Chapter 25: The Falcon's Approach and the Overlord's Gambit
The single, stark rune projected by the Horn of the Boreas Vind pulsed with an ancient, frigid power in Vassalheim's throne room. Ainz recognized its complex, interwoven lines – YGGDRASIL's elemental script, but imbued with a raw, primal energy that felt far older, far more intrinsically tied to this new world. It was not a curse, nor an attack. It was a summons, a demand for parley, or perhaps a territorial declaration from an entity of immense power – one of the "ice deities" the Wildling shamans had worshipped.
"An Elemental Lord of Ice," Ainz mused, his (Elian's) youthful face thoughtful. "It seems our victory over the Wyrm and the claiming of this Horn has not gone unnoticed by the true powers of these Glacial Moors."
He turned to Cocytus, whose multifaceted eyes were fixed on the glowing rune with a warrior's intense focus. "Cocytus, this… entity… is now your primary concern, alongside the continued fortification of Vassalheim. The Horn of the Boreas Vind is your key to understanding, perhaps even negotiating with or, if necessary, commanding these elemental forces. Attempt to decipher its intent. Parley, if it offers such. But be prepared for hostility. You have full authority to defend this fortress and yourself. Aura," he addressed the Dark Elf, "your reconnaissance is more vital than ever. Support Cocytus. Learn everything you can about this Elemental Lord, its domain, its strengths, its weaknesses. But neither of you are to initiate hostilities or engage it directly without my express command, unless Vassalheim itself is threatened."
Cocytus slammed a massive claw against his icy breastplate in salute. "It. Shall. Be. Done. My. Lord. Vassalheim. Will. Not. Fall. This. Elemental. Lord. Will. Learn. Respect. For. The. Might. Of. Nazarick."
Aura, ever eager for a challenge, grinned fiercely. "Don't worry, Ainz-sama! We'll figure out what this big frosty ghost wants! And if it's mean, Cocytus and I will teach it some manners!"
Ainz entrusted the Horn of the Boreas Vind to Cocytus's care, seeing the Warlord's immediate, powerful resonance with the artifact. He also had Albedo provide Cocytus with several more high-grade defensive scrolls and potent healing crystals from her YGGDRASIL stash. Farewells were made, strategies for communication via [Message] (now that Ainz's power made such long-distance, sustained spells feasible) and Entoma's insect network were confirmed. Then, Ainz, Albedo (once more the regal Lady Alva), and Sebas (the serene Master Tian) departed Vassalheim, beginning their arduous journey south towards the increasingly complicated political landscape of the Riverlands.
The journey was undertaken with a new sense of urgency. The news of Arryn scouts actively investigating their supposed sphere of influence was a deeply unsettling development. House Arryn of the Vale, traditionally isolationist, was ruled by Jon Arryn – the Hand of the King. If his attention had been drawn to the activities surrounding Greywater Keep, it meant that rumors of their power were reaching the highest echelons of Westerosi leadership.
Their discussions en route were intense. Ainz, his mind constantly sifting through information, reflected on the Blackfish's scrutiny, Demiurge's increasingly bold (and undeniably effective) "gifts," and now this Arryn interest. He was playing a multi-level chess game on a board he was still learning, against opponents whose motivations and capabilities were often opaque.
"Demiurge's… enthusiasm… for problem-solving is both a blessing and a curse," Ainz remarked to Sebas one evening as they made camp in the foothills of the northern Riverlands. Albedo was nearby, ostensibly meditating but Ainz knew her senses were alert. "Karse's downfall was strategically beneficial. This rumored Frey incident, if it is also his doing, removes another irritant. But each 'miracle' attributed to our sphere of influence paints a larger target on our backs."
"Indeed, my Lord," Sebas agreed. "The Blackfish is already deeply suspicious. Should Lord Arryn also become convinced of a new, unchecked power rising in the Riverlands under House Tully's nominal authority…"
Albedo interjected, her voice as Lady Alva carrying a hint of her true imperious nature. "Perhaps it is time, my beloved Lord Elian, to cease this charade of a minor house. Let them see a fraction of your true glory! Let them tremble and offer fealty, rather than skulk about with their spies and suspicions!"
"And invite a united crusade of every kingdom in this land down upon our heads before we have even found all our comrades or established a secure New Nazarick?" Ainz countered dryly. "Patience, Albedo. The lion does not reveal its full strength until the moment of the kill. For now, we are… a particularly clever fox, cultivating its den."
They encountered remnants of Karse's scattered bandit army during their journey south – desperate, broken men scrabbling for survival. These encounters were brief and brutal. Ainz, needing to maintain his soul-fueled power and also ensuring no witnesses to their true capabilities were left, dealt with them with cold efficiency. A [Fireball] here, a [Lightning] there, or sometimes just a wave of [Despair Aura] that sent the bandits fleeing in mindless terror, only to be picked off by Sebas's precise, lethal interventions. Each small harvest of souls was a welcome addition to his reserves, further solidifying his grasp on higher-tier magic.
In the heart of the northern Riverlands, near the border of the now-leaderless lands once terrorized by Bandit King Karse…
The plan Demiurge had set in motion regarding Ser Ryman Frey reached its bloody climax. Vorlag, the mercenary captain sworn to Demiurge's service, led his handpicked team of assassins and provocateurs. They had spent weeks infiltrating Ser Ryman's household, exploiting grievances, bribing guards, and mapping every corridor of his small, ill-kept fortress.
The attack was launched under the cover of a moonless night and a raging thunderstorm that Demiurge's agents had subtly "encouraged" with minor weather-manipulating artifacts. It was framed as a bloody mutiny, the culmination of weeks of simmering resentment over Ryman's cruelty and stolen pay. Sounds of fighting, screams, and the clash of steel echoed from within the keep, but the storm masked the true efficiency and unnatural silence of some of the attackers.
Ser Ryman Frey, a man known more for his bluster and brutality than his tactical acumen, was dragged from his bed and slaughtered in his nightshirt, his death made to look like the result of a frenzied mob attack. His few loyal retainers were similarly dispatched. The keep's meager treasury was "looted" (systematically secured by Vorlag's men for Demiurge's future use), and enough chaos and destruction was wrought to make the scene entirely consistent with a savage internal uprising.
Nyx, Demiurge's elven shadow, had her own role. During the height of the orchestrated chaos, she slipped into Ser Ryman's private study. Her objective was not loot, but information. With preternatural skill, she bypassed traps, opened locked chests, and sifted through scrolls and ledgers. She found what Demiurge had suspected she might: Ryman's meticulously kept records of his extortions, his bribes to minor officials, a surprisingly detailed accounting of trade routes he preyed upon, and, most interestingly, copies of coded correspondence with a minor agent of House Lannister, hinting at tentative, deniable feelers for an alliance or shared profiteering should the political climate shift. This was gold. Nyx carefully bundled the most incriminating documents, leaving just enough evidence of Ryman's general corruption to support the "tyrant overthrown" narrative. She then melted back into the storm-lashed night, her mission accomplished.
The news of Ser Ryman Frey's savage demise and the utter collapse of his household spread like wildfire through the Riverlands within days. It sent fresh shockwaves of fear and instability through a region already reeling from Karse's recent fall. Some whispered of Frey infighting finally boiling over. Others, noting the sheer brutality and efficiency, spoke of a hidden, vengeful power cleansing the land of its worst elements. Lord Hoster Tully at Riverrun, already burdened with stabilizing Karse's former territories, now had another festering wound on his northern border to contend with.
Ainz, Albedo, and Sebas arrived back at Greywater Keep to a reception of immense relief. Mare, his face smudged with earth but his eyes bright with accomplishment, reported that the Undercroft – the subterranean sanctuary – was well underway, with several large chambers and connecting tunnels already excavated, reinforced, and subtly warded with his earth magic. Entoma, appearing silently from the shadows, confirmed that her insect patrols had noted the continued, if cautious, activity of the Arryn scouts in the broader region, their inquiries becoming more specific regarding Lord Elian's prolonged absence and the nature of his powerful "allies."
Tom and Maester Hannis wept with joy at their lord's safe return from his "perilous quest for ice crystals." Hal, Timms, and the rest of the small garrison looked upon him with an awe that was now deeply ingrained.
It was Ser Desmond Grell who accosted them first, his youthful face etched with weeks of accumulated anxiety. "My Lord Elian! Lady Alva! Master Tian! Praised be the Seven, you've returned!" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with nervous energy. "The Arryn patrols… they've been like ghosts, asking questions in every village, every hovel! And then… then this!" He thrust a raven-scroll into Ainz's hand, its seal the direwolf of Karstark, though the message within was clearly dictated by a higher authority.
Ainz unrolled it. It was from Ser Brynden Tully, delivered via Lord Karstark's more direct raven network from his northern posting. The Blackfish's script was as blunt and uncompromising as the man himself:
"Lord Hollow. Reports of the savage and complete annihilation of Ser Ryman Frey and his entire household have reached me. This follows, with alarming proximity, the equally inexplicable demise of Bandit King Karse. The northern Riverlands are now a viper's nest of fear and ambition. Your own… 'pilgrimage'… has been noted for its extended duration during these volatile times. I trust your quest for 'ice crystals' was successful and will contribute significantly to the stability you profess to champion. You and your esteemed allies are to remain at Greywater Keep. You will dispatch a full and detailed accounting of your northern journey, your findings, and your assessment of this new Frey catastrophe to me at Riverrun by fastest courier. Attempt no further expeditions or 'surveys' beyond your immediate lands without my express written leave. The eyes of House Tully – and others – are upon you."
The message was clear: Greywater Keep was now under virtual house arrest, its lord and his powerful companions on the tightest of leashes. The Blackfish was not just suspicious; he was actively trying to contain them.
Ainz discussed the implications with Albedo and Sebas in the privacy of his chamber. Demiurge's "gifts," while strategically effective in removing regional threats, were having the unintended consequence of painting an enormous, brightly glowing target directly on Greywater Keep. Each "convenient miracle" only deepened the suspicion of the established powers.
"Demiurge acts with the precision of a master surgeon, but the subtlety of an earthquake," Ainz sighed. "He removes the tumor, but the patient is now terrified of the doctor."
Albedo bristled. "These pathetic humans dare to constrain you, Ainz-sama! This 'Blackfish' needs to be taught a lesson in respecting true authority! A demonstration…"
"Would likely result in a united army of every house in the Riverlands, possibly supported by the Vale and the Crown, laying siege to Greywater, Albedo," Sebas interjected calmly. "A siege we could undoubtedly win, but at the cost of revealing our full strength prematurely and inviting far greater, more organized opposition. Lord Ainz's current strategy of cultivated mystery and gradual influence, while perhaps frustrating to your… more direct methods… has so far proven effective in allowing us to operate largely beneath the notice of the world's true powers."
"For now," Ainz affirmed, "we will adhere to Ser Brynden's directive. We will remain at Greywater. We will send him a carefully crafted report on our 'successful quest for mystical ice components essential for Greywater's ancient defenses.' We will express our profound shock and dismay at the tragic Frey incident and offer our full cooperation in any Tully efforts to restore order – from a distance, of course."
He was about to elaborate on his plans for using this forced confinement to further develop Greywater's hidden defenses and Mare's Undercroft when Tom the steward, his face even paler than usual, burst into the chamber, foregoing any pretense of knocking.
"My Lord! My Lord Elian!" he stammered, his eyes wide with terror. "Riders! At the gate! Not Tully men… their banner… a silver falcon on a sky-blue field! They demand an immediate audience! They say… they say they come on behalf of Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King himself!"
A stunned silence filled the room. The Arryns. Here. Now. Not just scouts, but a formal delegation, invoking the name of the Hand. The game had just escalated to an entirely new level. The falcons were no longer circling; they had landed on their doorstep.