Chapter 669: Moon’s Plan [2]

The team took one last look at the white spire and its horde, then turned on their heels and started back the way they had come, north, toward the black spire and the frozen horde that guarded it.

Two hours later, they returned to the white spire.

They stopped several hundred meters out, staying out of the beasts detection range.

Next to them were dozens of Frost Stalkers, harvested on the long walk between the two spires and stacked atop one another in a frozen heap. The bodies of the black spire’s beasts, carried south to the white spire’s doorstep.

Moon looked out at the white horde, at the pale spire rising behind it, and then at the pile of northern corpses beside him.

"Alright. Everything’s set in motion."

He rolled his shoulders, and the Arctic Fire-Prowler at his side let out a low breath of steam.

"Let’s begin."

Moon’s team went into hiding, spreading out into the snow and dropping low, laying an ambush at the edge of the horde’s range.

Then Moon reached through the Curse connection and gave his first orders.

Three of his Arctic Grizzlers each took a Frost Stalker corpse in their jaws, the northern beasts’ bodies clamped tight, blood dripping into the snow. Several corpses stayed behind in the frozen heap beside Moon.

"Now. Go."

The three Grizzlers set out toward the white spire, dragging their grisly cargo across the snow.

Moon watched in silence.

◇◇◇◇

His Arctic Grizzlers reached the spire’s outskirts and stopped roughly a hundred meters from the base, keeping their distance to avoid drawing the attention of whatever commander ruled here, because there was almost certainly one, a white-spire counterpart to the black spire’s.

The three beasts immediately drew notice from the horde itself. The smell of Frost Stalker blood and flesh, foreign meat carried into their territory, drifted through the gathered beasts, and within moments several of them were turning, lifting their heads, moving slowly toward Moon’s subordinates. Most notably the other Arctic Grizzlers, the same species as Moon’s controlled beasts, drawn by the scent of an easy meal.

Moon’s three Grizzlers released a low, rolling roar.

The sound backed off a few of the smaller beasts, warning them away from the food, but it did something else too. It called in more Arctic Grizzlers, the local ones, drawn by the display of their own kind claiming a kill. Beasts of a shared race, competing and cooperating in the same breath.

Moon watched from the distance with a massive smile spreading across his face.

His plan was working exactly as he’d hoped.

A truce doesn’t mean they stop competing for food. And the Grizzlers are one of the bigger races in this horde. They’ll close ranks around a meal, help each other drive off the smaller beasts, and fight among themselves over the scraps.

Within a minute, more than twenty local Arctic Grizzlers were lumbering toward the three Frost Stalker corpses, exactly as Moon had predicted. These beasts hunted little, spending most of their time gathered under the spire, likely fed by whatever the environment or their commander provided. Show them easy food, foreign meat dragged right to their doorstep, and their instincts took over.

They rushed toward it.

Moon glanced at the remaining Frost Stalker corpses stacked beside him.

He raised a hand and cast a wind spell.

The current caught the scent of the piled corpses, the blood and torn flesh, and pushed it out across the snow, carrying it toward the gathering Grizzlers.

The cold made scent travel poorly, the frozen air dampening and dispersing it, so Moon kept the spell active, feeding the smell forward on a breeze, making certain it reached the horde despite the conditions working against him.

More beasts pulled out of the tight cluster around the spire and drawn toward the promise of food.

The white horde was starting to come apart at the edges, one hungry beast at a time.

Once the scent reached them, their noses began to twitch, and their attention changed.

The local Grizzlers pulled away from the Frost Stalker corpses being fought over near the spire, their heads turning toward the new smell drifting in from further out. Fresh meat, and more of it, carried on the wind from somewhere across the snow.

Their eyes showed hesitation. The smell wasn’t far, following it wouldn’t take them so distant from the spire that their instincts screamed danger, and hunger was a powerful thing in a frozen wasteland. After a moment of wavering, they decided to pursue it.

A grin broke across Moon’s face as more than twenty Arctic Grizzlers began lumbering in his direction, hungry eyes fixed on the source of the scent.

"They’re coming," he said to his hidden team both. "I’ll give you the signal. Hold until then."

The team stayed low, spread in a loose circle around the killing ground Moon had chosen, weapons ready, waiting.

This was the heart of the plan. Divide and conquer. Peel the beasts away from the spire in manageable groups, draw them out to where the commander’s senses couldn’t reach, and deal with them beyond the reach of the intelligence that held the horde together. Near the spire, any disturbance would be felt, the way the black spire’s elf had felt the chaos and come out to end it. Out here, far enough from the base, the commander would sense nothing.

The Grizzlers closed the distance.

A few minutes later they reached the spot where Moon had left a scattering of Frost Stalker corpses as bait, the meat that had drawn them.

They slowed, sniffing at the bodies, their heads swinging as they searched the surrounding snow for whatever else lay around.

They found nothing.

With no signs of any threats around them, the local Grizzlers dropped their guard and pushed forward, deeper into the trap, drawn on by the lingering scent toward the center of the circle where Moon’s team lay waiting.

The snow worked in Moon’s favor for once, smothering every trace of his team that might have warned the grizzlers.

Moon watched them come, his hand rising, the signal ready on his lips.