139. Manipulating The Tides Of War

Astrid and Morph Prime rode into the glowing blizzard, picking up speed. He waited until stone outcroppings and dense snowfall significantly reduced visibility before creating more clones. Astrid’s eyes widened as they transformed, matching the two warchiefs and their mounts almost perfectly. The biomass was insufficient, and the beast Morphs had to cut corners, but it didn’t matter as long as the aerial view fooled the ravens.

The copies continued downhill while the originals dismounted and guided their mounts into one of the many cavemouths that dotted the mountainside. Wolf Prime raised a finger to his lips when Astrid tried to speak, leading them deeper into the darkness. Shadow Sight helped him find the way. His new companion didn’t appear to need any such assistance.

Morph Prime: Did you receive the Lesser Morph’s memories?

Lesser Morph One: Who you calling Lesser, dickface? I’ll feed Boar Morph your nuts.

Lukas: Now is not the time for your stupid banter. And, no. Nothing has changed. They’re your creations. I can dispel you right now if you’re done.

Morph Prime: Far from it, boss. I’ve picked up a new friend.

Bowie: Holy shit! You banging a Jotun, Morph?

Lukas: Elaborate.

Morph Prime: I found the command camp, walked into the chieftain’s tent during a meeting with the warchiefs, tapped into Rakan’s dragonfire, killed four, and befriended one.

Ace: You befriended a Jotun warchief? How the fuck did that happen?

Morph Prime: It’s a long story. But the crux of it is that she doesn’t want this war since Jotun deaths are inevitable. Her clan is small, and she’s worried about their survival. The chieftain might not want this war either. I got the sense he’s going with it because his warchiefs and their followers might rebel otherwise. Changing their minds might be impossible, but it may slow them down.

Zwei: I get the feeling our resident BIomancer did something spicy.

Morph Prime: Not all the warchiefs are convinced. They think Penelope is responsible for the attack and have sent ravens to find and watch her. However, the chieftain and a decent chunk might now think the Great Crimson Dragon’s cult has interests in their mountains, which are a fragment of their world, Jotunheim, by the way. I implanted the idea that the Elder Wyrmkin are trying to derail the war, as it will interfere with whatever they’re doing. A warchief is heading into the mines with his best fighters and a couple of witches to look for them.

Lukas: I don’t know whether that’s brilliant or crazy. At least, you’ve bought us time. I’ll talk to Penelope and see whether we can have Shae head into the tunnels and cause some chaos to sell the lie.

Morph Prime: Good call, boss. I’ll see what more I can get out of Astrid before I tell you more. We’ve been ordered to report to the Jotun warcamp, relocate it to a more secluded, secure site, and assist in selecting interim warchiefs. But, Astrid and I are going to take a more private detour so we can talk. It might be a while before you can dispel me.

Lukas: That’s fine. All of this might get you the breakthrough you need for ascension. Stay at it.

Morph Prime: Understood.

Once deep enough in the caves, Morph Prime sought an appropriate alcove before stopping. He raised a shadow veil and blended it into the surroundings through illusion. He also raised sound and magic-concealing barriers. It was unlikely the ravens or any other pursuers had followed them into the caves, but Morph Prime refused to take any risks. He existed for such work, and it was the closest to what El-Prime and his clones used to do in the Realm of Greater Beings. It was where they excelled and what Morph Prime did better than any Stalker or anyone else.

“It’s time we talk,” he said, facing Astrid. She had already dismounted her giant mountain goat, and her tattoos glowed white. The Jotun woman maintained a neutral stance, but it was clear she was ready for a fight. Morph Prime doubted he had the strength to stand up to a prepared offensive. The position of warchief seemed more than just a title.

It appeared that each of them represented a certain archetype. Morph Prime imagined that the bulk of their subordinates adhered to similar professions and roles.

Bjorn was a berserker, using rage to increase his strength and stamina. Furs had carried most of Ornn’s body, concealing his tattoos. However, the armor of ice and stone covering his shoulders and the ram-horn helm suggested he was some sort of warrior. It wouldn't surprise Morph Prime if the Jotun led a cavalry. Frigg was a healer and a witch, perhaps an animancer who took part in the creation of chimera warbeasts. He couldn't be sure about Saga. It wouldn't surprise him if she, too, was an arcane practitioner, diviner, or communications specialist. Gorm’s memories suggested he blended magic and close-range combat but preferred a more commanding and support position. He used songs and chants to galvanize his forces and empower them with magic.

Morph Prime also saw flashes of the late warchiefs in action. The Jotun used duels to settle disputes between clans. The current chieftain had used a similar forum to claim his position. Occasionally, the warchiefs entered their arenas. Gorm preferred sending champions to fight in his stead, but he had witnessed several. Ornn’s son combined heavy armor of stone and ice with clubs to act as a juggernaut of sorts. Another warchief, much like Xander, focused purely on defense, tiring out his opponent and then overwhelming them with blunt force trauma.

Finally, there was Astrid, the newest and most inexperienced warchief. Her contemporaries appeared to suspect that growing up with the chieftain and a probable secret romance was behind her promotion. Her presence and tattoos gave away little about her. However, after leaving the chieftain's tent, she had armed herself with a pair of daggers, which would be longswords in the hands of a human, and an axe with a chain attached to the handle. A bow wrapped in white cloth and a quiver stuffed with arrows hung from her saddle. Her snow-white cloak had turned dark grey after entering the caves, suggesting a camouflage enchantment. The equipment and the way Astrid carried herself suggested she specialized in sneak attacks and ambushes, perhaps assassination.

Stolen story; please report.

The subordinates who had helped her prepare for the departure were all similarly dressed, young-looking, and carried similar equipment. Morph Prime wondered whether the bulk of them were from her clan, explaining why she wished to avoid the war. It was likely her people weren't particularly well-liked, and there already appeared to be friction between the warchiefs and the clans under them.

Morph Prime had compiled all the information as a message through the journal to keep a clear intelligence record. The memory transfer was imperfect, requiring El Prime time to decide and piece things together. The Arcane Chronicler had made the task easier, but the relevant clone would require dispelling and resummoning, which wasn't viable while on the road.

“You go first,” Astrid said, a hand wrapped around the chain attached to her axe’s shaft. “Who are you? What powers do you serve?”

“I’m Morph.”

“Morph? Is that a joke? You change faces, size, colour, and create flesh minions, and your name is Morph.”

Morph Prime shrugged. “Some names are given. Others are earned.” He continued when she glared at him instead of asking more questions. “I serve a coalition—”

“Coalition?” Astrid asked, frowning.

“An alliance of independent individuals, if you will,” Morph Prime elaborated, guessing the journal lacked the ability to overcome certain language barriers. If the equivalent word didn’t exist in a language, the relic didn’t know what to do. “Preventing war isn’t our objective but an appreciated side effect.”

“Stop beating around the bush and tell me what you want.” Astrid’s hand tightened around the chain, white light leaked from her tattoos into the dark, crystalline links.

“Our objective is to minimize the influence of Greater Beings like Rakan the Crimson. Entities like him only care about furthering their agenda, not caring about the death and destruction they bring. My people ruined their plot and purged them from Iskander. We’ve seen them in the mountains around the Gray. We didn’t fight them, but stole their prize.”

“And this dragon cult sparked this conflict between our people?”

“No, that’ll be a Greater Being from the Void. It goes by the Abyss Engine. It brought the Void Heart to this land.” Morph Prime didn’t elaborate that the Frozen Phoenix wasn’t involved with the Revolution. Corrupt leadership and greed had driven them to steal and capitalize on Jotun relics. Brushes with the Void seemed coincidental.

“So your aim is to manipulate my people into fighting your war. I almost thought you wanted to do good.”

“It’s a matter of identifying the greater threat. The dragon and void cults are looking for the means to bring their gods to Fracture. When that happens, they won’t differentiate between human and Jotun. The only distinguishers that will matter will be worshipper and enemy. One is disposable, and the other must be eliminated. Rakan will see the mountains melt, and the Abyss Engine will consume all.” Morph Prime paused for dramatic effect, studying Ingrid intently before continuing. “This Ymir of yours. How involved is he in your affairs?”

“He isn’t,” Astrid answered, her words dripping with disgust. “If he exists, Ymir’s influence is limited to Jotunheim and never made it to this world. Gorm claimed he spoke to Ymir and followed his guidance, but only the fanatics truly believed him. The chieftain and the other war chiefs went along with it because he used to keep our largest warband under control. Why—”

“No. It's still my turn. You didn’t just let me kill your fellow warchiefs, you helped me aim. Why?”

“It was for the tribe.”

“That’s not good enough,” Morph Prime said, crossing his arms and leaning against Gorm’s giant boar. The creature nosed him, snorting and nudging him. “I’ve been truthful and open. You need to do the same if we’re to assist each other.”

“The chieftain doesn’t want the war,” Astrid answered. “He’s strong but not strong enough to stand up against more than half the warchiefs and their top fighters simultaneously.”

“And the warchiefs want this war?” Morph Prime couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself that his theory was correct.

“All but Saga and me. Neither of us wants to see our clans obliterated by a foe with greater numbers and better equipment. Your people have progressed while we have stagnated. This war will only result in eradication.”

“So, having me kill half the warchiefs takes the pressure off the chieftain. The setback will also make the others reconsider the war.”

“That’s what I hoped.” Astrid sighed. “But the two most vocal warchiefs pushing for the war were Bjorn and Ornn. They both deemed the kingdom had trespassed on our land for long enough, and stealing our relics was the last straw.”

“And now that I killed Ornn’s son and not him, he’ll be even more incensed? You think he will demand the war plans continue, or he’ll rebel against the chieftain.”

Astrid nodded. “Besides Gorm, he is the only one with enough power and influence to go against the chieftain. Now that Ragnar is dead, Ornn will absorb his warband. His forces will be larger and angrier.”

“So, we need to make the Elder Wyrmkin plot more convincing,” Morph Prime said, adding to the message he had prepared for El-Prime and sending it. “If vengeance becomes his focus, then perhaps only the clans under his control can go off to war, and the Jotun need to fight the Gray or the kingdom.”

“Can you make that happen?” Astrid asked, loosening her grip on the chain.

Morph Prime grinned. “I’m a Fleshweaver, friend. Tricking big, angry idiots is what I do best. For now, let's ensure the new warchiefs are people like you, whom we can easily control.”

“Saga will make it difficult, but I already have a few replacements in mind.” Astrid mounted her beast. “It’s best if we get moving. Jotun can’t make claims as the blizzard slows them. Think you can keep up?”

“Worry less and lead the way. However, it's best if you meet with my friends first.”

“We don’t have time to go to the city,” Astrid said. “It will take me far too long to put together a disguise.”

“That won’t be necessary. My friends are near your warcamp.” Morph Prime lowered the shadow veil and continued deeper into the caves, using his bestial sense of smell to find an alternate route. “Besides, I can tell you want to see the dragonfire sorcerer up close. We need to convince her that this war can be stopped. Otherwise, she’ll alert the kingdom of your chieftain’s plot. Then conflict will be inevitable.”