A Cold God, Chapter 7

“My queen,” Malathax began, his voice trembling as he stepped forward. The court wizard bowed low, his feathered robe swaying about him like a flag caught in a harsh wind. His breaths were shallow, rapid, as though he’d run a great distance. Sweat glistened on his brow, rolling down his pale face in streaks. His hands clutched the staff tightly, his knuckles white. His blue eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were wide, darting between Lysara and the chamber floor.

Lysara, seated on her gilded throne, leaned forward slightly, her brow arching. The faint amusement on her face began to fade as she noticed the tremor in his hands, the way his shoulders hunched as if bracing against an unseen weight.

“Well?” she asked, her tone sharper than usual. “Speak plainly, Malathax. What has you so rattled?”

Malathax swallowed hard. His grip on the staff tightened further as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

“I… I looked into its eyes,” he said, his voice low and strained. He paused, his jaw tightening as though the memory itself pained him.

“I saw death.” He hesitated, shaking his head quickly. “No, it was worse than death. It was—”

His words caught, his breath hitching as he struggled to continue. “It was nothing. The absence of all things. The end of movement. The end of time. An eternal cold, vast and empty, waiting in the shadows of the cosmos.”

The room grew silent. Even the murmurs of the assembled courtiers stilled, replaced by a growing unease that rippled through the chamber. Malathax’s voice, usually commanding and sure, now wavered, thin and brittle.

Lysara’s gaze hardened. Her fingers drummed once on the arm of her throne before she spoke, her voice clipped. “Malathax, enough with your riddles. What are you talking about?”

Malathax’s head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto hers.

“The Wildlings refer to it as the Icewalker, a creature whose origin they’re not even aware of, though they seem to believe it is their guardian.” he said, the words tumbling from his lips in a rush. “That... thing. It is not mortal, not human. Never mind its gigantic proportions; I thought it might be a being of frost, a creature of the elements, but it is more – far more. It is a herald.”

The queen’s brows knitted together.

“A herald?” Her tone was skeptical, but there was a flicker of something else – curiosity, perhaps. Or concern. But, in truth, Malathax had a streak for being far too dramatic than was necessary, which was why she rarely ever placed a great amount of trust in his prophesies. Instead, she kept him around for his ability to fling lightning and fire at her enemies. Beyond that, Malathax’s little visions kind of sometimes helped, but not by much and they almost always only ever made sense after the fact.

“A herald of the end,” Malathax said, his voice dropping to a whisper. His gaze grew distant, as though staring through the very walls of the chamber. “It carries the cold of the final breath of the cosmos. The frost it commands is not mere ice – it is entropy given form. The quiet death of fire and light and motion. The very fabric of existence slows in its presence, and the longer it lingers, the more it devours.”

Lysara straightened, her fingers stilling. Her eyes locked on him, sharp and unyielding. She was queen and, behind Malathax’s flowery words, Lysara found only a possible threat to her kingdom and her people. “And you are certain of this?”

Malathax’s shoulders sagged slightly, his chest rising and falling as he exhaled deeply. He nodded, his grip on the staff loosening just enough for his fingers to flex. “

I looked into its eyes,” he said again, his voice quieter now. “And in that moment, I felt it. The end of all things. Not chaos, not destruction, but stillness. Eternal, unyielding cold. It is no man, my queen. It is a force – a force that does not belong in this world. I am certain of it.”

The queen leaned back, her expression unreadable. The chamber remained silent, the tension thick as the courtiers exchanged uneasy glances. She tapped a single finger against the armrest, her gaze never leaving Malathax.

“And yet,” she said finally, her voice calm but edged, “this ‘herald of the end,’ as you call it, has not destroyed anything. It has not marched upon us, nor has it unleashed this supposed frost upon our lands. The Wildlings remain peaceful and cooperative; are you sure this wasn’t another one of your drunken visions, Malathax? It certainly wouldn’t be the first.”

Malathax flinched slightly at her words, his head bowing.

“Not yet,” he admitted. “But, my queen, it is only a matter of time. It cannot exist without consuming. It is in its nature.”

“And what would you have me do?” Lysara asked, her tone sharper now. “Shy away from a potential ally? Declare war on a being you claim is the end of all things? Tell me, Malathax – how does one fight nothing? How does one fight the end?”

Malathax didn’t answer immediately. His fingers curled tightly around his staff once more, his jaw clenching. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “You cannot fight it, my queen. You can only prepare for what it will bring.”

“Well, that just sounds like you wasted my time, wizard.” Lysara’s gaze narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. She rose slowly, the faint jingling of her chain of office breaking the heavy silence. Her steps were deliberate as she descended the dais, stopping just short of the wizard. Malathax lowered his head, his shoulders bowing under her scrutiny.

“But... I will heed your warnings, Malathax, if only because you’ve been somewhat useful in the past.” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “But I will not cower before shadows. If this Icewalker is a herald, as you claim, then we will ensure it heralds something else entirely – our continued survival. It inhabits the body of a man and, like any man, it can be reasoned with, assuming we can communicate with it.”

“There is no reasoning with it, my queen.” Malathax insisted. And then, he reached into his feathered robe and pulled out a thick, leather-bound tome, the same one he carried around his waist at all times – some sort of grimoire. “If you allow me, I may be able to enact a ritual that could put the entity into a deep slumber. It cannot be destroyed. But I believe it may be possible to render it inert.”

“Malathax,” Lysara sighed. “You need to calm down. I’ll go and have a talk with this Icewalker myself and, if I can’t discern its intent, then you may enact your little spell. Until then, go and drink some ale or something.”

Her words hung in the air, a stark defiance against the wizard’s ominous foretelling. But even as she spoke, her eyes flicked toward the frost-tipped horizon visible through the chamber windows, from which a gale of howling winds surged through. For the first time, she felt its chill, faint and distant but undeniable. The North was always colder than the rest of the continent, but there was something different about it now. Winter was far away. Perhaps, there was some truth to Malathax’s little prophesy.

.....

Malathax slammed the heavy oak door to his chambers shut with a resounding thud, the iron latch rattling as it settled into place. He paced the dimly lit room, his feathered robe sweeping against the stone floor with each agitated step. Shadows flickered along the walls, cast by the faint, cold glow of the crystalline orb resting on a pedestal at the center of the room.

“Foolish,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers twitching as he rubbed his temples. “She’s too stubborn. Too blind to see the danger staring her in the face.”

He stopped abruptly, glaring at the orb. The shimmering surface rippled faintly, responding to his rising frustration. Taking a deep breath, Malathax stepped forward, his fingers brushing over the cool, polished surface. The artifact pulsed under his touch, a faint, melodic hum filling the chamber. With a sharp whisper of arcane words, the orb flared to life, casting a silvery light that illuminated the room.

Figures began to coalesce within the light – translucent, flickering images of other wizards, each one clad in robes adorned with sigils and symbols of their respective kingdoms. Their faces were partially obscured, but their eyes glowed with power. They regarded Malathax with varying degrees of curiosity and disdain.

“Malathax,” one of them drawled, a man with a skeletal frame and a staff adorned with a writhing serpent. His voice was low and serpentine. “You summon us so late. Is Queen Lysara’s temper too much for you again?”

A few chuckles rippled through the gathering. Malathax’s lips pressed into a thin line, his grip tightening on the edge of the pedestal.

“She doesn’t listen,” he snapped. “I bring her warnings of a threat unlike any we’ve ever faced, and she dismisses me as if I were a jester. A herald walks among the Wildlings, and she believes she can reason with it.”

Another figure, a woman with piercing silver eyes and a crown of frost upon her brow, tilted her head slightly.

“A herald?” she asked, her voice like the crackling of ice. “Elaborate.”

Malathax exhaled sharply, his fingers drumming against the pedestal.

“They call it the Icewalker,” he said, his tone grim. “The Wildlings’ so-called guardian. It is not human. It is not mortal. Its frost is not of this world. It carries an aura of absolute entropy – the end of fire, of motion, of existence itself. It is the end given form.”

The serpent-staffed wizard chuckled darkly. “Dramatic as always, Malathax. You’ve always had a flair for the theatrical.”

“Enough, Vekris,” the frost-crowned woman said sharply, her gaze narrowing. “If what Malathax says is true, this is no small matter.”

Another wizard, robed in crimson with faint embers flickering along the edges of his cloak, leaned forward. His voice was deep and gravelly. “And what does your queen propose to do about this ‘Icewalker’?”

Malathax’s expression darkened. “Nothing. She plans to speak to it, as if it were some emissary from a neighboring kingdom. She refuses to see it for what it is – a force of annihilation.”

“Then you are losing your grip over her,” Vekris sneered, his tone dripping with mockery. “How unfortunate for you, Malathax. A court wizard who cannot control his queen is hardly worth his robes.”

Malathax’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. “And what would you have me do, Vekris? Conjure a rebellion? Force her hand with a coup? I serve my queen, misguided as she may be. The Changing God rewards patience.”

“Perhaps you should learn from us,” the frost-crowned woman said, her tone icy. “The Changing God has blessed us with power and purpose. Through him, we guide our kingdoms toward unity, toward strength. If your queen does not see the light, then perhaps the fault lies with you.”

“I serve the Changing God as well,” Malathax growled, his feathers bristling as if alive. “But this creature – this thing – is not of his design. It is an aberration.”

The crimson-robed wizard frowned, his embered cloak flaring faintly. “Or it is an opportunity.”

Malathax stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Opportunity? To what end?”

“To harness it,” the frost-crowned woman said smoothly. “To bend it to our will. If it is as powerful as you claim, it could become a weapon – one that could reshape the world in the Changing God’s image.”

“You would seek to control it?” Malathax’s voice rose, incredulous. “You would risk unleashing that frost upon us all?”

The serpent-staffed wizard smirked. “Oh, Malathax. You always think so small. The Changing God rewards ambition, not timidity.”

The frost-crowned woman leaned closer, her silver eyes glinting. “If you will not act, then perhaps we should. Send us more details of this Icewalker. Its habits, its movements. We will take it from here.”

Malathax hesitated, his fingers curling into fists. “And what if it cannot be controlled? What if it brings only ruin?”

“Then we will ensure it ruins only our enemies,” the crimson-robed wizard said, his voice firm. “Better to wield the blade than be cut by it.”

Silence fell over the chamber as Malathax stared at the gathered wizards. His feathers trembled faintly, the air around him growing tense. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“Very well,” he said, his voice tight. “I will gather what I can. But mark my words – this is not a power to trifle with. If you fail to control it, the consequences will be beyond anything you’ve imagined.”

The frost-crowned woman smiled faintly, a cold, sharp thing. “Then we will not fail.”

The orb dimmed as the figures began to fade, their mocking laughter and faint whispers lingering in the air long after the light had gone. Malathax stared at the empty pedestal, his grip tightening on his staff until his knuckles ached.

“Fools,” he muttered, turning away. But even as he spoke, a cold chill brushed against his senses, sending a shiver down his spine. Something ancient had awakened. And he feared it would not be tamed.

....

The People adapted to my True Ice bricks faster than I anticipated. Their ingenuity surprised me. The first structure they built was a wall, encircling the heart of our settlement. The elders and hunters planned its path, marking the boundary with stakes. I created the bricks as fast as they could stack them, watching as they layered and interlocked the frost-hardened blocks.

I noticed something peculiar when they paused to fit a jagged section. With a thought, the bricks fused together, becoming a seamless wall. The hunters exchanged glances, their hands running over the smooth, unbroken surface.

“It’s like stone,” One hunter said, pressing a palm against it. His fingers curled slightly, testing the strength. “But stronger.”

The elder nodded, her gaze sweeping the rising barrier. “Good. We’ll need it.”

The wall took shape over days. It stretched high and unyielding, the watchtowers rising at even intervals. The People built wooden gates at the north and south ends, their frames reinforced with True Ice beams. The hunters took shifts at the towers, bows slung over their shoulders, scanning the horizon.

Once the wall was finished, they turned to practical needs. The second structure was a pantry. The gatherers and hunters worked together, digging into the earth to create a cold cellar. I shaped the walls and floor from True Ice, sealing the underground space to preserve food. Shelves of woven reeds and wooden planks lined the interior, and sacks of dried meat, grains, and berries quickly filled the space.

“Food for winter,” Kesh said, stepping back to admire their work. She crossed her arms, her lips curving into a faint smile. “The frost keeps it fresh.”

From there, the work only grew more ambitious. Using True Ice bricks, the tribe constructed longhouses for each family. The designs grew more elaborate with each structure. The People etched patterns into the walls – spirals and waves that caught the light, casting shimmering reflections across the settlement. The doors were framed with carved wood, the floors lined with thick mats of woven grasses.

One group even built a meeting hall at the center of the settlement. It was the largest structure yet, with high ceilings and True Ice beams arching overhead. The walls glowed faintly in the firelight, their surfaces smooth as glass. The elder stood in the center, her bracelets jingling softly as she turned in place.

“This is good,” she said, her voice carrying. “This will be our heart.”

The tribe murmured in agreement, their faces alight with pride. Children darted through the hall, their laughter echoing off the frosted walls as they played. Outside, the settlement buzzed with activity. Wooden furniture was crafted and moved into the homes, and the hunters began building drying racks for meat near the southern gate.

As the settlement expanded, I assisted wherever I could. I reinforced the gates with True Ice, ensuring they could withstand even the strongest blows. I shaped bricks faster than they could stack them, fusing each structure into a seamless mass with a single thought. The frost spread with purpose, strengthening the foundation of every building.

By the time the sun set on the sixth day, the settlement looked like something from a dream. The glow of the True Ice reflected the firelight, casting soft, rippling patterns across the ground. The People moved with confidence, their steps lighter than before. For the first time, this place felt like home.

But the calm didn’t last.

I sensed the arrival before I saw it. The ground trembled faintly, a rhythmic thudding that grew louder with each moment. The hunters in the watchtowers straightened, their hands tightening on their bows. A shadow appeared on the horizon, growing larger as it approached.

A rider.

The lizard-like beast he rode was massive, its scaled body sleek and muscled. It snorted as it drew closer, its claws scraping against the rocky ground. The rider pulled it to a stop just beyond the southern gate, raising a hand in greeting. His cloak billowed faintly in the wind, the emblem of Queen Lysara’s crest stitched into the fabric.

I stepped forward, the frost curling at my feet as I approached the gate. The elder joined me, her expression unreadable but sharp. Yatuk and Tala stood nearby, their bows lowered but ready.

The rider dismounted, his boots crunching against the frost-dusted ground. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his armor gleaming faintly in the fading light. His gaze swept over the settlement, lingering on the True Ice walls before settling on me.

“I come on behalf of Queen Lysara,” he said, his voice steady but grave. He didn’t bow, but his posture was respectful. “There is a matter of great urgency.”

The elder nodded, her bracelets jingling softly. “Speak.”

The rider’s expression darkened. “A large party of Greenskins – hundreds of them – is on the move. They are headed south, and their path will take them through this valley. You must prepare. They will not spare your settlement if they find it.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered tribe. The hunters exchanged glances, their hands tightening on their weapons. The elder’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze hardening.

“How soon?” she asked.

The rider glanced at the horizon. “Two days, perhaps less.”

The frost at my feet thickened, curling outward in thin, sharp tendrils. My gaze met the rider’s, steady and unyielding. I then nodded at her. There was nothing for them to worry about. The hundreds of Greenskins would fall before me, like all the others.

The elder nodded at the rider. “Thank you for informing us. We will begin making preparations immediately.”

The rider huffed. “You mean to stay and meet them?”

The elder merely smiled. “We have our protector. We are not afraid. In fact, it is the barbarian Greenskins who must be afraid. Fear not for us, Stone-Dweller. We will be safe.”