20.6

Eve manipulated Witch’s Dust to create a silver mirror to the side. King Brandon looked at the polished metal in shock as it displayed a series of images. Color filled the mirror, making it appear like a window elsewhere had opened.

As the king peered into the silver mirror scrying tool, an icy gust of wind sliced through the air, carrying an ominous aura. Snow shifted as it fell upon the land below. A valley, tightly embraced by winter's grip, revealed its majesty through towering cliffs and jagged peaks, forming an imposing natural barrier. Once teeming with life, the landscape reflects a frozen wasteland devoid of vitality.

Spread out in sight was a sprawling battlefield, a vision that sent a shiver down King Brandon’s spine. The ground, coated in a thick mantle of snow and ice, bore witness to the scars of previous conflicts, etched in deep trenches and craters. Broken weaponry and remnants of shattered armor litter the frozen earth, remnants of once-mighty armies, now silenced.

“The creatures of metal and stone?” King Brandon asked apprehensively. He saw creations the size of an Umber combating shorter figures that were part of an endless tide.

“Golems, I’ve been using them to keep the undead bottled up while the Wall is being constructed,” Eve said. “It is working for now.”

Within this desolate tableau emerged formidable undead warriors, their forms draped in tattered armor veiled by frost. Some of these skeletal figures possessed evil eyes and bony fingers clasping weapons. Even worse were others looking almost human, which stood as haunting testaments to the dark forces that fought. Their breath weaved into misty tendrils, and their footsteps echoed with an eerie rhythm from the mirror.

“Undead!” King Brandon gasped in awe. “The legends are true…”

Eve nodded and said, “Winter is coming, the words of your forefathers.”

“Takes on a whole new meaning when myths walk upright in the world of men.” King Brandon said before rising and moving to the door. “I’ll need mead to help me get through this meeting. I can already tell.” Once the king was seated again with a bottle of spiced mead, Eve continued demonstrating.

The air within the mirror now carried an otherworldly weight, as though the souls of fallen soldiers lingered, trapped in eternal anguish. Moans and whispers, brought upon by the wind's whispers, compose an eerie symphony across the forsaken valley. Driven by an insatiable hunger for battle, the undead move with uncanny speed and strength, their actions methodical and relentless. Golems fueled by silver lines of light repeatedly broke the unending tide of undead.

As the battle unfolded within the mirror, bursts of magnetic energy illuminated the sky. Frost spells intertwine with necromantic incantations, casting an ethereal glow upon the battlefield. The clash of weapons reverberates throughout the valley, a symphony of metallic echoes that pierce the wintry silence. For every golem that fell, another appeared to take its place.

The mirror’s view drew back, making the valley itself appears conspiratorial against the living, presenting treacherous icy slopes and frozen crevices that lurk to claim unsuspecting souls. The bitter cold permeates bones, numbing limbs, draining the vigor of those entangled in this relentless struggle. Blizzards descend from the surrounding peaks, shrouding visibility and adding to the chaos that unfolds within the mirror's vision.

Amidst this macabre tapestry, the undead commanders stand upon a raised dais, their regal robes tattered yet majestic. Their gaze, devoid of warmth, surveys the battlefield with cold, unfeeling intent. From their lips issue dark commands, orchestrating the movements of their macabre legions with precise calculation. Their potent necromantic magic fortified the ranks of their unholy army with glowing green spells.

Within the mirror's enchanted view, the battlefield brimmed with powerful undead locked within the valley’s golem grindstone. An aura surrounded the undead, manifesting as a tableau of death and despair, striking terror into the heart. Here, the forces of darkness had established dominion, blurring the boundaries between life and death. The bitter cold and the relentless advance of the undead forge an environment as hostile as the enemy. King Brandon knew that mortal men would crumble against such an onslaught.

“The golems are holding the line, buying time?” King Brandon said, taking a sip of his mead. His eyes flowed over the battlefield, the keen mind of a ruler calculating the enemy’s strength.

“They will hold until the Fae restrict me,” Eve said, letting another verbal nuke drop.

“Fae, the rulers of the Hidden Worlds?” King Brandon muttered, taking a long pull on his bottle. “Does the Pact not protect against such things?”

Eve arched an eyebrow and said, “Who do you think enforces the Pact? Only due to their mercy am I allowed even this much interference. I had to cash in a favor I provided to gain even this boon.”

King Brandon turned away from the mirror and said, “What do you gain from this? No one sends troops to aid another without profit, especially the Silver Bank. Rumors even claim the bank leader has lived a very long time.”

“Are you asking a woman her age now?” Eve’s eyes grew icy.

“Ah, no. Not at all. A slip of the tongue from the stress that was.” King Brandon said with a nervous chuckle.

“Good. I am providing this aid because if the undead gain a true foothold, my plans go to drak.” Eve said, flexing her fingers. Pulling a golem from the battle, she phased in a replacement. The metal, stone, and magic creature formed opposite the mirror within the room.

“Are you worried that mortals cannot match the tireless efficiency of a golem?” Eve said, looking at the king. His trepidation had been trivial to see.

“No human can last forever.” King Brandon said, looking once more at the valley of death. “If I call the banners for this, it will be a slaughter. You know this.”

“Have you already forgotten my gifts?” Eve said, amused. “With the combination of numbers and rune-crafted armor and weapons, humanity has a fighting chance. Mechanical Golem-Armor Power Suits. Rune Cannons. Silver Blades. The list goes on.”

King Brandon’s eyes grew lit with the flames reflecting from a nearby brazier. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fight. He just hadn’t considered the fight possible to win. Like a true Northman, once his rage at the invaders surfaced, it wouldn’t extinguish quickly. “These weapons, they will put my people on equal footing?”

Eve pulled an example of each item from her Storage, letting the king see them. A gesture cracked open the golem revealing the human recess for a pilot inside. “It will give you a fighting chance, but no victory is guaranteed, no battle assured.”

King Brandon downed his bottle and set it aside on a small table. Striding up, he stared intently at the interior of the golem and said, “This is the North. All we need are good blades, solid armor, and the willingness to bleed. The rest will take care of itself.”

Eve stretched, rising from her chair. “This is the Age of Heroes, so I’m told. I will loan you a piece of my power in exchange for several conditions.” As King Brandon turned his attention back to her from the golem, she held up her palm, letting a Silver Seed condense over it.

“I’m no great magician, talented sorceress, or genius that understands mana like breathing air. However, like all things in life, I found a way around my problem. I can trade a small portion of my power, let it grow, and then gain all the experience of the one who wielded it.” Eve said, letting the seed float to the king. “It isn’t a perfect method, but it is far superior to spending centuries learning to light a pipe with a finger candle.”

King Brandon eyed her warily, saying, “That can’t be the only thing. If you say true, you could spread tens or hundreds of these things. Eventually, you would get a genius.”

Eve shook her head as she pulled out a silver pipe. Lighting the herbs inside, she took a long draw and said, “Perhaps I can do that one day, but currently, attempting to use more than one Silver Seed is unfeasible. If you take the seed, it won’t be your only gain.”

King Brandon’s eyes widened as his breath caught. “Dragon eggs?”

“Indeed. If you accept the seed, you can bind with these seven dragons. Living war engines of incredible power, if raised properly.” Eve said, putting away her pipe.

“Great boons for a great hook.” King Brandon said, his eyes not looking away from the eggs.

“Upon your death, everything returns to me. The incredible bonds you forge, filled with the mana processed by the living engines covered in scales, would become my own.” Eve said as her eyes glimmered silver in the darkened room. “It is one of the few ways to avoid violating my agreement with R’hllor.”

“Once you were bonded with the dragons, what then? Conquer the world?” King Brandon looked at her askance.

“How amusing to think I haven’t done that already,” Eve said. “I have raised a titan gilded in wealth whose footsteps can shatter society.”

“True.” King Brandon said before he reached out a hand and grasped the Silver Seed. “Let’s see the Contract then. Anyone with any sense knows those annoying things are part and parcel of the Silver Bank deals.”

Eve pulled a parchment scroll from thin air and handed it over to the king. It was amusing that this habit was so well known. She shrugged, granted the world had a thousand more years to learn.

After reviewing the terms, King Brandon signed, looking unamused as the Contract turned into sparkling light fragments. “I can already feel the gold flowing out of my pockets if any of the little ones saw a display like that.”

Eve shrugged and banished all the items and dispelled the mirror to the valley. Reaching out a hand, she said, “Let’s take a little trip, your majesty.”

As the king took her hand, she shifted their location with Spatial Step. As they appeared, the crunch of powdered snow sounded out before them was a farm that any Northern person could quickly identify.

“A farm?” King Brandon asked with confusion.

“What is the most expensive thing the North requires,” Eve replied.

“Food. I have no doubt you have more accurate numbers than me on the exact amounts.” King Brandon said with a sigh.

“Seventy-three percent of the North’s coin goes to a singular purpose." Eve nodded.

As the king and the sorceress approached the farm in winter, a mesmerizing and enchanting sight unfolded before the King of the North. The vast fields now blanketed in a glistening snow coat stretched out in all directions, captivating the king’s gaze. The air was crisp and ethereal, carrying whispers of wood smoke and a touch of frost as if nature whispered secrets of the season.

“This place…” King Brandon said as his eyes sharpened with a silver glint. Already the seed was paying dividends allowing him to see the mana flows.

“It has been a bit of a pet project for quite some years,” Eve said without giving anything away.

The farmhouse stood proudly amidst the wintry landscape, a formidable sanctuary against the elements. Crafted from resilient timber and fortified with mystical stones, it bore the mark of both strength and enchantment. Its steeply pitched roof, almost as if charmed, allowed the snow to gracefully glide off, preventing it from burdening the structure. A swirl of smoke spiraled upwards from the chimney, a tangible sign of life and warmth thriving within.

“Have you been paying your taxes properly?” King Brandon asked as Eve walked up to the door. She chose to ignore the comment. Waving her hand at the farm, she said, “Take a good look at what is possible, your majesty.”

The surrounding scenery, draped in a pristine white tapestry, evoked a sense of wonder and magic. Mana flows abounded, each linking to the web of enchantments that sustained the place. The leafless trees stood tall and proud, their barren branches adorned with delicate frost, akin to crystalline fingers reaching for the heavens. All around, once verdant fields now lay dormant beneath a thick, icy blanket. Yet, many resilient plants dared to emerge, their emerald forms serving as a testament to their defiance against winter's icy grip.

King Brandon glanced from the fields to the building nearby.

Nestled near the farmhouse, a petite barn emerged, a clear sanctuary for mystical creatures. Constructed with the same enchanted materials as the house, it resonated with the soothing sounds of contented animals seeking solace from the cold. Diligently attending to their well-being, the farmer's mystical abilities ensured the animals' sustenance and protection throughout the winter.

As expected of a powerful witch or sorceress.

King Brandon was impressed. Farms like these were few and far between in the North. If all his farmers could attain such incredible craft, his people would never want food again.

Stepping inside the farmhouse, a warm glow spilled through the windows, casting soft, dancing shadows upon the snowy landscape. The main room, infused with an otherworldly ambiance, is centered around a grand fireplace hewn from ancient stones. Within, a roaring fire crackled and popped, emanating a comforting heat. The walls were adorned with dried herbs and potions, bearing witness to Lady Eve’s wisdom and resourcefulness in harnessing nature's magic.

In the mystical kitchen, the king found a resilient wooden table. Silver knives flashed around Eve as she cooked a critical meal, at least fundamental to her. The king didn’t refuse the food, partaking in a humble yet nourishing feast. The air tingled with the aromas of freshly baked enchanted bread, hearty root vegetables, and simmering elixirs, offering sustenance and solace against winter's chill. Eve’s hands glowed, bearing the mark of their mystical craft and tireless toil. The speed and skill of her cooking spoke volumes of her power. Only the genuinely elite had time to hone their craft at anything besides survival.

“I’m afraid I’ll never be able to tell the wife about this meal.” King Brandon said as he sighed. “She would force me to reveal it was better than her cooking.”

“I have several more lifetimes of experience. It isn’t even a contest.” Eve shrugged as she finished her food.

King Brandon’s gaze steeled, and he said, “Can it be done? Is such a farm able to be replicated by mere mortals?”

Eve showed a mirror once more. Although the farm appeared slumbering in winter's embrace, the fieldwork persisted, unfolding through acts of both mundane and magical nature. Her magical might was mending enchanted tools and mystical fences even while orchestrating plans for the forthcoming planting season, aligning her witchcraft with the rhythm of the earth's mysterious energies. She stored and preserved the enchanted harvest from the previous years, ensuring abundant sustenance.

After showing off enough, Eve said, “It can be done. Runes can substitute for everything you see here. Proper runecraft is as versatile as true sorcery.”

“The price?” King Brandon said. Custom work had custom prices; everyone knew that.

“Your firstborn son,” Eve said, keeping a straight face.