From somewhere high above a horn sounded. A single note, low and powerful, that seemed to hang in the air forever, the warning of an attack. The sentries snapped to alert, their whalebone armor crackling as ice crystals broke away and fell to the ground. The first reached behind his back to the sealskin leather quiver full of treated icicles and withdrew one. His partner loosened a long poinard in its scabbard and briefly recalled the battle he had won when he received it. The red elf he killed had fought hard and that made the victory more satisfying. He also drew the bone and iron pistol from its holster. He strained his exceptional hearing, waiting for any sign of an attack. A soft 'twang', all but lost in the raging wind, gave a split-second advance notice before a flaming arrow appeared and buried itself 6 centimeters into his chest, passing through whalebone and frostwing bone with equal ease. As his fur caught on fire he snapped off the shaft of the arrow, then rolled in the snow to douse the flames. Singed and snarling the guard regained his feet and blindly fired twice into the snowstorm. The glowing pellets cast a feeble glow as they soared out of sight revealing only a hint of the attacking forces location. He ducked behind a small rock outcropping and watched intently. Pausing a moment he extended a 4-centimeter claw and dug the head of the arrow out of his side then packed the wound with snow. The other sentry crouched low on the alert for any movement.

He had waited only a moment when a form fell from above, thudding loudly in front of him. The guardsman still had the warning horn clutched in his paw but his face was contorted with the pain of the deathblow that had crushed his helmet and charred it black at the same time. A second form followed the first, this one voluntarily drifting down on its membranous wings. The gnarled creature's red skin glowed and its eerie green eyes that glared through the storm. The snow and ice on the ground nearby vaporized and steam danced in the air a moment before the winds swept it away. In one hand the creature held a black mace with an unnatural flame flickering around its head. In the other was a shield, enameled with a pattern of flame. The frostwing rose to its full 2meter height and hurled the frozen javelin with all its might. His opponent stood still, the mace and shield dangling loosely at its sides, unconcerned by the missile streaking toward it. The icicle struck the creature full in the chest, passed harmlessly through its body and lodged deeply in the ground behind the beast. It laughed aloud, sharp fangs glistening in its deformed mouth. Using its wings to assist with small leaps the imp bounded upon the guard before he had a chance to pull the axe from his belt. One blow from the mace shattered ribs and punctured a lung. The guard fell to the ground, screaming in pain. The scalder raised its mace to drop another crushing blow when the second guard leapt over the rock outcropping, poinard ready.

The combatants circled each other warily feinting and guarding as they circled each other. The imp swung wildly and the frostwing ducked under the blow, lunging forward. The sword's point drove directly toward the heart of its target until it hit the hastily raised shield instead. At the moment metal struck enamel the shield exploded in a column of flame that enveloped the frostwing sentry, knocking him backward a full meter. As he sprawled, half-conscious, he raised his pistol again and fired three shots at the invader. The first passed harmlessly through its torso but the following shots struck its abdomen and forehead. The imp screamed and disappeared in a flash of light leaving only a steam doppelganger behind that was quickly lost in the storm. Mace and shield fell to the snowy ground, the mace's flame extinguished. The sentry dragged himself to his feet and staggered toward his companions. The guard that had fallen was dead and the other would die in a matter of moments. Recovering the alarm horn, the remaining guard limped toward the settlement. Half a kilometer later the canyon was blocked by a number of the red-skinned invaders. He turned again and fled the way he had come, only to find that he was surrounded. As the creatures hemmed him in he did the only thing possible. He raised the horn to his lips and blew the triple blast, warning the village of impending invasion. Then he blew one final blast has held it as long as possible. The tone reverberated from the canyon walls and high above a small rumbling began. The frostwing guard drew his pistol and fired into the crowd of creatures until his ammunition ran out. Many died as the flaming pellets struck them, but more importantly the remainder chose to attack him, ignoring the growing rumble until it was too late. A few of the invading scalders tried to fly out of the canyon but the leading chunks of ice and rock in the gathering avalanche brought them to the ground and crushed them into wisps of steam. The remaining ground force realized that they had been trapped and fired upon the frostwing. As he fell, his body riddled with flaming darts and arrows, he had the satisfaction of seeing the entire invading force buried alive in a mass grave of ice and snow.