Chapter 99: The Reality Of Fighting Humans (Part One)
"What happened to the last forty-seven allies who joined your war against the humans?"
Paulus’ question hung in the air, heavy like the snow after a blizzard. Throughout the hall, forks and knives froze, suspended over dishes as the Frost Walkers attending the feast dared not make a sound. The air itself seemed to crystalize, as though the already cold room had entered the depths of winter.
Moments ago they had been exhilarated by Old Fabiene’s tale of Nyrielle’s heroic stand on the arena sands. Now, one of their elders had stood to speak out against her, dumping a bucket of ice water over the warm fires the stirring tale had built in their hearts.
"Old Fabiene, thank you for sharing your tale. You are a treasure and I am honored to hear that it helped you face your own struggles," Nyrielle said, gently removing Ashlynn’s hands from where her Seneschal had offered a comforting touch and turning her attention to the belligerent elder.
The moment Nyrielle turned her attention to Elder Paulus, Fabiene slumped gratefully in her chair. She’d been honored to tell her story but she had no desire to become embroiled in whatever conflict Elder Paulus was beginning to stir. Beside her, other guests at the high table reached out with comforting hands, gently stroking her fur to comfort her and thank her for sharing what she had. Meanwhile, most people turned their attention to Lady Nyrielle.
"You’ve fought the humans, haven’t you, Elder Paulus? It doesn’t matter whether a person’s struggles are big or small," Nyrielle added, looking out at the gathered Frost Walkers for a moment before returning her gaze to the Elder.
"As long as a person respects the challenges others face, we can all strive together. But when you speak out to disparage others, I have to start by asking my own question," she said pointedly. "Why don’t I remember seeing you on the field of battle, slaughtering humans with your own claws to keep your High Pass safe from human invaders?"
"Ridiculous," Paulus spat. "I wasn’t even born when Cellach Lothian died. That’s why I’m asking you to account for the people who followed you in that war. What happened to your forty-seven progeny?"
"Paulus," Lord Ritchel growled, his fur rising with icy energy as his hands balled into fists. "Sit down. You’re out of line." Lord Ritchel wasn’t stupid, he’d heard the same tales that Paulus had, but at this point, the battle against Cellach was all but ancient history. The events of those days hardly mattered in his eyes when compared to the threats before them now.