Chapter 469: The Final Demand of the Dead
"Enough, Commander Jannik," Odette said, leaving her chair and striding forward to place a hand on the powerful commander’s shoulder. "How often have we said that the ice is melting and we must learn to live in a world that is different from the ones our ancestors knew?"
"The Vale of Mists of today is not the Vale of Mists of our father’s era," she said, lowering her pure white horn in a show of respect to Nyrielle. "Or perhaps they are and we never truly knew their strength. But today, their army is already camped within our walls. Our forces have already been defeated. It is good to speak up if you feel like we are being taken advantage of in our moment of defeat, but it’s clear that Her Dominion doesn’t see matters the way we do."
"You can let this one go, Commander Jannik," Old Svenja’s brittle voice followed Odette’s. "You have stood for what is right and that is good, but anything more would only be foolish defiance for the sake of pride... And the High Pass cannot afford to lose any more of our strongest warriors to foolish pride."
Standing out in front of the delegation, Jannik closed his eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath while he wrestled with his conscience. In his entire life, the High Pass had stood resolute and unconquerable, bound in ice that protected it from the world outside. There had been battles to be sure. The threat of Tuscans and other raiders who sought to plunder horns from their Ancestral Caves was constant.
But defeat? The fall of their mighty fortress? How many generations of commanders had preceded him without anyone facing this humiliation and shame? How many had stood where he stood now, fighting for the honor of the dead and arguing over whether or not the price to save their fallen lord’s life was too high? He couldn’t think of a single one who had faced such a challenge.
"Promise me something, Your Eternity," Jannik said, opening his eyes and staring directly into Nyrielle’s midnight gaze. "Promise me that you will not kill my clansmen who offer their blood to you. Promise that Lord Ritchel won’t find that his recovery came at the cost of young men like Dafrir."
"I cannot give you that promise," Nyrielle said, holding up a hand before the impulsive commander could object. "But I promise you that I will teach them the way an offering is to be made, and if it gives you comfort, then my darling Ashlynn will remain by their side while I feed to pull them free if they fail to tell me when they’ve reached their limit."
"You are not a child, Commander Jannik," Nyrielle continued, speaking in a tone that carried the weight of her considerable years. "You should know that any great working that would defy death itself carries risk. I will not give you false hope just as Ashlynn will not promise success, even if I believe in her ability to save Ritchel’s life with this method. We will all do our part, we will do our best. We can promise no more than that," she said firmly.
"Then, I have no further complaints," the dark-furred warrior said, returning to his seat in defeat. "Castle Mistress, I leave this matter in your hands," he said formally, leaving the final decision to Odette.
"These brave men died so that my husband might live," Odette said, returning to the young girl’s side and scooping her up into her arms so she could look down and see her fallen Grandfather’s face one last time. "As Her Dominion said, it falls to us to finish what they started. I will offer myself and I will bring any others who wish to do the same with me. Lady Ashlynn, if we do this thing, how soon do you think my husband could be healed? And can he make a full recovery?"
"This will not be fast," Ashlynn cautioned. "At least a month. Perhaps two. More than that I cannot say until we’ve returned to the Vale and begun to treat him. But we will do everything we can, and in the end, I hope that he will be just as strong as he was before this tragedy."