Chapter 1006 — The Chessboard
Blade of Dawn · Page 4 of 4
After a moment of silence the officer rose. An auxiliary mage accompanying him stepped forward, made a brief examination, and reported: "The soul has dispersed. Heart, lungs, and brain activity have all ceased."
"Burn it," the officer nodded. "And remember to collect the identity tag."
He raised his head and looked toward other parts of the position. More support mages were filing into the lines, and not far off the great array meant for concentrated burning had already begun to operate.
...
Winterhold stood among the high mountains, and as its name suggested, it was a fortress as pure white as ice.
On clear days, from the highest tower of Winterhold one could gaze out at the distant fortress of Winterwolf Keep.
The master of that fortress was the powerful battle mage Count Palin Winterhold—he and his family had been rooted in the northern mountains for centuries, guarding this place as the vital backbone and support of the Winterwolf Keep defense line; and after Winterwolf Keep fell, the battlefield was pushed into Typhon's territory, and Winterhold, once situated on the second defense line... had now become the core node of the foremost front.
In a room on the third floor of the white castle, the Count of Winterhold stood before a pure white wall. Precious magic crystals were set around its perimeter, and the wall's surface was coated in a layer of magical plating that flowed endlessly like quicksilver; as the surrounding crystals lit up one by one, images from distant lands gradually emerged upon that quicksilver-like coating.
These were the images sent through the relay towers by the mages' eyes at the various nodes of the Winterhold defense line—slightly distorted, perhaps, yet still clear enough to distinguish the characteristic mountains, rivers, and woodlands. Palin Winterhold swept his arm, switching from one scene on the wall to the next, confirming the situation at each node along the line.
Suddenly the Count's inspection of the nodes halted. He tilted his head slightly, listening to a report sent by some lower-ranking mage through a sending spell, then looked toward the magical wall before him; with a simple sigil gesture, a new image at once appeared upon it.
It was a scene from somewhere in Winterhold Fortress—beside a newly built platform, a black magitek train bearing the Typhon emblem was gradually slowing and coming to a stop.
—Despite the absence of a great many Cecil technicians, the Empire's own corps of machinists and its scholars had kept several vital industrial and military railways running normally, and the train from the interior to Winterhold was one of them.
Palin Winterhold stood there, quietly watching the scene upon the wall, watching the train settle to a halt, watching soldiers and officers step from the carriages onto the platform.
He gave a faint sigh.
Another batch of zealous, excellent corpses had stepped down from the troop train.