Story: Tip of the Glacier
- 4 months prior to the present -
In an office stuffy with its own ironic opulence sat two mobile corpses. They were stiff in their immobile positions, perusing documentation, each one of their clawed fingers reading each piece of ciphered communication carefully, so as not to miss out on nuance. Neither corpse shifted in his respective chair for quite some time, the documents were merely pushed to the side so another one could be brought in to be read. Four months of paperwork, painstaking in its detail, gone over in the course of one evening.
When the last paper was parsed by the fancier dressed of the two Forsaken, he looked up at his companion, dressed in simple grey leathers, “Monty,” he said, “I do believe we have success.”
Montgomery Pyre leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, his chin on the tips of his claws, “It was not as easy as you claimed, Olin. She threatened to kill me more than once, and brandished weapons at my head.”
Anthony Olin stood up from his chair, circling the desk where the two had been perched like rooks, “My dear dear boy, I never said it would be easy, courting the Peyton woman. Only that it was possible,” he opened a small cupboard, taking out a decanter, “However, the trick you tried, using yourself as her eyes, was formidable.”
“It was a good one,” Pyre corrected, “Not only was it beneficial for the project, it also allowed her to remain in control of the men. She did not appear foolish, and we were able to orchestrate our plan.”
“Tell me, exactly, your tactical solution,” Olin said. Olin’s back was turned to Montgomery Pyre, who was watching the Deathstalker Lord with a sneer on his face. Pyre’s eyes were narrowed at the small of Olin’s back, which was bent, exposed, as he poured his drink, “It seemed flawlessly orchestrated.”
Pyre adjusted himself in his chair, throwing his arm over its back, “Each morning at dawn, we would lay out our maps of the area, noting enemy movements, trade routes, and potential gossip of travelers in the area. Our men would place markers on the map denoting such, and Peyton would give the debriefing,” Pyre watched as Olin walked back to his desk, “this debriefing would include troop movements, and our movements. It only would make sense for the commanding officer to indicate where the enemy would move, and where we would strike. Peyton knew the lay of the land, and the markers where we would do so; but she couldn’t move the markers, due to her vision impairment.”
Anthony Olin’s grin widened, “So you moved them initially, yes?”
“Yes, until I discussed it with her, offering to put the control in her hands, and act as her puppeteer,” the Deathstalker said, clearing his throat, “At this time I had built up trust with her as a second in command. We had surveyed the lay of the land together, finding locations suitable for ambush, as well as discussing where to leave the animal carcasses. I had her ear in this capacity - this was 45 days into the field work.”
Pyre leaned forward, “So the following dawn, after a night of observation, I placed the stick in her hand, placing my own around her forearm. We stood at a respectable distance from one another, and she was able to indicate exactly where to move, etc. The others did not flinch, they talked about it later, but only in the same ‘Creepy Caeryn’ stories they always told. It seemed more to build up her reputation than to tear it down.”
Anthony Olin took a sip of his drink, “And what then, how did she react?”
“As ever, professionally distant and courteous. Violent and destructive during attacks. Frightening, really.”
“I do not want a treatise as to her merits, Pyre, I want to know how you were able to woo this apparent ‘professionally distant’ woman,” Olin put his drink down on the table, leaning back in his chair, “Really, one might almost think the tables turned in this equation, dear boy.”
Pyre’s eyes darkened as he continued, “I upped the ante. We continued at this for five days, as the days progressed from this, I closed the distance between us, she remained calculating as ever, but our professional relationship became strained. She was not as full of conversation as she once was when we were not with the others … at which point, that following morning, I nearly got myself killed.”
“I remember this from her documentation, she wanted you removed from the field work.”
“Quickly followed by a letter rescinding her remark,” Pyre countered.
“I noted that, too,” Olin smiled, “Well played.”
“That dawn, I did not take my place as usual. Instead, I slowly wrapped my hand around hers. She turned so quickly, with no regard for the others, she grabbed me and pushed me across the room. Before I could blink, she was holding me up against the cellar wall with a knife to my throat growling, ‘Unprofessional swine.’” Pyre added, “I looked into those dark sockets for a moment, her left hand around my throat, my feet slightly lifted from the floor, when she dropped me. She then whispered to everyone, ‘Get out. Everyone, including me, left as quickly as they could.’”
“That’s when we received the communication,” Olin said.
“I left long enough for her to write the letter, and then came back in. She threw an axe at the door frame as I crossed the threshold, saying, ‘That was a warning,’” Pyre rubbed at his mouth with his hand, “There was some ridiculous monologue that I’d practiced out of a romance novel, and I crossed the room quickly so that I could kiss her before she could respond.”
“After which is when we received the second letter, calling the first an error in judgement,” Olin said, grinning over the rim of his glass.
“After that it was simple. The men, they all knew. I made it obvious in my attempts to keep it clandestine. Peyton remained a statue of stoicism, but my displays of affection toward her were always made in view of one of them, any of them.”
“Your reputation is known, Pyre. Hers is not, and this part of the project is only the tip of the iceberg,” Olin said, standing.
“Trust must be gained for something, I guess,” Pyre said, taking it as his cue to stand as well.
“I want admissions of guilt for the arson, the murder of her squire, and the association with the Surrey disappearances,” Olin said, passing over a sealed envelope, “Your instructions are inside. Consider this phase two of the Peyton Proposition.”
“Consider it done,” Pyre grinned, his eyes brightening, “Until then.”
Olin swept him out of the room like he’d done before. As the door shut behind him with that final sound, Montgomery Pyre seemed to shrink as his shoulders fell.
In an office stuffy with its own ironic opulence sat two mobile corpses. They were stiff in their immobile positions, perusing documentation, each one of their clawed fingers reading each piece of ciphered communication carefully, so as not to miss out on nuance. Neither corpse shifted in his respective chair for quite some time, the documents were merely pushed to the side so another one could be brought in to be read. Four months of paperwork, painstaking in its detail, gone over in the course of one evening.
When the last paper was parsed by the fancier dressed of the two Forsaken, he looked up at his companion, dressed in simple grey leathers, “Monty,” he said, “I do believe we have success.”
Montgomery Pyre leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, his chin on the tips of his claws, “It was not as easy as you claimed, Olin. She threatened to kill me more than once, and brandished weapons at my head.”
Anthony Olin stood up from his chair, circling the desk where the two had been perched like rooks, “My dear dear boy, I never said it would be easy, courting the Peyton woman. Only that it was possible,” he opened a small cupboard, taking out a decanter, “However, the trick you tried, using yourself as her eyes, was formidable.”
“It was a good one,” Pyre corrected, “Not only was it beneficial for the project, it also allowed her to remain in control of the men. She did not appear foolish, and we were able to orchestrate our plan.”
“Tell me, exactly, your tactical solution,” Olin said. Olin’s back was turned to Montgomery Pyre, who was watching the Deathstalker Lord with a sneer on his face. Pyre’s eyes were narrowed at the small of Olin’s back, which was bent, exposed, as he poured his drink, “It seemed flawlessly orchestrated.”
Pyre adjusted himself in his chair, throwing his arm over its back, “Each morning at dawn, we would lay out our maps of the area, noting enemy movements, trade routes, and potential gossip of travelers in the area. Our men would place markers on the map denoting such, and Peyton would give the debriefing,” Pyre watched as Olin walked back to his desk, “this debriefing would include troop movements, and our movements. It only would make sense for the commanding officer to indicate where the enemy would move, and where we would strike. Peyton knew the lay of the land, and the markers where we would do so; but she couldn’t move the markers, due to her vision impairment.”
Anthony Olin’s grin widened, “So you moved them initially, yes?”
“Yes, until I discussed it with her, offering to put the control in her hands, and act as her puppeteer,” the Deathstalker said, clearing his throat, “At this time I had built up trust with her as a second in command. We had surveyed the lay of the land together, finding locations suitable for ambush, as well as discussing where to leave the animal carcasses. I had her ear in this capacity - this was 45 days into the field work.”
Pyre leaned forward, “So the following dawn, after a night of observation, I placed the stick in her hand, placing my own around her forearm. We stood at a respectable distance from one another, and she was able to indicate exactly where to move, etc. The others did not flinch, they talked about it later, but only in the same ‘Creepy Caeryn’ stories they always told. It seemed more to build up her reputation than to tear it down.”
Anthony Olin took a sip of his drink, “And what then, how did she react?”
“As ever, professionally distant and courteous. Violent and destructive during attacks. Frightening, really.”
“I do not want a treatise as to her merits, Pyre, I want to know how you were able to woo this apparent ‘professionally distant’ woman,” Olin put his drink down on the table, leaning back in his chair, “Really, one might almost think the tables turned in this equation, dear boy.”
Pyre’s eyes darkened as he continued, “I upped the ante. We continued at this for five days, as the days progressed from this, I closed the distance between us, she remained calculating as ever, but our professional relationship became strained. She was not as full of conversation as she once was when we were not with the others … at which point, that following morning, I nearly got myself killed.”
“I remember this from her documentation, she wanted you removed from the field work.”
“Quickly followed by a letter rescinding her remark,” Pyre countered.
“I noted that, too,” Olin smiled, “Well played.”
“That dawn, I did not take my place as usual. Instead, I slowly wrapped my hand around hers. She turned so quickly, with no regard for the others, she grabbed me and pushed me across the room. Before I could blink, she was holding me up against the cellar wall with a knife to my throat growling, ‘Unprofessional swine.’” Pyre added, “I looked into those dark sockets for a moment, her left hand around my throat, my feet slightly lifted from the floor, when she dropped me. She then whispered to everyone, ‘Get out. Everyone, including me, left as quickly as they could.’”
“That’s when we received the communication,” Olin said.
“I left long enough for her to write the letter, and then came back in. She threw an axe at the door frame as I crossed the threshold, saying, ‘That was a warning,’” Pyre rubbed at his mouth with his hand, “There was some ridiculous monologue that I’d practiced out of a romance novel, and I crossed the room quickly so that I could kiss her before she could respond.”
“After which is when we received the second letter, calling the first an error in judgement,” Olin said, grinning over the rim of his glass.
“After that it was simple. The men, they all knew. I made it obvious in my attempts to keep it clandestine. Peyton remained a statue of stoicism, but my displays of affection toward her were always made in view of one of them, any of them.”
“Your reputation is known, Pyre. Hers is not, and this part of the project is only the tip of the iceberg,” Olin said, standing.
“Trust must be gained for something, I guess,” Pyre said, taking it as his cue to stand as well.
“I want admissions of guilt for the arson, the murder of her squire, and the association with the Surrey disappearances,” Olin said, passing over a sealed envelope, “Your instructions are inside. Consider this phase two of the Peyton Proposition.”
“Consider it done,” Pyre grinned, his eyes brightening, “Until then.”
Olin swept him out of the room like he’d done before. As the door shut behind him with that final sound, Montgomery Pyre seemed to shrink as his shoulders fell.