Chapter 595: You can Start an Avalanche, but not Tell it Where to Go.

The winds were chill and angry as Bronk led the ogre tribes down the Icesnake Glacier and through the dark forests towards the pass to the Warmlands. He liked the winds this way. They were stirred up by the ravings of the fallen Cyclone and looking for a way to hurt anything that moved. Bronk had warned the ogres following him to stay away from the edge of the deep crevasses. Two had ignored him, going over to yell into them and listen to the echo. The winds took advantage of their stupidity, gusting hard and sending them screaming to the bottom. Bronk didn't care. It meant less stupidity in the tribe. It was hard to get any of his tribe to think beyond fighting, eating, and sex. More ogres didn't mean a stronger tribe when there was little to eat. Smarter ogres were better. Over the last hundred years, some of the worst offenders had met accidental deaths.

Along with winnowing out the stupid, he had welcomed newcomers to the tribes that would normally be shunned by the insular ogres. Three yeti Shamans had visited and he had found good husbands for the two that decided to stay. Their children were were hairier than normal, but were natural shamans with strong forest and frost magic. Some of the chiefs had grumbled, but Bronk pointed to his own grandmother as an example. She'd been born a Jotun, but a runt with twisted and gnarled limbs. Worse, her magic was not limited to Ice, but tied to rock and mud as well. She would never be able to transform into a giantess of ice. Barely ten feet tall she felt uneasy around her tribe, and had traveled to the nearest ogre village. Her deep blue skin, bowed legs, and mismatched eyes marked her as an outsider. But her will of steel and powerful magic were valued by more than one chief, and she picked the most powerful as her husband.

Her Jotun blood and shamanic magic were passed through the female line. Her many sons made the ogre tribes stronger, but her daughter was far more powerful, and she found her a fitting husband with a little magic of his own.

Her one daughter, gave her three grandchildren. The two granddaughters became shamans and shared her magical talents, and some of their father's skill at taming beasts. But Bronk was far more powerful. He was beyond her teachings by the time he was nine years old. All of his time was spent in the frozen glaciers, or the high peaks, talking to the spirits of the land and listening to them. Many didn't like how the North was changing. Spirits prefer nature to civilization. They hated the tall towers of the Ice Mages and the growing towns of the barbarian tribes. They preferred the Jotun who dwelt in their ancient halls, the Yeti in their glacial caverns, and the ogres who built little more than huts of frozen mud. Bronk had made them promises, and they had given him power.

This day was a long time in coming. His Grandmother had returned to the Ice that created her. His siblings and mother had gone to the deep caves for their final sleep. He had spent over two centuries setting things in motion, making small changes. He likened them to throwing snowballs down a steep slope. Eventually something started moving, changes coming faster and faster. Today, the avalanche was here. His ogres would follow the mixed breed monsters to battle, aided by their Jotun allies, and crush the barbarian tribes together. If the Empire was foolish enough to attack, he would crush them as well. It would send a good message to the little Emperor in his warm palace and shake Duke Carl as he sat on his throne, all alone, his Duchess dead and eaten. Hopefully, he could do the eating himself. She also had ties to her land, and it would be interesting to see what he could learn from making a meal of her.

Coming out of the trees, he had a view of the pass in front of him. The Jotun army was waiting for him, not marching to battle. They were a strange people, and even the bit of his blood that came from them didn't give him enough insights into how they thought. Did they expect him to go first? Or was this another of their confounded rituals that involved drinking what they considered tea? He saw that many them were simply sitting and talking. But, true to his word, Brogthall had brought an army. Bronk had never seen so many Jotun in one place. He saw over three hundred of the mighty giants, arrayed for battle and fully fifty feet tall. Brogthall was head and shoulders taller than the largest. Bronk hadn't known that his old friend could become so powerful. A small worry flashed through his mind, seeing the numbers of their army, and the size of their general.

He motioned for his tribesmen to stop. It was time for dinner, anyway, and ogres grew unruly if they didn't eat on schedule. They laughed and began hauling the supplies off a wooly mammoth. The mammoth, no longer needed, would become part of the dinner. Bronk himself chewed on a piece of tough smoked meat, something he had picked up in Gadobhra when he visited. It was mostly tough muscle and fat, rolled in salt and heavily smoked. Dillo Jerky, their butcher called it, and it gave even his jaws a workout.

Jarl Brogthall took two long strides to meet him, squatting down for easier conversation. There was none of the ponderousness Bronk was used to seeing in large giants. This wasn't size he had added just to intimidate. He knew Brogthall would fight at his full skill, even so huge.

"Greetings, friend Bronk. Happy are the Jotun to see their friends arrive as promised. Would you like some tea? Of course you would." He turned his head, "Tea for our friend Bronk, and bring some of the fresh churn milk and barley bread, he looks famished."

Bronk stared for a moment, not wanting to tell the Jotun what he thought of his tea. Then saw two younger maidens, only twenty feet tall run laughing towards them. They smiled at him, curtseyed politely and put the food and drink in front of him. Sighing, Bronk sat on the cold stone and began to eat and drink. "What of the giants and monsters that were turned away from the other pass? My little spirits said they headed this way."

Brogthall made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "The half-breeds, quasi-giants, near-yeti, and abominable monsters that annoy all of us and eat too much? I sent them on to battle. Otherwise, I'd have had to feed them or kill them. None of them are too bright, and can't be reasoned with. They are off to attack the little ones and engage in their little battles. Win or lose, they will not be coming back to the north. We both know this was your plan, and what you wanted. Like Glacia, the Hungry Ones, the over abundance of wolves clogging the glaciers and the meddling Winter Council of Ice Mages. All gone to their graves in the warmlands, never to return."

Bronk knew that, but it was a little uncomfortable having things said so plainly, and in the open where any wind could pick up and carry those words. "And now we follow."

Brogthall tilted his head and thought for a moment, then came to a decision. "No, we do not."

Bronk held back a stinging retort, reminding himself of who he was speaking to. "Do you mean to say that the Jotun are not going to do battle alongside the ogres?"

"No, I did not say that."

"Then you will be joining us in the fight."

Brogthall shook his head. "I did not say that either. I might have said it some time ago, but things have changed. More tea?" He raised his voice. "More tea, talking makes me thirsty."

This time, it was Brogthall's wife who brought the tea. Bronk was becoming agitated, but also worried. He took the tea, and drank it down quickly, trying not to be impolite.

"Are the Jotun going to engage in battle?"

Brogthall sipped his tea and looked at his wife. "My dear, I need your counsel. Should I take our army and march to the warmlands and accompany my good friend Bronk and his army?"

She said politely, but firmly. "No husband. You will not be doing that, for several reasons."

Brogthall turned back to Bronk. "No, the Jotun will not be engaging in battle. There are several good reasons for that, so I am told."

Bronk steadied himself, and reached for the spirits and the lands he drew power from. Rock responded, solid as ever, but it was thinking hard about something, confused. Mud was undecided and he saw images of thawing lands along the border, where mud sprites were playing along the new streams. The glaciers were silent, and the spirits of ice as well. "What is going on, Brogthall? If the Jotun are turning away from this battle, why are you here? Move aside and I will finish the job myself."

Brogthall said, "No, you will not. Neither of our armies will move from here, unless it is to return to our homes. I know you have come a long way to hear this, but hear it you will."

Bronk was furious. He wanted to lash out and kill something, but there were only the Jotun and the ogres here, and he pushed down his fury. "Explain."

Brogthall smiled, and his wife held out a mercenary contract. The sum of gold mentioned in the contract was monstrous in size. Enough that it would take more than one mammoth and sleigh to move it. As he read, the Jotun talked. "It seems that while the Empire fought a war, the Baron of Gadobhra has been busy, making money. I almost think that I am in the wrong business. He has maneuvered the Emperor into giving him the northern part of the Duchy as his own. And it seems that Glacia's downfall came about because of his champion. The Emperor will be very happy with him, and I think he will be keeping those lands. He thinks so too. But he has a worry about invading armies."

Bronk stared at the contract, not believing it, but he knew Brogthall wouldn't lie, not with his wife standing beside him. It was her signature under that of the Baron. "He is paying the Jotun gold to guard this pass and keep me from joining the fight? Why then would you allow the monstrosities to leave the north?"

"Oh, easy. Firstly, because he didn't pay me to stop them. Just you. Secondly, because I want to see who wins this fight. It is in the Jotun's interest that much death occur and we do not have to deal with either group. Lastly, the Baron knew they were coming, and has a plan for dealing with them that advances his own plans. A very cunning opponent and good ally, this Baron. It will be nice to be related to him."

The last statement confused Bronk. "Related?"

"Yes. My daughter has chosen a husband from one of the Baron's champions. A mighty wizard of 'Thermodynamics'. It must be powerful a powerful kind of magic, with a name like that. Best yet, he has Jotun blood running in his veins and is a mighty warrior. Her letter's home weren't just about giving us information on the warmlands. She is quit smitten with him, so of course they will be getting married soon. She even arranged for this large deposit of gold to go into an account in the Royal Gnomish Bank. So convenient."

A banking statement showing a sum of gold equal to that mentioned in the contract was handed to Bronk. "This is...this...I have no words."

Brogthall nodded his head. Then smiled. "I understand. Change is happening so quickly. We can start an avalanche, but not control where it goes. Think of this as opportunity. I know you are frustrated, but imagine the wagonloads of meat, ale and fine foods that will come from Gadobhra. Go eat dinner. We will see how this battle turns out. And after that, there will be a wedding to plan where many important things will be discussed. You are invited, of course."

Bronk looked at the massed army of the Jotun, no longer lounging around. They had taken the Baron's gold. They would fulfill their contract. It would be as foolish to fight them as it would be to fight the Icesnake. Like mud, he must change shape and adapt. "There will be cake and dancing? It has been a long time since I had cake."

Both the Jotun smiled and Brogthall's wife said, "Then the wedding contract will make sure there is enough cake, even for your belly."

Bronk walked away. He took a hindquarter of the mammoth for himself, and told his army to eat everything. That would make them happy and keep them from thinking too hard. Bronk wished he could do the same himself.