Arturus Windmiller told the wendigo, “Throw your glasses. They’ll know where we are otherwise.”

Snowbound Glatteis looked back at him with those quasi-unreadable eyes, even without the glasses on his furred face.

“I am never leaving the Glasses of the Hunt. It’s a sacred heirloom of my family.”

“Then excuse me, but I will go my way. I am not staying with what must be a pillar of light pointing your way if what you describe can be seen from miles away. Don’t follow.”

“Then go, tribesman,” Snowbound replied. “May you find your way home in safety.”

The tribal chieftain did not bother replying and he and the two tribesmen that were along immediately started moving away from him and his other wendigo companion, at a nearly straight angle compared to the path they had been taking.

“He’s not wrong,” Blackleaf finally said once the three men had moved out of sight between the trees.

“Don’t care,” the first wendigo replied curtly.

The two wendigos kept moving as fast as they could. The pursuit had been relentless over the day and the previous night too, and exhaustion was threatening. And when he looked back, Snowbound could see through his Artifact glasses three plumes of mana moving in the woods. But he was not about to lose an heirloom that has been handed from ancestor to descendant for nearly 150 years, no matter how dire his situation was.

Yesterday was the day everything turned horribly wrong. Wendigo forces were starting to arrive again as the November weather favored them finally. Snowbound had joined the tribal main force at Kootenai, hoping that this time would be the turning point of the war. Despite two fronts opened, the tribals had been unable to realize their summer gains, but with an even larger number of wendigos…

He’d barely arrived when an impossible spectacle began. Off in the distance, at the edge of his glasses’ perception, mana plumes started showing. Not those of Artifacts, but the slightly more subdued plumes of mana users. One… two… five… dozens slowly became visible.

Nobody would believe him until he reluctantly shared his glasses with the command. The fact that scouts reported a small company of soldiers arriving from the south, right where the traces of sorcerers showed, served to confirm the glasses’ mana vision.

“How the fuck is that even possible?” one tribal commander said after handing back the glasses.

“Last winter, they had two new sorceresses. And they were neutralized,” Arturus noted, looking at Snowbound inquiringly.

None of the wendigos had briefed the rest of the tribal command about Snowbound’s true actions. The meeting quickly devolved into bickering, the majority of the tribal leaders suspecting some trick.

It was not a trick. The army of the Kootenai poured out of its garrison barely one hour after the small reinforcements had arrived at the fort holding the Kootenai Gap’s entrance from the Montana. The tribal forces roused themselves to face the enemy, and that was when the real magnitude of the peril became apparent.

Soldiers dodging arrows, others walking surrounded by fire like a reincarnation of the Burning Walker, while others moved at an insane speed across the field. Fireballs, like the ones last year, launched in straight lines into tribal formations. That special company had split into three platoons, supported by the rest of the army, but those platoons tore into the tribal units. Snowbound watched the plumes of mana moving, with a dizzying array of offensive abilities demonstrated.

Fifteen minutes after the battle was joined, it was a rout. The tribal leaders scattered, with Snowbound Glatteis and Arturus Windmiller ending up running to the side, risking the mana zone. Snowbound discovered quickly that they had pursuers, quite insistent ones. His guess was that at least one of the new soldiers could see mana… and his glasses.

“They’re nothing if not dedicated.”

“I am going to try something. But we have to split,” Snowbound replied.

“I’m not a tribesman.”

“I have a trick. But I am not sure it will work, and it wouldn’t if you’re around.”

“And what trick can serve the Great Hunter Glatteis?”

“A trick. Now go. And if I don’t make it… well…”

“What do you mean, you lost it?” Lieutenant Cancilla said.

Spotting Artifact-bearing enemies had been a boon. They would probably be some high-ranking enemies, and capturing them would go a long way to finish decisively the war.

“I had it, but then… wait, it’s back,” Corporal Tufo replied.

The Earth Shaper had had difficulties tracking. The Artifact’s mana plume had suddenly started to fade in and out. But now, it had suddenly firmed again. He knew that, based on measurements, the Talent was based on his weakest quality, flat base in Perception, but a few of the Shapers had been handed it “in case”. If he had had more of that “talent energy”, he might have gotten Earth Master and gotten improvements, but as it stood, he dealt with his limitations.

“Let’s keep up. It’s been nearly a day, if we can’t catch those leaders, we’ll have to turn back and it will have been a waste. Colonel Markov will be unhappy.”

The eight-man team of Talented pushed on.

“It seems to have stopped.”

“You’re sure?”

“The plume isn’t moving.”

Lieutenant Cancilla frowned but kept the course. Worst case, he surmised, the fugitives had finally discarded their Artifact, and they would recover it. Artifacts were not as impressive as they once had been – now that the 1st Talent Brigade was being built, the quantity of Talents had a quality of its own. But nobody was going to neglect the right Artifact. An Artifact’s Talent did not count as one’s intrinsic Talent, after all.

The gap closed slowly. The pursuing team finally broke into a small hollow where Corporal Tufo finally spotted the plume, plunging at the end of the clearing.

“No one?” Lieutenant Cancilla wondered.

“It’s there anyway,” Tufo pointed.

“Well, let’s recover that at least,” Cancilla sighed.

The team moved in, but almost immediately, a loud roar broke. The men froze, and the source of the sound came into view.

A 6-feet tall Felid. Tufo immediately spotted the manalight playing on claws and eyes and felt the weight of unnatural fear come.

“Falter. And another Talent,” he immediately announced, stepping back as he locked the beast in place.

“By the numbers, people,” the lieutenant announced.

The frontline spread, weapons drawn, and got ready, just as the beast started to breathe a sickly yellow cloud.

“Another,” he warned.

The attack took him by surprise. He felt cold metal and pain, and briefly wondered how he’d missed that Talent. The Fixer immediately turned in surprise, but Tufo’s vision was fading fast. The last thing he saw was a furred arm drawing back across his face.

The Felid was doing its part, Snowbound noted. He moved out of view, and immediately faded his presence, moving carefully out. Without that old prey – or rather enemy, as he’d never dared actually hunt her – of his, it would be hard to do. But with that kind of distraction, even a team was hard-pressed to keep track of him.

Apparently, the same soldier who’d been tracking him had also interfered with the beast, and she was now released and even more furious. Snowbound slowly made his way around, watching the southron soldiers tackle the enemy. Poison clouds, claws that struck at a distance, but they were slowly grinding her defenses. One of them moved, helping stem the wounds with a touch.

Empowered, all of them, he realized, as he finally reached the spot where he’d left the bait for the ambush, and snatched his glasses back. He just hoped they only had one tracker. Doing it twice would be hard.

He did not wait to see the outcome of the fight and slowly moved. After all, he knew he had only under a dozen minutes of continuous discretion, and did not dare turn it on and off at need. Not here, not now.

Good luck, old enemy. As for me… well, I might need to take Ulrich’s offer, as bizarre as it is. Because obviously, others have.