heirs face each other in the wheel of fire. May she who is most worthy lead us into this new dawn!”

Saskia struggled to suppress an eye-roll. Of course it would be the outcome of a duel that determined the next queen. Because the strongest fighter always made the most effective leader…

The gathered trolls poured a ring of oil around the trio, and set it ablaze. Vask and her sister drew each other into a tight embrace—not what she’d expected to see from competitors vying for a crown, but they had lost their mother and sister and untold numbers of friends and acquaintances.

The two princesses separated, and took their places on opposite sides of the wheel of fire, crouching low; claws splayed; teeth bared.

They leapt at each other.

Saskia’s breath caught in her throat. The princesses were ripping each other apart before her eyes. They carried no weapons besides teeth and claws, but those were more than enough. Blood and chunks of flesh splattered across the stones. The air filled with curses and grunts and meaty thwacks.

It was clear from the outset who was going to win. Though slightly smaller than her opponent, Vask was faster, and her skin thicker and harder. A month in the scouring pools had paid off. Zue wasn’t going to make it easy on her, however. Vask had to pay for every pound of flesh she extracted from her sister with gouges and bite marks and numerous broken bones. Before they were through, she lost an ear, a finger, and had one side of her left arm stripped to the bones.

Finally, Vask fell upon Zue, driving her head into the ground with an audible crack. Princess Zue stirred feebly, before going limp.

Still sitting on her sister’s mangled, half-flayed body, Vask raised a bloody hand skyward.

“Hail Queen Vask of Cloudtop! May her blood burn bright!” The crowd shouted the words amidst a cacophony of cheers and growls.

Vask poured a generous helping of arlithite between her sister’s lips, before taking a helping of her own. A short time later, Zue rose on unsteady legs and stood beside her sister, linking arms with her, as if to prove there were no hard feelings between them. Seeing this, the crowd roared its approval.

Saskia and her friends lingered for several days, helping with the cleanup, and discussing the future with the new queen.

“This atrocity will not go unanswered,” Vask assured them for the umpteenth time as they made their way back to the dragon. “I will rally the other queendoms to our side, and when you are ready, we will fly with you to the crown of Arbor Mundi and tear the tyrant down from his amber throne!”

Saskia somewhat doubted it’d be that easy to get all the other queens onboard with such a suicidal goal, but if anyone could do it, it was Vask.

Part of Saskia still railed against her task. But another, more powerful voice inside her echoed the queen’s sentiment. Abellion had to go. A confrontation with the so-called god would be inevitable if she remained in this world. At least now, she had powerful allies willing to fight alongside her. On reflection, it occurred to her that the Chosen’s rather inept assault on Cloudtop had done more damage to the Arbordeus’s cause than Saskia could possibly have achieved on her own.

He would not make the same mistake twice, though. When next his Chosen came to Grongarg, they’d bring enough firepower to finish the job. Or maybe the Chosen would appear from among the troll population, igniting a war between queendoms. That seemed more his style. If Abellion could turn Grindlecraw to his side, was anyone safe from his influence? She still didn’t know how, exactly, he converted people into his own personal meat puppets. Or what they truly were. Something akin to vassals, surely, but with less free will. What if getting the Chosen onto Grongarg had been his main objective, and once dead, the mantle could pass to someone else nearby?

This was just speculation, though. She hadn’t seen any suspicious-looking trolls about the town. Still, just to be safe…

“Keep an eye out for bald, pale-eyed trolls who wear too much white,” Saskia warned the queen, only partly in jest. “You never know who Abellion might sink his tentacles into next.”

Queen Vask looked at Rover Dog. “Must you go with them? I had hoped you might stay and help…convince the other queens to support us.”

Rover Dog’s ears drooped. Yeah, he’d have enjoyed ‘convincing’ them, alright. But he returned her gaze resolutely. “Friends need help first. I not abandon them. Maybe return later.”

The queen pouted. Then a desolate look crossed her face. “I will miss you.” She looked at Saskia. “Both of you.”

Saskia sighed, feeling sorry for the new queen. Vask had lost most of her family, her home had been ravaged, and now they were leaving her alone to deal with the aftermath. “As he said, we’ll surely see each other again, once we’ve dealt with the problem on Ciendil. But until then, many lives hang in the balance. I hope you can understand.”

Vask nodded sadly. “Go! I will eagerly await your return.”

Giving one last wave to the new queen, Saskia watched as the scarred town of Pinnacle fell away beneath her. Then, on powerful wingbeats, the dragon carried her toward the looming trunk.

“I think I know where we should go next,” she told her friends. “But you’re not going to like it…”

“The Deadlands,” said Ruhildi.

“Yeah. There’s so much we might learn from the old empire. About how to craft heat-resistant armour. About arlium manipulation. We have to go there. I can feel it. But the problem remains…”

“There is no air to breathe on Old Ulugmir, yes?” said Zarie, frowning.

“No,” said Ruhildi. “No air. No life. But I don’t need to breathe. There’s naught stopping me from making the journey to Pentus, where answers await.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Saskia. “We could park the dracken right next to the trunk, where there’s still an atmosphere. I doubt it’ll be comfortable, but it should be survivable. The rest of us would basically be twiddling our thumbs, I’m afraid, while you do all the work, Ruhildi.”

“No different than usual, then,” said the undead dwarf. “But aye, I’m fair curious to unveil our forefathers’ secrets.”

Slowly, Grongarg receded beneath them, until it was just one branch among many, and they were gazing upon Arbor Mundi in all its glory, and the corpse of the planet far below. Their destination was among the closest branches; a spoke of grey and white, standing in stark contrast to its colourful siblings. It looked much as she imagined the surface of a comet must look. But unlike a comet, this branch had once teemed with life.

Dropping into a steep dive with a crack of thunder, the dragon plunged toward a bleak strip of stone and ice. Death awaited them there, but also a sliver of hope. Maybe in those desolate lands, Ruhildi would find the answers they so desperately needed.