A Mountain's Cold Heart

The first thing he realized was the pain in his head.
“…Aaaaaagh…blast…” He muttered, reaching up a hand blindly to feel his head, which felt as though it was burning inwardly. As the world seemed to come back into focus again and he opened his eyes, however, slowly everything came back, piece by piece. The whole bizarre nightmare of it.
At first he was half afraid he had gone blind or some such horror when he opened his eyes and nothing happened, and the darkness remained. Slowly, though, his eyes adjusted, and rather than the total darkness, the dim light showed Gaeljwen where he now was. Bruised, bloody, and still alive.
He was sitting against the very cold wall of what appeared to be prison cell, lit only by a single torch in the wall nearby, a room that was barely big enough to hold a horse. Gaeljwen straightened up a little, in a rather odd position in the far corner as though he had just been roughly tossed in and the door shut, and took a better look around. Blinking and still rubbing his head, grimacing at the fireworks that seemed to still play dimly through his brain, he made a discovery.
The entire cell was built of solid ice. In fact, it didn’t even look ‘built,’ technically…perhaps cut out of solid ice, or even just some kind of small ice cave that a door had been fitted on. A few icicles hung from the ceiling, but other than that the room was without any decoration or adornment. And very cold. Extremely cold.
Gaeljwen’s teeth began to chatter as he pulled his cloak a little closer about him. “Ach, God protect me.” He begged fervently, and felt for his own things. Except for his weapons, strangely enough, he seemed to have everything on him…but naturally his sword, axe, and shield were gone, and the knife in his left boot was also missing. He bit his tongue in frustration, grumbling. As he fumbled in his pockets however, further, he found his few gold pieces, cooking herbs, and other odds and ends. His pack and supplies, including food, was also gone.
Realizing further that he was very hungry, he wondered how long he had been there…
…And how long before they come to get me? If at all? That’s a thought.
It wasn’t till about then the memory of his friends, and Diana, suddenly nailed his memory like a ton of bricks slammed against him, and if he wasn’t fully awake before, he was then.
He quickly scrambled to his feet and stumbled to the door. A few shots of pain ran through his arms and torso, reminding him sharply that his few wounds were still there, but the angry young recruit didn’t heed their warnings.
“WHERE IS SHE?!” He screamed at the door, hearing his own voice resound in his ears like thunder until he had to sit down and cover them. If anyone on the far side of the prison cell door heard him, they didn’t make a move to open it.
With a few more nasty insults and black remarks aimed at snow elves, elves in general, and particularly himself, Gaeljwen slumped back against the wall in despair, gritting his teeth and fighting back tears that tried to leak out of his eyes.
How did the world, inside of a few weeks, suddenly go so incredibly and strangely wrong? In every single way?! …What did I do to deserve this?!
The last question, which he dared to mouth, struck him again. And again. Did he really want to know the answer to that?

How long it was, he wasn’t sure, but eventually there was a sound outside the door. Perhaps some hours, but whatever the case, after some time the sound of footsteps in a passage made him prick his ears and come out of his dark musings from his corner in the cell. Though the boy looked up at the door from his sprawled position, he didn’t move anything else but stared a black, cold stare at the wooden frame.
At length, there was some quiet, vague voices outside the door, and eventually it opened, shedding light into the room. Gaeljwen blinked. He looked up slightly.
After a moment, striding in through the light (which wasn’t that bright, but being in such a dim cell made it bright to the imprisoned boy), came three forms. Three figures of persons made their way in through the door, and as soon as they were all inside, closed it behind them, quickly becoming fully visible to the human boy. He had to suppress something like a growl.
Three snow elves, Norns, stood before him and looked down with cold, expressionless, pale white faces, studying him with their jet black eyes that stood out so vividly. The boy set his dark brown gaze determinedly on theirs, though inwardly he shivered. They seemed so…inhuman. Something he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. Though every one of them was dressed in the same bright white cloak and robe, that seemed light and easy enough to be a very long tunic, the Norn in the middle stood a little taller than the others, and stood in front of the two.
There was a small silence before the Norn spoke. The human and Norns continued watching each other very intensely.
“You, boy.” The forward Norn spoke at length, his voice halting and careful. “Why were you at the castle which was destroyed?” Gaeljwen raised an eyebrow. This Norn spoke in a voice that sounded as though he were unused to or very limited in the human’s language.
“That is my affair.” The boy growled.
This seemed to take a moment for the Norns to process, though Gaeljwen doubted it was because they were slow. The chill in the air deepened.
Then, without warning, the two Norns on either side of the speaker suddenly stepped forward, and made a grab for the boy. Gaeljwen was roughly hauled up to his feet, standing some inches over his captors…but still very aware of the tight, freezing, iron grip they had.
Suddenly, with a cry, he was flung back against the ice wall and pinned there, with a Norn on each arm. They weren’t gentle.
“Why were you there, mortal boy?” The speaker questioned again in the same expressionless, black tone.
How did one understand these beings?
“That…is my own…affair.” He replied again, chancing his luck.
His luck died out. This time, the two Norns on either side both suddenly increased their grip on his arms, and suddenly twisted, bringing the boy’s strong limbs down into a agonizing position. He grunted and felt them as though they had suddenly set on fire. Even then…their grip was too strong to even dare try moving.
“Why were you at the castle grave, boy?” The relentless questioner didn’t even flinch or move throughout the entire torment, but asked his same question in the exact same expressionless tone.
“I…was…scouting! Looking with my commander!” Cursing himself inwardly for giving in so easily and unable to withstand the agony anymore as they continually twisted his arms further, he blurted what information he dared. “We were looking for clues! That was all…GET OFF ME!”
With a sudden push, Gaeljwen grit his teeth and quickly shoved with all his might, ramming into the Norn captor on his right in a desperate attempt to free himself.
That was a large mistake. The Norn flinched and gave up a step, but the boy was very surprised to find he didn’t fly into the wall…and Gaeljwen was not a small, weak boy by any means. The iron grip gave a little, but was instantly renewed, and this time, the black eyes snapped up with a dark, cold fire in them. This made Gaeljwen nearly flinch.
That was yet another mistake. Within seconds, he was flung back against the wall, pinned, and this time, the grip was much harder. He suppressed a shout of pained rage.
“Do not do that again, human boy.” The Norn before him folded his arms over his slender, lithe chest, not even moving his black gaze. “That will cost you dearly if you do.” He paused a moment.
“Give me the names of your friends. All of them. Starting with the Amaras warriors.”
This took the boy by surprise, and he thought a moment. Why did they want to know that? What game were they playing?
He didn’t have much time to think about it. The grip slowly began to twist again, on both sides.
“Agh…” The reply was pained, “…Suppose you tell me…where my friends are? Then I might…”
This time, the speaking Norn suddenly flicked a gesture with a finger towards the guards on either side, a minor, fluid gesture.
Gaeljwen felt the grip loosen for a split second, tighten again, and then nearly did a flip through the air and landed painfully hard upon the ice floor on his stomach, gasping for the wind that was knocked cleanly out of him. As he gaped and struggled for air like a fish, the Norn went on, unmoved in any way.
“You will tell me exactly what I ask, without price, without hesitation, and the truth completely.” His words seem far away at first, as the boy’s spinning vision came back. “For your own good and the good of your friends. Each one of them is going to be asked the same questions, word for word.”
Pausing for a moment, he waited until Gaeljwen’s wrathful, dark gaze was on him again. He looked like a caged wild animal.
“Therefore if any one of them tells a story other than the one you tell me, and gives names different from any names you give me, I will drag you out and have you witness that person’s execution. Immediately.” Letting this sink in for a few seconds, the Norn went on with his painfully emotionless questioning.
“Again – give me their names, starting with the elder Amaras. Now.”
There was a painfully long second of silence, until the boy answered. His mind spinning, he dared not gamble this time. Not with the lives of his friends.
“…Asa.” He spat, like a foul taste, in the direction of the questioner. “The Amaras warrior is Asa. The girl…is…” This one took longer. The Norn began to move his hand again, as if motioning his helpers to do something else.
“…Diana.”
Curse you, curse you wretch! Screaming far worse names inwardly at himself, the boy went on, gritting his teeth in sheer hatred of these snow elves, their icy prison, and particularly himself.
“The elder soldier. Fraeduin. The younger…Jyonahal.” With this, the boy hung his head, a hot tear of sheer rage and shame suddenly forming. His mind, already lost in a snarling storm of wrath and hot fear and shame at his surrender, made him quiver a little. The snow elves, as if feeling it also, tightened their grip.
“What were the Amaras doing there?”
To this, Gaeljwen thought. “I don’t know. They didn’t tell us much.” He paused, looking up, resisting the temptation to spit at the Norn. “I have known them for very little. Just a few hours.”
Hanging his head again, he didn’t see the looks the three prison guards exchanged with one another, or the guesses hidden behind each pale face. After a moment, Gaeljwen was surprised. They dropped him, leaving him feeling like a loose sack of meal left on the floor as he fought for air and for something of his sanity.
“That is all for now. Well done, boy.” The Norn interrogator finished, suddenly turning on his heel and striding out with all the quietness of a cat. The other two black-eyed elves quickly followed suit, and the young Savarica recruit heard the door softly, but firmly, shut behind him again. Again he was left in the dim icy cell, in the heart of the far mountain city.

The Siege of Kire'Sephal

A light, silvery snow was starting to fall once more in the fur woods, filling the evergreen branches with sparkling flakes and covered the ground in a light layer of white. Some several days fast ride northwest of House Herrsan, deep in the heart of the western forests that made up Savarica’s west entrances, the Herrsan forces plunged toward Kire’Sephal as hurriedly as they could…but it was slow going.

Only about four days out from Kire’Sephal and on the main road, the cream of Herrsan’s armies continued on towards their destination, the relief of the besieged castle, bewildered though they were by the news of its danger. Some seven thousand huscarls, glinting silver in the sunlight, marched on relentlessly, axes strapped to shoulders and shields upon their backs, covered in heavy hauberks and armor, some of the toughest and most grim men of the northern realms.

However, they were still four days off from the relief of the Spire. Kire’Sephal needed aid now.

Which was why Count Chace was far ahead of his army.

Nearly eighteen hours ride away from Kire’Sephal, now close enough to see its glittering white spires in the distance, the count rode ahead of twenty mounted men and cavaliers, grimly galloping up the road his army followed behind on, cutting his way through the snow-laden wintery land and pulling the hood of his cloak low over his face against the falling snow. As the mountain peaks to the northwest, the rugged walls of Savarica glaring down on them from so far, the foothills began to grow out of the ground, making the road winding and the forest harder to navigate. The road, slowly disappearing under snow, was still easy to see but harder to stay on now. The count kept to the road however.

“Blast this wretched, cursed storm.” He muttered into his hood, riding up a steeper hill and waiting for his men behind him, twenty armed cavaliers, to make it also. It had been a long, hard ride for them, and he knew it…but they were also slowly losing speed because of it. Not a good sign.
“Come on, now! Move!” He barked at the coming riders, who continued to climb up the slopes. Some grumbles and dark mutterings vaguely reached his ears, but Chace easily tuned them out. He turned again in his saddle to see the glinting towers of the Spire, his particular ward. His eyes narrowed. Another day, at least.
“Lord Count!” Someone rode up beside him, making it up the incline. Count Herrsan turned to see one of his lieutenants coming to a stop, looking tired but determined. A young, dark haired, slender man.
“What?” The Count’s brow furrowed slightly. He tapped his saddle impatiently.
“The men need to rest, good count, they cannot keep going like this! All night and now most of this day…” The man wiped some frozen sweat from his brow and pulled some snow off a tree branch, pouring it into his mouth for water.
“…at least for the horses’ sake, count! They’ll be dead if they ride another full night or even part of one at this rate.”
The count grumbled darkly, a frown on his lips. He knew there was some truth to the words…but the fact of the pressing need of his Spire burned his mind like hot iron.
“Blast it! They’re soldiers, man!”
“They’re men, my lord!” The slightly irritated soldier snapped back, “Besides, what condition will we be to fight in if we reach the siege lines exhausted?”
“He has a point, my lord.” Another voice broke into the heated conversation, and Chace turned to see Christopher, the gray ranger, make it up the trail on his gray horse. Though not armored and armed like the Herrsan cavaliers, Chris and his picked few men each wore their hunting bows and slender swords, and the count knew them to be quite dangerous as well as inconspicuous.
Chace looked about to quiet both men and urge them on again, as his column made it generally to the top of the rise, but after studying the ranger’s calm, set countenance, the count sighed grimly.
“…Alright, so be it.” Count Herrsan waved a hand wearily, as though his men and their constant pleas tired him. “Fine! But if the Spire…well, if…if this is all for nothing, I swear, I’ll make you regret it, soldiers!”
Both of them, knowing full well it was an empty threat, kept back thin smiles. “Of course, lord count.” Christopher offered a slight bow from his saddle, turning his blue-gray gaze to the glinting towers in the northwest. As the column rode down the hill on the opposite side, a campsite was quickly located and a fire lit for the men, and as twilight came, they rested. Tomorrow, they would reach Kire’Sephal.
Unfortunately, their smoke plume gave them away to seeing eyes, eyes that watched and scouted from far, far above them in the gray skies, in the falling snow.


Kire’Sephal was burning.
From her perch high up in the mountains overlooking it, high cliffs that looked down on the white towers of the Spire, the youngest dragon hatchling surveying the siege with amusement, though perhaps a little bored at the waiting. However, dragons are a very long-lived species. Patience is one of their virtues.
Folding her bloodless, blue wings back against her back, the massive dragon lay down upon the high rocks, leaning her bulk back out of sight. The freezing high mountains temperatures little affected her, and she was certainly well out of sight of the defenders below. More importantly, the defenders were distracted by more pressing problems than the appearance of a hatchling overlooking them from above, in the crags and rocks. Though human eyes never would have been able to see so far and so clearly the siege, the dragon’s red eyes saw easily every soldier slain on the walls. Even now, the snow elves, hiding camouflaged in the white snow, shot volleys of arrows up into the keep, and snow trolls pounding the walls and gates with ice and boulders. The fierce and veteran Herrsan defenders were nothing to be take lightly, and had pressed off every attack; but it was simply a matter of time before the food ran out. Then it would be over. Pitiful humans, that couldn’t live a full revolution of the moon without some kind of food and water. No wonder they were so short lived.
A flap of giant wings forced the blue dragon to look up, snorting her icy breath as she gazed into the gray sky. Dimly, far in the distance, the dragon heard the cries of the battle. Miles below.
At last, a dark, massive form of yet another dragon made its way out of the clouds, flapping towards the rock where the blue one sat, angling out of the harsh winds to lose altitude. At length, there was a flash of bright, cardinal red, and the form of a brilliantly crimson dragon appeared. Circling once, the crimson dragon grunted and swooped, landing on the rocks slightly above his blue sister.
Folding his wings back, the red dragon bared his teeth, each once as long as a sword blade. “Sunning your scales, child?” He mocked, curling his red tail around the rock he sat on. The wind howled louder.
The blue one snarled. “Not quite, Jorshekon. There’s little sun to be had.”
Jorshekon shrugged his massive, red shoulders, his scales shimmering brightly. “They tell me that in Savarica, the sun is warm, and green grass actually covers the ground for miles in all directions.”
The younger blue drake chuckled. “I would not believe all snow elves say, brother.”
“I don’t. I can see green glinting from afar, impudent wretched sister.” The red growled, and turned to look down at the siege also.
“You didn’t reveal yourself, and only fly down at night to give orders still?” He questioned his sibling.
At that, the blue drake tensed again. “Do you think I am entirely witless? Yes, I have done all that big brother has commanded! Peace, Jorshekon!”
“Well done then, Iradsekon.” The red dragon, undeterred by his lesser’s impudence, did not take his eyes from the battle below. “How goes the siege?”
“Well enough. It is slow going. But our…connections within the keep are going well. Soon enough the shield will be down, and both of us will be able to attack at will. Then it will be a matter of minutes.” Iradsekon, the blue drake, allowed a dragon smile to fill her snout for a moment.
“How long until the shield of the Art is down?” Annoyed Jorshekon pressed. His wings fidgeted.
“Perhaps a week, at most. Little more.”
“Good. Perhaps just in time, if this storm keeps up.” The red one turned his gaze up at the clouds. “An enemy army of humans, good fighters, is coming out of the south. Thousands of them.”
To this, the blue dragon’s ear perked. She turned to face her brother, her long neck swiveling. “Thousands of humans? Trudging this way?”
“Yes, quite a few. And a smaller band leading the way, on horses. They will be at the Spire in four or five days, perhaps more if the storm slows them. Which we hope it will, at this rate. Thanks to our black brother.” The red grinned. “Plenty of delicious bites, do not worry, foolish sister.”
“Shall we go and pay them a welcoming visit?”
“Perhaps.” With that, the red one lay down also on the rocks, closing his red eyes.

Nightmares at Twilight

As the two reached the edge of the ruined outer keep, the sun leaving only a few red glowing streaks in the sky behind them as night set in, raised voices echoed faintly across the distance. Walking beside this new girl, Diana, as he strode back towards the camp as though he was leading a guest into a royal hall, the boy was quite distracted, watching the dim twilight reflect in her eyes and on her hair, paying little attention to the conversation they heard. Until he recognized the voice that was speaking as his own commander’s, and looked up as they approached the fire, that was half hidden in the ruined inner keep.
“…After we got the news, the army set out almost immediately to hurry to the defenses and fill in the breach. It looked very bleak from the beginning, when the Spire fell, but as we got closer and realized that they were going to march into Kairok territory, the huscarl general, Aaron, had to make a tough decision. Rather than go and fill the breach that was here, in this castle, the army went west to Count Kairok’s aid and reinforcement. But he sent us here, us three, to scout and discovered what we could about the attacks…as now you see us here.”
As he finished, Diana and then Gaeljwen strode into the glow of the fire, interrupting and causing the three persons sitting there to look up with mixed expressions. Fraeduin stopped his story telling in time to see Gaeljwen, and cast a wary and surprised look at the Amaras pupil. However, when Asa spoke, his mind was more at ease.
“Ah, Diana.” The Amaras warrior smiled faintly, gesturing for her to sit beside him. “You returned! Anything to be eaten in these frozen wastes?”
Diana smiled back to him, stepping lightly around the fire to sit beside her teacher. “No, nothing teacher. Not even a white hare or crow to be cooked this far north!”
Asa chuckled. “Perhaps these northern lands just require a change of tactics from us, but it’s of no matter. We have enough provisions for a while yet.” With a grunt, he reached over and picked up one of the rough packs beside the fire, reaching in for the supplies.
A little awkwardly, Gaeljwen sat down by Jyon, still watching the beautiful girl across from him. It took him a minute to hear Jyon’s voice, though his friend whispered in his ear.
“Who in blazes is that?!” Jyon asked with a tone of incredulous wonder in his voice. “Who is she?”
Gaeljwen shrugged, honestly at a loss. “Her name is Diana…apparently she’s his pupil he spoke of.”
Jyon snorted. “Apparently.” Both boys said nothing as Fraeduin suddenly coughed and cleared his throat.
“So. This is your pupil, master Amaras?” The huscarl commander nodded in Diana’s direction.
Asa looked over at him. “Yes. This is Diana. She is my charge and my daughter in all but blood.”
Content to see that Diana was with the Amaras, Fraeduin relaxed visibly. “I see.”
“So that’s your tale, then?” Asa changed the subject, offering the commander a piece of dried meat and hard bread from his pack. After being nudged a couple of times, Gaeljwen also took a hint and reached for his pack, dividing its contents between the two youths.
“All that I’m going to tell you.” Fraeduin returned with a grim chuckle. The Amaras took the hint.
“Very well.” He smiled grimly, “It’s fair enough.”
“It is. Amaras Asa, don’t think me suspicious or or impolite…but I’m going to ask that you don’t go anywhere tonight, and that you might consider returning back into civilized Savarica with me in the morning. We’ve seen…all we need to see here. You might be a God-sent blessing to us about now, you know.”
Asa seemed to think on that for a long moment before replying. “That is what I do, master huscarl. It’s my job to bless others as I’ve been blessed.”
Fraeduin didn’t seen to know what to make of that, and simply shrugged and nodded. “Fair enough.”
“So I’m under arrest for trespasssing? Or for being suspect of aiding the invasion?”
The poor huscarl muttered under his breath, unable to come up with the right words. “Ach, master Amaras, don’t get angry with me. It’s only my job, you know! I’ve got no choice but to at least report you, this is a bad place to be wandering about in right now. Besides, I know certain person would give a lot to see you about now.” Fraeduin offered.
At this, Asa’s smile disappeared, and his expression became a little dark. “…Very well. I will stay, Fraeduin. But don’t press me, or Diana. If we’re called to leave and go somewhere else, then we will go. Regardless of countesses and kinds and dragons.”
The huscarl commander studied the Asa carefully for a moment, taking a deep breath. Though Fraeduin would die to protect his homeland like any other faithful carl, he was not interested in the least with hindering this Amaras. People that hindered Amaras were neither wise nor alive.
“Fair enough.” Was all he managed to get out. They seemed to agree on that.

The talk wore on a little longer around the fire, with the three Vadirska scouts enjoying the company of these new found friends, after both were willing to agree that the other wasn’t dangerous or treacherous. After the small meal, the talk began to drift off. Gaeljwen kept his eyes almost constantly on the lovely creature sitting across from him, looking at her through the flames and letting his heart race. Once in a while she would catch his gaze, and before he could look quickly away, she would flash a polite smile for him before paying attention to the conversation again.
Though Jyon spoke up once in a while to make some remark or ask some question, Gaeljwen kept entirely silent through the rest of the night, far too busy watching. He noticed every time she looked away, following her eyes as she would lose interest occasionally and study the ceiling, the ruins, the fire. No one seemed to miss his interest in the talk. Diana did not speak much either, letting her teacher do most of the explaining and listening, something he was apparently good at. All three of the newcomers couldn’t help but feel as though this middle-aged kindly gentleman didn’t seem at all to be one of the ferocious, feared Amaras warriors that were in the history books and fireside tales. All the same, the long, silver sword that hung at his side constantly was warning enough. All three were careful not to be disrespectful, even while they kept both Amaras under close watch.
As the night hours wore on, it was perhaps an hour from midnight when Diana suddenly spoke up, interrupting her teacher for a moment.
“I think I’ll sleep for the night, Asa.” She said quietly, standing up. Stifling a yawn, she reached for her bedroll.
Asa nodded. “Very well. Sleep well, we’ll probably not be going anywhere tomorrow morning…no need to prepare to travel immediately. Yet.”
“Well good. I think I’ll sleep in for once.” Her eyes laughed. “Good evening.”
As she disappeared out of the fire’s light and went to go find someplace to sleep deeper into the ruins of the keep, Fraeduin raised an eyebrow.
“That’s quite a young one you’ve got there, master Amaras.” He commented, throwing another piece of wood on the fire. Thankfully with fallen pieces of the castle around them, there was no lack of firewood.
Asa watched her go and agreed. “Yes I do.” He paused. “I found her about five year ago in the Hestyri tropical lands, a fisherman’s daughter, a year’s journey almost from here, in the far south. When her parents found me, they wanted me to see her, knowing that she bore the mark of an Amaras on her forehead. So I took her as my pupil, and we’ve traveled together ever since.” He looked into the flames, as if trying to decide what to say.
“She is a healer, and an excellent shot with a bow and arrow that she uses to hunt. One day I expect she will make a strong mage in the Arts of the Light.”
“In magic, you mean?” Jyon looked to where the girl had disappeared into the night with renewed wonder. There were a couple of sages and Art wielders in Savarica, but not many, and usually they were in high royal courts and in the big cities, respected and powerful persons of knowledge and learning.
Asa turned and looked almost narrowly at the boy, so that Jyon turned red and looked away.
“Magic? It depends on what you mean by ‘magic,’ my young friend.” The Amaras went on. “The sorcerers and warlocks of the mountains that cast dark spells and receive strength from the Dark One of the world, is that magic? Or perhaps when God Almighty intervenes on our earth with a miracle, opening roads under the seas or turning rivers to blood, or casting unnatural plagues of fire and darkness upon His enemies…is that ‘magic?’”
To this, the boy was kept silent. All three of them listened intently to what the Amaras had to say, as he went on, apparently on a subject of great interest to him.
“My good soldier of Vadirska, if that be the case, than the world is full of ‘magic.’ What almost everyone in the world thinks of when they see some kind of supernatural power or unusual gifting, is ‘magic,’ this ambiguous word that covers all things strange and supernatural in strength. However, supernatural power exists everywhere! God and the Evil One are locked even now in a war that has lasted for thousands of years in our world, constantly using what we call supernatural power. If Diana has the power to heal people with the gift God gave her, or can raise her hand and part the sea, does that make her ‘magical?’ Or gifted? None of the Arts, Good or Evil, are quite what we call ‘magic,’ young one.”
There was a dead silence after this, except for the crackling of the fire and the vague blowing of the cold wind just outside, in the pitch black night. After a long moment, the Amaras sighed.
“I am sorry…what was it? Jyonahal? …I did not mean to scold you. I treated you like one of my pupils, which you are not. Forgive me, I should not have lectured you as I would Diana.” Asa bowed his head in Jyon’s direction, almost as if giving him permission to strike him for the insult.
The Vadirska recruit, who had been silent and wide-eyed during the entire speech, now shook his head vigorously, his mind still whirling after Asa’s reply. “No no no, not at all! I merely asked.” He shrugged, fumbled for another answer, and then fell silent at last. Again, a quiet reigned.
“I think it might be wise if we all turned in for the night.” Fraeduin suddenly interjected, which was as if to say to his two recruits, “Go to bed.”
Asa nodded. “Very well. Probably wise.” He reached for his bedroll and spread it out by the dying fire. “Again, I’m sorry Jyon, for…”
“No, please, it was nothing! Forgotten.” He offered the Amaras a rather quaky smile before spreading out his own bedroll. Gaeljwen was already lying down, looking up at the dim stars through the large cracks in the roof of the fallen inner keep.
After a few minutes, it grew quiet, and the fire slowly died out, leaving them in the chill darkness. It wasn’t for a while until Gaeljwen heard his comrade whispered beside him.
“Gael? You asleep?”
“Yep.” Came the reply. He got a shove for it.
“How about it?” There was a pause. “An Amaras…and a girl! Here, of all places! And…the Spire fallen! Are we dreaming?”
“We just might be.” Gaeljwen whispered in reply, half believing it. “What in the blazes is happening?”
“I wish I knew…but an Amaras. Here! In Savarica! Two of them, even!”
“The girl’s just a pupil.” Gaeljwen put in, for some odd reason, he didn’t seem half as excited as his friend.
“I know I know…and a beautiful one at that, though.” He couldn’t help but add, smiling in the dark. Seeing that the other young recruit didn’t seem interested in talking that night, though, Jyon shrugged and turned over, to try and get some sleep himself.

Gaeljwen was far from sleep, even though he was exhausted. A tangle of unanswered questions flew through his mind, and it didn’t help now that his mind was half in burning pieces after laying his gaze upon that wonderful angel named Diana.
Get a hold of yourself, idiot! The recruit informed himself inwardly, it’s just a girl! You can’t have your heart blown away by every girl you see! Pay attention! Managing to get more focused for the moment, he tried to unravel the tangle.
An Amaras…that bears the mark I’ve got! And the girl too, apparently. What does that mean? What does that mean for me, particularly?
And then there’s…that dragon footprint. Perhaps we should’ve set up a guard.
Like any kind of guard would stop a dragon.
At any rate, now what are we going to do? Drag these Amaras back in chains to the Countess for suspects?
They had better not put Diana in chains…
When exactly he fell asleep, he wasn’t sure, but eventually his mind began to settle and the exhaustion overcame him. His last confused thoughts were about how she laughed with her eyes…

“TO ARMS! GET YOUR WEAPONS, BOYS!”
Snapping awake instantly, Gaeljwen stumbled up and out of his bed, instinctively reaching for his sword. All of a sudden, someone shouted and screamed, and there was a clash of metal in his ears.
As his eyes adjsuted, Gaeljwen whipped his short sword out of its scabbard and nearly swung at Jyon’s head when his friend materialized out of the dark, his own face like a scared rabbit’s.
“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!” Fraeduin bellowed from somewhere else in the shadows of the ruins, and several figures dashed around them. Someone struggled somewhere.
“What in the name of…?!” Gaeljwen gasped out, as Jyon nearly stumbled into him. “What happened?! What’s going ON!?”
“I don’t know!” He managed to cough out, “Some kind of…creatures…LOOK OUT!” He pointe vaguely behind Gaeljwen and aimed his bow just over the boy’s shoulder.
Gaeljwen came around swinging, his sword arcing around him at whatever enemy might be trying to sneak up behind him. The ruins dimly glittered in the cold moonlight, and the wind seemed to pick up a little. Both of the boys could just barely see anything at all, but both of them could make out the slender, but sure form of someone hiding in the darkness behind Gaeljwen, raising an arm as if to bring a weapon down on his head.
The thing jumped back lightly when the boy slashed, and suddenly leaped forward, its torn clothes flying as it nearly landed full face on Gaeljwen…until an arrow suddenly appeared in its chest, and the creature awkwardly hit the ground in front of them, dead instantly. More sounds of fighting with something or someone deafened their ears.
Gaeljwen thrust his sword into the things chest again, just to make sure, and then knelt down hurriedly beside it, to get a look at it’s face. He only had to look for a second, before standing back up to look at his comrade with a look of fear.
“Ice elves.” He whispered, and the two stood back to back, scanning the darkness and shivering. Ice elf night raids were the talk of nightmares in outlying villages, like pale wraiths that crept into houses and villages at night to steal, capture and burn. Dim, shadowy shapes flitted here and there in the broken ruins and stone, but nothing that stayed still long enough for Jyon to sight his bow on.
When he heard the twang of a bowstring, both boys instantly ducked, and Gaeljwen heard an arrow fly over his head.
“Quickly! Cover!” Jyon gave him a shove towards the nearest boulder and piece of fallen wall to hide behind, as another arrow flew overhead. They were at a huge disadvantage. The elf raiders could see them, but they could not see the elves. Human eyes were weaker, particularly in the dark.
Gaeljwen managed to snag his shield from the side of the campfire as they dashed for cover, and now held it up partly over both of them.
“There’s one!” Jyon gestured, as a figure dashed out of the snow suddenly towards them, with the starlight glinting on its drawn scimitar.
Gaeljwen caught the blow squarely on his shield and jabbed it back into the creature’s face, bringing a hissing curse from it in its own language. It circled and slashed again, this time faster. The boy had to backpedal frantically to keep up, struggling to parry the bold, quicker strokes. At length he rushed forward and slashed madly, trying to drive the elf back. He did, for a moment, and long enough for Jyonahal to sight his bow vaguely in his direction.
“DUCK!” The boy shouted. Gaeljwen promptly hit the ground, letting his friend’s arrow fly over his head and into the elf. Without further ado, the sword and shield wielding boy ducked back behind the rocks again.
He panted for a moment. “Thank…thank you.” He managed to get out.
The sounds of the others struggling suddenly seemed to stop, causing both boys to look at each other with fear and questions written on their features.
Though an arrow managed to present itself every time one of them dared stick their heads up, for a minute or two, there was only the sounds of some vague scuffling, and that was all. Gaeljwen braced himself, prepared for something to come flying out of the darkness. Jyon’s hand relaxed on the string, though he was poised to shoot at any moment. The wind howled again.
After a long minute, footsteps sounded, crunching on the snow. Gaeljwen jumped and readied himself. That did not sound like an elf. His archer friend continued to survey the darkness with his better eyes.
At length, a dim figure appeared out of the darkness, carrying another person. Gaeljwen put up his shield.
“Drop your weapons, or this one dies.” The icy, silvery tones of an ice elf said, though he was barely distinguishable in the dark. Gaeljwen squinted, trying to see who it was and who he was holding. Had they got Fraeduin? Surely not the Amaras? Surely not…
Then the girl let out a frightened, angry scream, muffled though it was. Gaeljwen’s heart stopped.
He looked back over at Jyon, who was also frozen, unsure of what to do. His mind raced.
When they hesitated, the elf drew a dagger out of his belt, to be seen only as it glittered in the starlight, and held it up to Diana’s throat. Gaeljwen dropped his sword and shield in the snow, instantly.
Realizing that if Gaeljwen was gone he had no choice, Jyon grit his teeth in rage, and dropped his bow also.
The larger, fighting recruit, Gaeljwen, didn’t feel so angry and trapped as he had supposed at first, like he wanted to punch in the elf’s face for cornering him so. But rather, unlike his archer comrade, seeing Diana held with a knife at her throat seemed to drain all the energy and fire out of him, like a man defeated entirely.
When wasn’t surprised when Jyon’s muffled shout of rage was suddenly cut off, and something dark and rough was put over his head. As some elf behind him appeared with the flat of his scimitar blade and knocked the boy on the head, the world went black.

Dreams at Twilight

The sun was setting a glowing red and gold when Gaeljwen stepped up onto one of the broken parapets and studied the landscape about him with a grim sigh. The wind was softer now, but still blowing, gently tugging at his cloak and pushing the dry snow about a little. Some still blowing in the air, it almost seemed like it was half-misty as the young, strong youth sat down.
The boy seated himself on a piece of fallen stone, drawing his cloak about him as he lay back against the broken wall, his face a picture of serious puzzlement. In the distance, just a little ways behind him, he could still hear the voices of the men echoing dimly.
The entire castle…gone. Destroyed. He surveyed the wreckage of stones and ash yet again. Kire’falraedis…the Fourth Pillar of Savarica. How? How in Creation?
Though he already had a good idea how, Gaeljwen merely needed some time to accept it, to let the information settle in his mind. Things like the complete destruction of one of the Six Pillars was openly taught to be impossible by all accounts. Though of course, someone working inside the castle might be able to undo what made it so powerful…
“Ach, my poor mind.” Gaeljwen grumbled and shook his head. He had never had the fastest, most clever mind, and he knew it. Men like the commander, or the Huscarl General. They knew what to do almost instantly. He merely shook his head at the unreal possibility of it all and took orders. Even still his mind was whirling, full of questions.
A dragon? Could a dragon break the castle? Maybe.
What was a dragon doing attacking Kire’falraedis? I thought it was elves?
But elves cannot approach the castle to begin with! Impossible…isn’t it?
And then there’s…that Amaras man.
The last part turned the boy’s thoughts in another direction. It wasn’t that Amaras were unheard of even in a far north place like Savarica. Perhaps it was merely seeing one for the first time that made him so unreal too, as though Asa was also part of the madness. All the same, he certainly seemed real enough. And he bore…the same mark as Gaeljwen on his forehead. What was that about, then?
The boy was tempted to get up and return to the warmth of the fire, back to familiar voices and to let his thoughts play out there, when as he looked up, his eye caught something unusual. He froze, fixing his gaze on what appeared to be a shadow fading from out of the gentle snowy wind. He laid his hand almost instantly on the handle of his short sword, fingering it nervously as a slender figure approached.
By now the sun had lowered a little more, striking the snow and everything else with a gentle, dim red color. The sun itself was merely a fiery orb half hanging beneath the horizon, like a great red eye. Off in the distance, the peaks of the high, silvery mountains glittered in the twilight. It was a beautiful picture, though Gaeljwen was too suddenly on guard to notice it immediately.
Until the figure came clear out of the wind, and the boy took in a sharp breath. His heart skipped a beat.
It was no slender elf figure that appeared coming towards him, apparently not yet seeing him among the ruins. It was a girl. A girl that looked no older than Gaeljwen, at most, making her way back towards the ruined castle, gazing off towards the sunset and singing a low tune to herself as she came. The boy remained motionless. Instantly his gaze was captive.
In far north Savarica, a person like this girl was almost never seen. Her hair was dark, black as night, coming down to her waist almost in length and free in the wind. Even though she was hardly close enough to see yet, the boy could tell her face was dark also, a tanned complexion that no one born in Savarica ever had.
She wore a strange dress, colored not unlike Asa’s own strange choice in colors. Her skirt being blue and shirt and vest a dull white, she mostly hid in a rough gray cloak, that blew wildly in the wind even as she tried to hug it closer about her.
As she got closer, Gaeljwen could hear her voice more clearly. Something inside him thrilled when her singing voice reached his ears, a soft, silvery sound. A beautiful, fascinating sound. The poor boy wasn’t sure he had ever heard anything so wonderful before. She seemed to walk lightly over the snow and ice rather than through it, as though there was some magic about her that lifted her above normal ground. Gaeljwen’s simple, noble heart beat faster and grew warmer.
“…Oh…oh my…” He whispered, managed to gasp out a sound. He was half afraid that if he spoke too loudly the dream-like visions would disappear. Was it even possible that something so enchanting, so entirely beautiful as that creature could exist?
As she got close enough, the dying sunlight glinting in her hair and her large, dark eyes, the singing abruptly stopped. He had been spotted.
Slowly, the Vadirska recruit stood up, his own cloak being battered about his large, tall frame as he took his hand away from his sword.
After a moment’s silence between them, he suddenly remembered decent manners and bowed. Low.
“M…Madam.” He offered, stumbling for the right words. His mind had reached a screaming halt.
The girl, though surprised, apparently was not afraid. For a moment this surprised Gaeljwen, but he soon forgot that small detail. She fixed her dark, questioning eyes on him carefully, studying him carefully as though deciding whether or not he was dangerous. Only then did Gaeljwen notice she wore a slim dagger in her belt.
“Who? Who are you?” She gingerly backed up a step, like a surprised doe in a forest glade. The poor boy felt his face growing warm as he dared look into her beautiful eyes.
“Me? I’m…I’m Gaeljwen. Gaeljwen of her Ladyship’s Carl Force.” The recruit bowed again, not remembering he had already bowed. Until a second later. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The girl didn’t move, and still looked like a startled doe about to bolt. Though he didn’t understand it at the moment, the boy suddenly realized that he did not, under any circumstances, want this beautiful angel to disappear or run away. It felt like something would die inside him if she did.
She cocked her head to the side, just slightly, still studying him. A hand went to her belt.
The boy thought frantically. “I’m here with a scout group. We’re here to see the castle.”
Idiot. What castle? He told himself. His face grew more red. You mean the wreck you’re standing on?
“Oh, I see…so you’re from Savarica?”
This caught him off guard. Where else would I be from? “Yes.” He answered.
Her hand moved away from the belt, and a small smile appeared on her lips. It seemed to light up the evening. “Ah, I see…a soldier.”
Gaeljwen nodded slowly, smiling a little too. And glad indeed to see her surprise melt away. “Yes, I’m a soldier for Countess India. Are you…with the Amaras?” He pointed back towards the dim glow of the fire in the main keep ruins.
She nodded and gave a slight curtsy right there in the snow, her hair falling about her face in no order. His smile grew wider when she caught herself from nearly slipping on the ice.
“Ach, careful!” He motioned, coming down from the stone as if he would go and personally help her across the treacherous snow.
“I’m not used to this cold snow and ice!” Her smile widened, and her eyes laughed. Gaeljwen’s heart melted, any resistance he had now gone.
He laughed with her, as she came closer, apparently now trusting him. “So you met Asa, then?” She asked, still studying him.
The boy nodded vigorously. “Yes, the Amaras man. Asa. We met him.”
“We?”
“Oh, me and my scout troup, two others. Here to see the castle.” He repeated, and promptly mentally beat himself over the head yet again. Idiot!
“They’re with him now, talking. I just came out to keep watch and think.” He offered her help over the fallen stones and back into the reach of the ruined walls, where the wind slowed considerably. Though the sun was gone now, the sky was still a dull, velvet red.
“Ah.” The girl’s smile faded just a little, though not out of fear or worry. Rather she seemed puzzled by this sudden turn of events.
“You’re his pupil then? The one he told us about?” Gaeljwen’s mind whirled. This gorgeous, wonderful angel of a girl…the student of a veteran Amaras warrior?! What madness was next?
She looked up at him and nodded. “Yes, I’m his pupil. So he told you about us?”
“A little.” The boy shrugged.
She looked back towards the glowing fire, reflecting dimly in her eyes. “Then he must trust you…that’s all.” She looked back at him again, this time a genuine smile of honest welcome on her delicate features.
“I’m Diana.” She informed him, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I…just can’t be sure. Asa always wants to be careful…and we don’t know who to trust in these lands.”
“Oh, of course, of course! Very wise!” He honestly felt as though there was nothing this creature could do that could possibly offend anyone, let alone him!
“And he didn’t expect visitors here, he told me that.” She went on, a quirk of a smile on her lips. “I’m sorry. Is here with your…your people then?”
“Yes, at the fire.”
She smiled faintly. “Alright. Thank you.” She let him lead her towards the direction of the warm fire and low, quiet voices as the darkness set in with all force dropping a siege of darkness upon the windswept landscape.

Fire and Foreboding - Part 2

Jyon merely stopped, lowered his bow, his mouth part hanging open as he studied the man. Gaeljwen stood back, surveying this newcomer from head to toe, as if to take in his strength and his business there, still slightly wary.
They were both surprised when suddenly, after a moment’s pause, Commander Fraeduin sheathed his massive, two-handed sword back in its scabbard, and bowed. He bowed very low, his beard nearly touching the ice he stood in. When he stood up, facing the stranger, a look of slight annoyance had crept over the blue and white man’s weathered features.
“Do not bow to me, soldier.” He said aloud, in a slightly different, warning tone. “I am only a man, equal to you, like you. There is only One person you should bow to.”
For a long moment, the commander didn’t respond, his questioning, dark blue gaze studying the strange traveler’s harder, serious one.
“True enough. But I’ve been taught to respect authority.”
The other blue and white clad stranger, apparently a ‘ponderer,’ as Jyon put it afterward, seemed to think about that statement for a moment before laying it aside.
“I am master to no man, and no man is servant to me, soldier.” Asa spoke again. “But as it is, I’m curious as to why you’re here. I suppose for the same reason I am?”
“That would depend on your reasons, then.” Standing up again straight, a little bit of slight suspicion crept into Fraeduin’s eyes, though he still regarded this man with a sense of wonder.
“Is this your castle?” Asa gestured around him at the ruins. So far he hadn’t even made a move for his slender, straight long sword in its scabbard, as though he were perfectly comfortable and at ease there. He did seem to be a very cool, collected type, Gaeljwen noted.
“Oh no, hardly. Technically, it belongs to my liege lady, Countess India of Vadirska.” The huscarl commander started to say, and then suddenly stopped himself, realizing the possible foolishness of his actions.
“Bah! Idiot.” He informed himself, and then took a step back, still wary of the newcomer.
“Stranger I’m going to ask you straight out, I don’t have time for games and word plays! What are you? Are you what I think you are? Speak!” His temper slightly rising, he laid a hand on his sword pommel.
The other smiled ever so slightly, and then reached up to his forehead. He pushed back some of the iced, dark hair that lay on his forehead, revealing something that made Jyon take in a slight breath, and nearly made Gaeljwen fall over in a faint.
The very same mark that Gaeljwen had upon his forehead was on that man too! The strange symbol, as though it had been burned onto his forehead, a circle with two arcs on either side. It was there for a minute, until the stranger let his hair fall back again.
“I am an Amaras. Amaras Asa at your service, gentlemen.” Asa nodded to them in a gesture of polite service, though despite the humility of his words, he seemed to carry a strange air of majesty and quiet strength about him.
Gaeljwen was about to burst out in a hundred questions, when Fraeduin caught the movement and laid a hand on his recruit’s shoulder, silencing him. “Amaras Asa. I am honored. It has been a long time since we saw any Amaras in Savarica.” He paused, “It is an honor, Master Amaras.”
Asa smiled wide. “Enough, then! I am just servant like you. In the meantime, will you share my fire?” He gestured over towards the far side of the ruins, where apparently there was still enough shelter to keep a small camp. “I’ve been here since yesterday morning, you men are the first I’ve seen here since I got here. Except for the dead.” He looked over grimly at the corpses.
“I don’t suppose I could ask why you’re here?” Said Fraeduin quickly. Torn between a protective suspicion and loyalty to his countess, and some wonder and awe of this man stepped out of his history books, the huscarl commander was thinking fast.
“Not at all. I just wandered out from my fire to see who was here with me, but I need to get back to it. I’m expecting someone else to return soon for me.”
“Ah.” Fraeduin put that away for future reference, grabbed the boys and pushed them in front of him, and started walking. The Amaras turned with a nod of assurance and strode off through the snow, his boots nearly lost in the high ice, striding back towards the denser part of the ruin. The three Vadirska soldiers followed slightly behind him.
“Was that…commander! Fraeduin!” Slipping up on proper address, Gaeljwen called his superior by name to get his attention.
At the moment, Fraeduin was too lost in thought to mind. What the blazes was going on?!
“Eh? What? Oh…yes, boy, that was an Amaras. You noted the blue and white tunic and the symbol? That’s all the signs of an Amaras.” He thought for moment, a darker thought interrupting. “Either that or a very good pretender.” He spat, watching the back of the blue and white stranger carefully. His weathered gray cloak fluttered in the rising wind, the Amaras had to push his way back through the snow towards the more comfortable parts of the wreckage. Now as they got closer to the fallen in keep, Gaeljwen could see the slight glow of a fire further inside.
“An Amaras…” Jyon merely shook his head. To both young boys, who knew little history and even less experience, Amaras were more than just historical, they were legendary. Dragons and Amaras? Gaeljwen’s mind went in circles as he tried to sort out the sudden turn of events.
“He had the same mark I have, commander!” The boy spoke up, over the wind. “The very same one!”
Fraeduin said nothing. He had been ordered to say nothing.

As they managed to climb and work their way through the dense area of the stone and mortar ruins, over fallen columns and under pieces of the walls, the three of them saw the Amaras disappear into a darker corner of the part-fallen keep, still under half a roof of rubble, where the little glow of his fire still burned. Fraeduin bodily picked up Jyon and threw him over a high piece of fallen stone, lifted Gaeljwen, and then scrambled up himself, huffing and puffing as he went.
The fire was small but warm, and certainly warmer than the outside wind and ice when the three bent over and nearly crawled into the low area where the Amaras now sat hunched over his fire, studying the flames and looking up as he guests entered.
“I am sorry gentlemen, this was the best spot we could find.” He offered a smile. “It keeps us warm though.” As the managed to get in and sit at various angles around the fire, Asa sighed.
“You said then that this castle belongs to Countess India?”
“Technically.” The commander nodded and brushed some ice from his beard. “But suppose you tell me what you’re doing here…if you don’t mind, Master Amaras. It’s…well, slightly important that I…”
The Amaras nodded and raised a hand. “Yes, yes, I understand. I’m trespassing on your countess’s land. I’m sure I look pretty suspicious too…conveniently here on a lost battlefield.”
“Something like that, yes.” The huscarl nodded grimly, looking up and gazing at the Amaras’ features with intense study.
Asa was quiet for a long minute, as if sorting out how to tell his story. At length he spoke again. The two boys merely moved a little closer to the fire and watched, Gaeljwen’s mouth nearly hanging open and Jyon’s eyes as big as his arrowheads.
“Let’s see…I suppose the reason I’m here is because I was looking for someone.” He paused. “My brother, actually. You see, my brother traveled to this land years ago, and last I heard he had become a farmer on the river. Or something like that. I know not really what my family did up here.” He stopped for a moment before continuing.
“I come from the far south, gentlemen. From far Hestyri I journeyed, having lived there all my life when my brother and his family wanted to travel here. At the time we parted I was already nearly a full Amaras and he an honorable man. But he was a traveler. Like myself, I suppose. But that was not why I came here at first, at any rate.”
“Then why? You traveled all the way from Hestyri to see a brother? You are a very dedicated family man, then.” The commander snorted.
“I didn’t come for that only. I came because…I had to. I was commanded.”
“Commanded?”
“I told you, I take orders from only One.” The Amaras returned, “And well, He commanded I come here for reasons he’s yet to explain to me. At any rate, I figured that while I was here on His orders, waiting for my task, I might as well see my brother.” He shrugged. “After all, I traveled halfway across the known world to be in his backyard.”
To this, all three of the Savaricans chuckled. The Amaras went on.
“But when I tracked him down as a vassal of Count Chace of Herrsan, I learned he had moved further up into the Countess’s territory. I followed his trail. Eventually it led me to two weeks ago, when I found his farm, but where he had quickly abandoned it and been conscripted into the Vadirska Carl Guard. From there, it was easy to tell where he had gone. He had gone to this castle, or rather, been sent to defend it. Some week or so before it was attacked, I suppose. I…have not found his body, yet. But it is here.” After that, the older Amaras opened his mouth, as if to say more, but he fell silent. The others sat around the fire, also quiet, lost in thought and considering this story.
“So you came halfway across the world for reasons no one told you, because your…eh, Master called you to, decided to go look and visit with your brother a little, having no direct orders. And traced him to this battlefield.” Jyon couldn’t help but be a little more suspicious of the story.
“Well yes, in short. But I didn’t come alone. I brought my student with me, but yes. Between the two of us, that’s what we’ve been doing. Until the Good Creator shows us what we’re here to do. He always does. We just have to wait and watch.” The Amaras smiled slightly, meddling with his pack as he spoke.
Gaeljwen’s eyes narrowed. “Your apprentice?”
“No, my student. Amaras don’t take on indentured servants, we merely teach pupils willing to learn.” It seemed a very technical detail to be worried about, but the young lad let him have it.
“Very well. Where is your student, then?”
“Out probably either hunting for food or just wandering. Probably having some quiet time and letting me have mine.” He shrugged. “After you’ve traveled half the world with someone that’s like a child to you, you come to understand one another.”
“And we have interrupted you.” The huscarl commander grunted, making a move as if to leave. He of the three of them knew he didn’t want to offend this man or his pupil. Whatever they said, these Amaras warriors were always forces to be reckoned with.
“No, not at all!” Asa quickly replied, sitting back into a more comfortable position along the wall. “There…is a time for mourning and a time for other things. Besides, I am not in sorrow.” A small, almost bittersweet smile tugged at his weather-beaten face. “My brother trusted in the Light. I will see him again.”
The commander didn’t understand much of this semi-religious lingo, but he got the idea that the Amaras didn’t mind him staying. He seated himself again on the cold stone. “Good.” He replied, the best he could come up with in the way of comfort.
Asa didn’t seem to mind. “And besides, if you speak rightly, than this IS your castle anyway. It is me who should be asking your pardon.” He chuckled.
“Ach, don’t worry about it! The Countess isn’t as mean and narrow as Count Davardi or Herrsan, she’s…”
“I think I’d like to step outside for some air, with permission, commander.” Gaeljwen, suddenly, spoke up and disturbed the conversation unexpectedly. All eyes turned to the large, inexperienced boy for a moment.
“Just for a minute.” He added, as if an afterthought.
The commander was half minded to cuff the lad for his impertinent timing and interrupting, but catching the gaze of the Amaras beside him out of the corner of his eye, he decided he could find a better time to enforce discipline.
“Alright. Hurry back.” He grunted, and turned again to Asa. The two went on talking of Vadirska.
Gaeljwen, nodding to his comrade Jyon, quickly scrambled out of the shelter and stood up in the cold air outside. Jyon’s attention was too fixed on the Amaras stranger to even really notice much of his good friend’s leaving, let along go with him. Gaeljwen’s mind whirled. He merely needed time to think. This was too much for him to process all at once.
He strode out towards where the outer wall should have been, that overlooked the vast plains to the north and the wilds beyond.

Fire and Foreboding - Part 1

The barren wind blew over the snowdrifts, gently pushing the snow across the plains this way and that, mourning sounding as it went. Though in the distance the mountain peaks could be vaguely seen, shadows of silver far off to the east. Though mostly, besides those and the darker shapes of the peaks further north and out of sight, the snowy, icy plain was deserted, flat, and empty.
Which was exactly the problem. It was not supposed to be so empty.
At the very edge of Savarica in the north, the borderlands that looked out into the perilous, white wilds beyond all knowledge and civilization, the small company made its way up the half-buried road, huddled in tight fur cloaks, until they realized that the spires they sought should be on top of them. Kire’falraedis was not there.
Coming up over one more particularly large snowdrift, Huscarl Commander Fraeduin huffed and threw back his hood, surveying the landscape around them. The road, left unused for even just a small time like a week or two, left it buried and hidden beneath the ice and snow. Shoveling his way over the small hill, the commander grumbled under his breath, pushing ice to one side.
“Blasted general…two fresh recruits…” He bit his tongue, and bit back a cry. “And an old commander…by themselves…looking for a buried…battlefield! …Bugger him!” With more nasty words for his over general in tow, the commander, leader of the three-man investigation, looked back over his huge shoulder for the other two.
“C’mon, lads, its midday already!” He barked, watching the two figures trailing behind him a little ways.
And they aren’t even digging through the snow! Well…somewhat.
“We’re here!” Gaeljwen huffed, pushing aside loads of snow with his shield while Jyonahal shivered and tried to look out of the little trench they had dug for themselves to see the land around them, over Gaeljwen’s shoulder.
“Wonderland.” Jyonahal commented sarcastically. “The snow thins out up there, where the commander is.”
Gaeljwen looked up from his work to see the commander was indeed standing on a slight rise in the land around them, the snow suddenly thinning off until it only came up to the top of his boots…much better than the waist deep here. He shrugged and grunted, picking up the pace a little.
“I want you to know, Jyon, that you’re doing a fantastic job helping.” He added after a moment, though he only half meant it as a joke. His close garrison comrade Jyon was an archer and axe thrower by right, no large, strong man to push away snow like Gaeljwen was. Though he helped where he could, his eyes and his fingers were dark-haired Jyon’s real help. He made the best lookout of the three.
“Almost there.” Gaeljwen replied over his shoulder as they struggled up the rise. The wind lessened slightly, and Jyonahal nodded, trying to shovel with his hands where he could.
“I don’t see any fortress spires…” He mentioned rather darkly. Perhaps worriedly. The spires of Kire’falraedis should be there at least.

When he arrived back with his men, urging them on to even greater speeds, General Aaron of Vadirska had to pick quickly the men he was going to send to Kire’falraedis, while the rest of the army hurried to House Kairok’s aid. Whether it was out of haste, or long planning beforehand, or perhaps something higher than mere chance…he picked three. Gaeljwen. His right hand commander, Fraduin, and Jyonahal. Pulling them almost at random from the ranks, he gave them a week’s extra provisions and almost chased them off to the northern road in a frantic hurry, hurrying himself straight west.
Those three, hurriedly and randomly thrown together companions, had to look for the road for a while, buried under the snow since it had been unused for a few weeks. Now nearly a week into their trek northward, they had reached the general area that the Spire Castle should be. Camping on the road and trying to avoid being buried under snow, shivered, grunting, shoveling and trekking, they at last made it to where the commander informed them they should be there. At first, the two were slightly anxious. Standing on the edge of the known world, the very brink of the untamed wilds and unknown, was slightly unnerving. But soon they were almost intrigued and interested by it. It would be their first war march outside of Vadirska lands…what a wondrous, large land it was they lived in, outside their home!
Gaeljwen looked up from where the snow thinned out and he no longer had to push it aside as they both scrambled up the rise, towards the lone figure of Huscarl Commander Fraeduin. Standing alone at the crest, his fur cloak blew slightly in the wind, his large figure dark against the pale skies. The boy noted though, eyes narrowing, that he had his large double-blade axe in his hand.
“Does he see something?” He wondered aloud, to Jyonahal as much as himself.
Jyon also looked up, and grimly pulled his bow from his back, stringing it just in case. He pulled an arrow from his leather quiver and nocked it on the bow. “I don’t know.” He murmured.
“Do you see something, Commander?!” Gaeljwen shouted. Only a second later did he realize that perhaps wasn’t the wisest idea. Jyon, by far the better hunter of the two, hushed him instantly.
The commander didn’t reply, nor did he tear his gaze from whatever lay over the rise. As they grew closer, the two recruits grew more worried, exchanging looks and picking up their pace again as they scrambled up to stand beside the commander on the top.
All three of them looked down into the wide, slight valley before them. The wind continued howling.
There was a dead silence, full of stunned shock. They had found Kire’falraedis.

Some of the ruins were still smoking slightly. What remained of the once white and silver fortress was now black. The stones, the wooden frames, the very ground beneath it, where the snow had been apparently melted away and only slightly replaced. A skeleton of the original castle remained, but still almost entirely level with the ground, as though each stone had been thrown down piece by piece until nothing was left standing higher than a man’s height. Only part of the inner keep, perhaps one or two rooms composed of a couple walls each, remained standing. There wasn’t even part of the walls left, like each stone had been thrown down until only an outline stood on the ground. The snow around the ruin was black and littered with wreckage, where whole towers and parapets had fallen into it, toppled like a child’s blocks. Even still, the blue and silver peaks of the mountains stood, unmoved, in the distance, their tops glittering whiter than the clouds behind them. Off to the north, beyond the snowy valley of Kire’falaedis, lay a vast open space. The gateway to the wild north. Dotted here and there in the blacken ruin were shapes that Gaeljwen only had to guess at. The burned corpses and remains of the defenders of the Spire, some still clutching swords and spears in their charred hands.
Silence reigned atop the rise as the three studied the scene below. This was no ordinary castle ruin, no typical fortress siege ending in failure. This was one of the six pillars of Savarica. This was part of the foundation of their realm lying in ashes and smoke. This was a very bad sign.
“Impossible.” Gaeljwen murmured, his strong featured face etched with shock and wonder. His pointless objection to the reality before him was swallowed up by the wind.
After a long, burning quiet, the commander held up one hand in a gesture to move forward. His face was expressionless. “Let’s go down.” He said simply, and began trudging down towards the wreck. The other two followed quickly, their faces also mostly expressionless or shocked. The wind tore at their cloaks and hoods.
As though all the snow within a certain radius of the Spire had been scorched and melted away, there was nothing but black ground and wrecked stone and wood where once Kire’falraedis had been. As they reached where the outer walls were supposed to be, Jyon stooped to study a burned corpse of a man, one of the soldiers, still clutching his axe in his hand. The huscarl commander stumbled on, not paying the dead any attention as he surveyed the massive ruin.
Gaeljwen stopped beside his friend and knelt down with him, grimly studying the dead defender.
“What in blazes?” Jyon growled. “It’s like…he was burned to death! How?”
“The whole PLACE is burned to death!” Fraeduin’s voice suddenly barked back at them. “LOOK at it! Black stones, scorched ground, men burned to nearly nothing! Kire’falraedis was BURNED!” Without another word he turned again and strode off towards the part of the Spire that was still standing…or barely standing.
Both of the young half-trained soldier looked up at their higher commander with some surprise at this outburst. As the other strode away, though, with another meaningful glance exchanged between them, both looked back down at the body.
What remained of the poor soldier was badly burned away, and apparently had been like that for some time. Though the body itself was nearly unrecognizable by that time, it still held a very Savarican axe in its hand, and more importantly, was still covered in Savarican armor and mail. The Vadirska emblem could be seen on the chest of the armor still, though faintly.
Gaeljwen bit his tongue to keep back a mixture of emotions, from pain to abhorrence to rage to fear. It seemed…unreal. Impossible. Like some nightmare.
“How?” He asked himself for the thousandth time. Again.
Jyon didn’t answer. Standing up, his face grim, he studied the ground around him while the icy breeze tore at his fur cloak. With a practiced ranger’s eye he read what signs he could.
“The gate was mobbed.” He commented, pointing to where even on the blackened ground many sets of tracks could be seen moving in through where the gate had once stood. “It looks as though the main battle…or slaughter took place in the courtyard.” After a moment, the two moved over to the area, where the dead were scattered heavily here and there. A few bits and pieces of stone walls and towers were scattered also, so both had to climb and work their way into the wreckage. A few slender smoke wisps even still flew up into the wind and disappeared.
“That’s no human.” Jyon pointed out again, catching it quicker than the inexperienced Gaeljwen could. As they strode past another corpse, both noted with interest that it wore no armor, in fact very little but a white robe that was half burned to pieces. Though again, it was burned to the point till it was hard to recognize anything of it, some things were obvious still. It was definitely much smaller than a fighting carl soldier. And the weapon that lay beside it, still with red blood on it, was a slender, glittering scimitar that seemed made of some kind of silvery ice. Definitely not typical Savarican cold steel.
Gaeljwen reached over and picked up the scimitar, intrigued. “Defintely not Savarican make.” He commented.
Jyon snorted. “Not even human, brother. I think that’s a Norn blade.”
The other turned to look on his friend skeptically. “Norns? Attacking Kire’falraedis?”
“From what my father’s told me, and from the other rangers I know, that’s what a Norn blade looks like.” The ranger shrugged. He put away his bow, but left it strung. “But then I don’t know for sure, never seen one other than through another’s descriptions.”
Gaeljwen merely grunted and dropped it. It was a fine blade, but somehow replusive, as though it simply was not made for human hands to wield. Like it had been made for a creature that had more balance, more speed, and less strength than himself. He put it aside in his mind for the moment when he heard Fraeduin suddenly shout out from somewhere deeper in the ruin.
“Both of you! Get over here!” The bark sounded over the wind. Both of the youths immediately hurried off in the direction of the shout, half drawing their weapons again in case of trouble.

As they rounded the corner of one fallen part of the outer keep, both of them nearly ran into the back of their commander, who turned around hurriedly and grabbed both lads with a jolt.
“Slow down, now!” He told them, “Careful!” As they stood beside him, he pointed…down to the snow.
“Look.”
They stood on the edge of what had once been the courtyard, though now battered and scattered with debris. A few dead lay here and there, but what immediately caught Gaeljwen’s attention, standing next to his friends, was what had also stopped the commander in wonder.
There, in the ground before them and stamped like a seal on a letter, was an absolutely massive footprint. It was nearly big enough for nine men to lie down in, though it was very possibly a hand print too…for it was not even vaguely human. Putting size aside, it was shaped like a massive bird’s claw, with one claw in the back, like a giant, slender blade, and four more claws on the front of the foot (or hand). It was nearly as deep as the hilt of Gaeljwen’s short sword was long.
All three of them knew exactly what that was. And there was no possible way to doubt it. It was either a very real print of something they all guessed, or a very good and well made fake.
“A dragon print.” Gaeljwen murmured under his breath.
“That is certainly no horse.” Jyon replied wryly, though his pitiful attempt at humor was instantly lost.
The commander only shook his head. “If a…a dragon…is really that close to Savarica…” He took a deep breath. “May God preserve us. Great Warhespar must be awake…” The huscarl cast a shaken glance in the southwestern direction, though only Gaeljwen caught the look, wondering where his commander was looking.
“Great Warhespar?” Jyon questioned.
The commander was too shaken to answer immediately, knowing the full implications of that fact more than the other two did, so Gaeljwen spoke for him. He knew more history and classical studies than did his ranger friend.
“Warhespar was the black dragon lord of the north, some hundred or so years ago. I don’t remember when.” He thought, cocking his head to one side as he considered. “A long time ago. At any rate, he was a torment and terror outside of Savarica, for the frontier settlements and outside outposts. But eventually he disappeared. Probably fell asleep in his caves, no one knows. No one cared, as long as he was gone.” The carl recruit shrugged. “At any rate, he was the only dragon in known recent history. Mostly the dragons have gone far north, into the wilds forever, or hid themselves in deep caves and mountains out of human reach.”
Jyonahal nodded as he took all this in. He knew enough to tell that if a dragon had truly been here at Kire’falraedis, the unreal nightmare that it already was had just gotten ten times worse. Dragons were legends! History! Old terrors that no longer walked the earth, long dead in past ages and dark times.
“It could be just a very clever fake. Sorcery.” The commander muttered, his mind whirling as he kept his eyes on the great track in the blackened ground.
“Why in Creation would a warlock or sorcerer do that?” Jyon spat. Neither replied to that.
Suddenly a new, fourth voice broke the silence.
“There was a dragon here, don’t doubt it.”
Instantly all three of the soldiers whirled about, fumbling for their weapons after being taken so off guard, prepared for anything. The huscarl commander growled with rage as he turned around to face the stranger. He was, all things considered, most certainly not in a good mood that day.
“WHO THE BLAZES…who…?” He stopped, frozen in his tracks.
Behind them, Gaeljwen turned and saw, stood a man. This man wore strange attire, wearing a white and tunic with blue sleeves and breeches, and a heavy gray cloak and a shirt of chain mail under the tunic. The man was a tall, broad-chested man, with a steady, older face of a wise veteran warrior. At his side hung a sword that looked fine indeed.
The newcomer smiled faintly, nodding in politeness. “I did not mean to scare, I bring no harm, good travelers.” He offered out a hand as a gesture of goodwill.
“My name is Asa.”

The Tightening Noose

The gray dawn glittered down dimly from the hulking clouds, exposing the running, walking and staggering men below. Some leaned on their spears and pikes like staffs as they went, all of them beaten and battered. The blue and silver waters of the lake lapped gently at the shores, as the scattered and weary remnants of House Kairok’s army hurried southward away from the battlefield, in sight of their House and Capital. Dull clouds still overhung the sky, hiding the morning light mostly from view, though it was far better than the black storm clouds behind them, in the north. And close.
Very close now, the glinting towers and domes of House Kairok waited to greet the retreating army, where it stood on the lake shore overlooking its territory. Blue and green, like the colors of the lake, the House itself was a masterpiece of art, built of blue-green stone from the far mountains of the dwarves and lined with silver and gray rock. Though it was a fairly small House, barely big enough to be a called a luxurious fort, it was the palace of the family of Viscount Andrew. Standing guard on the shore, it watched it’s men and soldiers slowly trickle back into it, out of the catastrophe of the battle two nights before.
The viscount himself was half holding, half dragging another man along with the help of one of his captains, a wounded veteran who wasn’t able to keep up at last due to loss of blood. The man grunted once in a while, a grim look twisted on his face as he refused to cry out in pain, a man of many campaigns. They trudged up the last gentle slope, a soft green hill, the last one that separated Andrew from his House, just over the crest. Already one or two of the tower tips glittered from the far side as he staggered up the rise.
His men, or what was left of his command, was scattered here and there also climbing up the hillside, perhaps a few dozen in all. Though some groups had gotten scattered in other directions or were either ahead and had fallen behind, the majority of his men were with him working their way up the rise. A rise they had proudly marched over a week before, even if nervously.
The man he was holding stumbled, and the viscount stumbled with him, stopping to pick his friend back up. His captain, the one holding on to the wounded man’s other arm, called for one of the less injured soldiers close by to come and help, and the three of them managed to clamber up to the crest of the hill, the seriously hurt carl soldier in tow.
“That’s a blessed sight.” Andrew’s captain murmured, and the viscount nodded wearily. His home, the small but strong House of Kairok and House of the Lake, still stood proudly by the beaches. Here and there below him, on the grassy plains between him and the small manor, a few more soldiers and carls were seen trudging back towards the main gates. A small trickle of men was all that had made it alive out of that massacre two nights before, he mused grimly.
They got about halfway down the far side of the gentle slope, the three of them holding up one wounded man, before the mighty gates finally opened, and the manor let back in all its carls. With a groan and a few shouts from the gatehouse, the wooden and metal doors swung outward, revealing a courtyard of lesser nobles and manor servants within. Andrew narrowed his eyes to see all he could, but his vision was blurred, perhaps slightly injured. They staggered on down the hill, coming down onto the open field between them and the house. A few dotted areas of glades and trees stood here and there in the distance, the surrounding countryside a pretty, even if flat and open, place. The gray clouds above them dimly lit up the scene still…the black clouds behind them rumbled distantly.
Looking back over his shoulder, the viscount studied the black clouds, and the man struggling over the hill.
“God help us.” He muttered, and went on.
“God help us all.” The captain agreed, both going grimly silent.
When there was a clatter of horse hooves and the sound of a river approaching, all of them looked up. What appeared to be a small train of horsemen, wearing his father’s emblem, were riding out of the House gates and towards them, their house banner fluttering in the wind over their heads.
The captain watched them for a moment, straining to help hold up the wounded man, and nodded towards them. “They recognize you, my lord viscount.” He commented as the hoses veered off directly for them.
Andrew looked up. He gazed at the coming riders for just a moment before recognizing the foremost one, who rode with his battle armor ready and even sword in hand as though he expected enemies to appear over the hill any moment.
“FATHER!” The viscount shouted, leaving the wounded, struggling man to be helped on by the other few soldiers to make a dash towards his father, Count of House Kairok.
The count had been an imposing man in his prime, but now that his middle to elderly years were upon him, nearly sixty summers old, his arms were not as strong or tough as they used to be. Even at that, though, once the news had reached him that an enemy army marched towards his lands and house, he had turned back immediately from the Ilelphosta Council, and hurried with all speed back home. To find that his son, like any good, dutiful, strong son, was already leading the house defenses. The poor count couldn’t decide whether to feel proud or sorrow, anger or joy to see his son responsibly and courageously leading his men to war…and into a full retreat. It was his own battered carl guards that returned staggering over that hill.
“Ach, thank God! My son!” The count of Kairok easily dismounted, though more stiffly than he used to, and embraced his son, bloody, broken armor and all, sword in hand. Strejwan, Count of Kairok, looked nearly as haggard as his son did, just to see half his land and army gone upon his return. He was a decent sized man, even perhaps a little short, but lithe and strong despite his age. His darkened skin, tanned well over the hard years, was half hidden under his slight dark beard and mustache. Gray, grim eyes gazed pointedly out of the hood of his cloak.
The first words out of his son’s mouth, as soon as the embrace was finished, kept coming like pouring water behind a dam. “I’m sorry, father, I’m so sorry…there was too many, we couldn’t hold the lines, and the men couldn’t handle…handle the trolls and elves and goblins and black sorcery, we tried! God knows we tried, but nothing would stop them! We…lost most of the upper lake lands, half the army is coming back. We can resemble it and defend the keep, and get mother out to the south. Women. Children.” He glanced behind at the weary men of Kairok. The poor comrade who had needed three of his friends to support him hobbled past, not even able to nod to his liege lord, nearly coughing up blood.
The viscount opened his mouth again to speak more words of apology and frustration, and perhaps some fear, until his father held up a mail gloved hand. “Enough, son! Did you do your best to hold them back?”
“I did, father.”
“Was there no chance?”
“…Not really, father. Very little.” He paused. “No, none. I doubt three house armies could have stopped that.”
The count nodded grimly. “Then you did well. Excellent, my son.”
Andrew smiled, faintly, sadly. He knew what it cost his father to say that, when his own armies were coming over that hill in pieces and his lands burning around him.
He was surprised to hear his father next. “BLAST THEM.” The old, gentlemanly warrior spat, “The one week I am NOT at my lands, in my house, doing what I should be doing, is the ONE week that my land gets surprised, flanked, and besieged overnight!” He uttered a few more, angry curses before turning back to his horse, fuming. Andrew stood behind, watching him go with his own heart bleeding for his father and men.
The Count turned, fixing his gray, commanding eyes on Andrew again. “How close are they behind?”
His son thought a moment. “Perhaps a few days, rather close.” He shrugged. Someone nearby cried out in pain as comrades dragged comrades back towards their House and barracks. Already a few House servants were running out, offering help, water, and healing herbs.
Strejwan nodded. He offered a small smile for his son. The best he could do.
He had just lost about half his life’s work in a week. It still didn’t seem real.
“Very well. We’ll prepare the walls and call in a garrison, and prepare for them to come again. And,” He thought a moment, staring up at the hill where his men still struggled over. “We’ll send someone to the Council to call for help. They have to know.”
The viscount agreed entirely. “By all means.” He paused. “Where is mother?”
“In the courtyard waiting.” The count gestured towards the blue-green House of lake stone behind him, where already a good deal of activity was going on.
Count Strejwan mounted back up on his war horse, shouting to his cavalier battalion behind him to spread out, watch the hills, and generally aid in the retreat. As he trotted off, Andrew watched him go, his heart bleeding and still proud of his strong, sorrowful father. Squaring his shoulders, his eyes blurred for a moment as he cried for his father. And mother. And land. And house. And his men. It was a tearful kind of day. He strode off towards the open gates and courtyard.

“ANDREW, thank God!” Countess Hytira cried out in tearful relief when her son appeared, weary and numb, among the soldiers and retreating carls. Quickly making her way through the crowds of servants, carls and stable boys, she ran to and wrapped her son in a massive embrace. When she stepped back to survey her only son’s wounds, she nearly cried out yet again in pain and fear. Blood did indeed seem to cover his armor and sword, and there was enough of it to tell some had to be his own.
The viscount tried to smile faintly and offer a mock salute, like he used to do. “Mother.” He managed.
His mother, though over fifty summers old, was still a beautiful creature, even if it was from a son’s perspective. A slender, tall lady, with golden hair and pale, pretty face, she was dressed in summer green and gold, with a bloody cloth still in hand from her work with the wounded. Though many lines ran across his slender features, her dark eyes still usually radiated her quiet contentment. Though hardly at the moment.
“I’m well, mother, well enough.” Andrew offered, though he allowed her to lead him into the opening hall of the Kairok House and sit down on one of the councilor chairs inside. The good mother immediately nearly ran outside, calling for her own healers, and brought them in to examine her son.
The viscount braced himself, but still cried out in pain when they removed his armor. “AGH!” He managed, cuts coming fresh again. His mother winced visibly. He bit his tongue.
“Is all lost, Andrew?” Asked Countess Hytira in a low, quivering tone, as if she were weighing their retreat options like any general.
“Not in the least! Father’s here!” He protested loudly, as if that would alone drive away the hordes. And indeed, both knew that if Count Strejwan was on the walls when the enemy came, it would be a long, hard fight, either way.
“Ach, Andrew…” Biting back a sob, the elderly mother sat down beside her son to help clean his wounds, her own vision blurring. “…You pushed yourself too far.”
“I tried to.” Was all Andrew could offer.

His father came in shortly afterward, as soon as any man of his within ten miles radius around his keep was either getting into the keep, or heading south in a hurry with his family. While the countryside around them prepared to sudden invasion, as fast they could, the elderly royal couple talked late into the night with their son, in that opening hallway. The weeping mother, grim father and weary son nearly fought, as words were past, before at last the count came to a quick decision. His son would go to the Council instead, with Countess Hytira, for her safety in Ilelphosta which was miles and miles away. While the count himself, as was only right and tradition, would remain at his house, command his armies, and eventually die on his walls if he had to. But either way…no matter the outcome, it would be a hard, long, terrible fight.
Especially without allies or reinforcements arriving in time.

Tidings of the East

Almost all of Savarica itself, the far northern kingdom and the edge of the known world, was divided into five sections. Naturally those sections were the Five Houses. Each of those Five Houses was ruled by its respective family, its count or countess as each saw fit. And as a result, it formed five smaller factions inside the overall realm itself. There had been wars in the past, between the five, but overall those five made up the fairly peaceful whole.
With one exception. The city of Usadel.
Usadel was the merchant trading city that stood in the high, icy mountain regions, in the branch of one range that reached halfway through Savarica’s landscape. Neatly cutting Savarica’s geography in half, the thrust of mountains separated the two higher houses, Vadirska and Pandark, from House Davardi’s higher lands.
In years past, brave merchants and travelers had cut a series of paths through the mountains there, passes and a few outposts on the rough roads. Though these mountains were considerably more tame than the actual outside wilds, beyond Savarica’s borders, they were still hazardous, and not to be traveled by the defenseless.
Usadel itself was nothing more than a massive trading outpost, a large city comprised of merchants, rangers, and brave men and dwarves who dared to live there. It was the single most important trading city though, in the realm, for it was the only route between the higher and lower land houses, and thus naturally a place where merchants could come to sell wares to passing persons of both sides. Staying aloft from joining to any one house of Savarica, the tough city ruled itself mostly through a board of leading innkeepers and merchants, a semi-democracy in itself.
It was here that the four dwarf brothers, coming out of the wild eastern edge of the Northern Wastes, arrived after some weeks of hard travel through the passes and narrow roads. Thibble Strongofarm and his three younger brothers reached the eastern gates of the city itself some weeks out from their dwarven city in the east, all of them sighing with relief to see the long expected gates getting closer.
The snow was still coming down in mass amounts, the high winds screaming and blowing it about until the very air appeared hard and white. The gray clouds overhead continued to snow and sleet down upon Usadel and the four coming travelers, forcing even Thibble to crouch down low on the cart and pull his cloak hood low over his brow. The other three struggled on beside the wagon, shielding their faces from the harsh weather and grumbling loudly as they went.
“Let’s hope fer some meat and cold ale at the governor’s house, lads!” Thrable Roundshield shouted aloud, barely to be heard (and dwarves were not a quiet folk either). “I tell ya we’ll have something besides cold bread and melted snow this night!”
“Bah, ya fool! There is no governor’s house in Usadel!” Prable growled back, using his shield to cover his face as he trudged forward behind the cart.
“Enough of it!” Thibble shouted, “There’s a council building in the middle a’ town, where all the high and mighty merchants rest and talk and spend their gold, and that be where we’re goin’!”
“And I suppose we’ll just stride in and tell ‘em all, ‘Excuse me, but ye’ve got sorcerers and goblins loose just outside yer borders! Send support!’”
“That was the idea when we left!” Thibble replied, with a grim chuckle. The others quieted at that.

Like all the other entrances, the east gates of Usadel were set into stone, massive and imposing to any comers. The road itself sloped down into a sort of snowy ravine, cut in between two mountains, and met the gates where they appeared in the stone of the mountains themselves. Though half covered in ice, the steel and iron of the gates glinted dimly in what light there was.
As the small company of dwarven travelers reached those gates, amid the howling storm and waist deep in the icy snow, the sturdy wagon stopped just before the gates. Moving ahead, Thrable grabbed the heads of the poor dwarf ponies, who were probably half frozen at that time. Stroking them and seeing in just what shape they were, he called out to them soothingly through his beard.
“AHOY! GATES!” Thibble, now standing up on his cart with hands on his sides, shouted up at the iron and steel plated gateway. It took the sentries a long moment to hear him.
At least, though some moments later, a human head appeared at the small window above the entry and threshold, glaring out at the newcomers. The window being cut right into the rock over the gates made it a formidable gatehouse, but even then the dwarf brother noted grimly that the human sentry above him had a bow and arrow in hand, ready for use.
“Dwarves!” He called out, looking down at the obvious below. “Name yourselves, pray, and your business here!”
Thibble growled. “I be Thibble Strongofarm, of the Clan of Bronze! These be my three young brothers come with me to Usadel!” He spat, “Our business is our own, man! Open the blasted gates, it’s cold out here!”
The human head disappeared back inside, and after a minute’s more chilly wait, the gates creaked, and slowly slid open and inwards. Thibble, not about to be picky while he and his brothers and ponies froze outside, hurried the cart in. Without further ado, Prable and Pibble, still behind the wagon, quickly dashed and scrambled up on the back of the wagon as they rode through the gateway and into the tough city, shaking ice from their beards.
“Oooooooh.” Pibble commented solemnly as the gates shut behind them, and quickly, shoved by half a dozen men in dark metal armor.
Prable, who was slightly more observant than his scatter-brained brother, noted with interest (and only as a dwarf would) that the armor the guard of the city wore was rough and heavy, but still quite effective. Typical human armor. And very unlike the usual heavy leather, steel, and fur the usual Savarica guards wore.
Because technically, Usadel wasn’t really even an official part of Savarica, but a city-state on its on that lived in the middle of it. Grunting and giving the humans a suspicious glance, Prable turned his gaze to the front.
The wind lessened considerably once inside the city. Usadel itself was surrounded on all sides by the high, sheer peaks of the mountains, making it naturally walled in from almost every angle. Several watch towers, all well guarded, stood atop the various peaks and ridges overlooking the city which was situated in the bottom of a very small valley, like a fortress. Though Usadel didn’t have much in the way of an army, it had an excellent defense.
The streets of the city were fairly abandoned in such weather, so the cart rolled along freely down the narrow, dark stone streets. Several figures, mostly human, could be seen hurrying through the blizzard in tight, low hooded cloaks, mostly staying out of the wind and ice. As the four of them made their way though, now all four of them up on the cart at various angles, no one spoke, and the four of them merely stared grimly about them. Houses of stone, mostly, though very human in make as their structure said, filled the small valley from one end to the other, inns, shops, and other buildings of state as well. But a small towering house, one bigger by far than all the others, stood roughly in the middle. The center of Usadel.
Few houses were open, and indeed, few shops or inns for that matter. On such a dim, gray, cold day even the toughened citizens of Usadel were hesitant about venturing much out of doors, unless it was the guards and sentries changed shifts or standing high up on the overlooking scout towers, and at the gates. Since technically, Usadel had always been and would always be in enemy territory.
Winding their way along the empty streets and under the shadows of the tall houses, the four dwarves made it to the near center of the small citadel. Upon reaching the open square that made up the marketplace on better days, the large, centering house of the city loomed up ahead, its solid, angular, but strong and sturdy stones staring down expressionlessly.
“Damp looking place, ain’t it?” Prable commented quietly, to no one in particular, though his three brothers heard him.
“U-huh.” Pibble replied, studying the building, stare for stare.
They wheeled creakily across the open, wet square and came to a halt in front of the small iron gates that stood in front of the great building, and Thrable clambered down off his wagon to go and knock loudly on the doors, using the blunt side of his hammer to do so.
“Hoy, in the house! Visitors outside in the rain!” He called out, hoping someone would hear. Apparently they did, for moments later the two iron doors swung open quickly, revealing yet another sentry inside, a grim faced man who gave all four of them looks of suspicion.
“Got the city well-guarded.” Thibble muttered, before standing up on his wagon seat to address the sentry.
He bowed from his stand on the cart. “Thibble Strongofarm, at yer service!”
“Where from? Are these your kin?” The guard, not impressive, gestured gruffly to the other three.
“My brothers.” Undaunted, Thibble smiled faintly in his attempt to be a diplomat. “We come from the Clan of Bronze, some weeks east of here. We’ve come before, we’re not strangers here.”
The sentry grunted. “What business?”
“To see the head of yer merchant’s guild, what do ye think we’d be knocking on yer door fer?!” Prable suddenly spoke up, irritation showing in his voice. “If ya want you can kick us out as soon as we’re done! Better yet?”
The sentry’s eye narrowed darkly, but after a moment’s thought, he stepped back, his long, slender spear in hand, and gestured for the dwarves to enter into the courtyard.
“Leave your cart and ponies here in the courtyard before going in.” The guard instructed, opening the door a little wider for the small, sturdy cart to slip in. Nodding thankfully, Thibble urged on his ponies and the cart rattled in.
The courtyard was barren of most signs of life, filled with silver stone and white snow and ice only. The wind gently whistled through it, blowing up some snow in little dunes here and there. A few guards stood at attention inside the courtyard, by the gates where apparently that had been roused out of the gatehouse at the sound of the knocking dwarves. The main entrance to the house itself was but a small door up a few stairs, a very simple entrance. It was no grand palace, and indeed very little in Usadel was built for beauty.
As the rolled the cart into the courtyard and stopped some yards from the door, Prable grunted in the back.
“There was some large party been here recently.” He noted, looking at the snow. It was indeed full of tracks, as though just a few hours ago some large amount of men and horses had been here. The snow falling as heavily as it was, it would indeed have to recent to be there at all.
Thrable cast a glance back at his brother. “What of it? This is a large center house for the whole city, ya thickhead! There’s people comin’ and goin’ all day!”
“Not on a day like this, not that many!” Prable returned. Pibble nodded vigorously in agreement.
The four of them scrambled down from the cart, Thibble included. As all of them hit the snow, already waist deep for such people as they, Thibble glanced about for a moment before he spotted what he wanted.
“Hoy, Prable!” He suddenly called out to his younger brother, “Take the ponies and stable them there! That has the looks of a stable, no doubt!” He gestured to what was indeed a stable entrance across the courtyard, on the far side. “Poor beasts are soaked, tired and cold, I don’t doubt!”
“Bah! Go about it yerself! Going to go in and warm up yerselves while I sit out here and keep the beasts warm, eh?”
“Get to it, or I swear I’ll put YOU in the harness when these poor beasts fall over with the cold!” He looked around, grimly. “And Thrable and Pibble will help me do it!”
“Aye, that’s for sure!” Thrable commented. Pibble wisely avoided any comment on the subject, however, and busied himself scurrying up to the door. Grumbling in his black beard, Prable busied himself removing the harness and leading the soaked ponies off to the stables, while Thrable and Thibble followed their youngest brother up to the door, before disappearing inside.

The inside opening hall was a plain but comfortable room, cut out of the stone and covered with fur rugs, with a fire blazing on a hearth at the far end. Various chairs were set up against the walls, as though it was a sort of meeting house as well in the front rooms. A few banners hung from the wooden ceiling, mostly ones no dwarf recognized. Thibble guessed it was the banners of various merchant or shop guilds in the city. Usadel was not a pretty or light hearted town, but it was definitely a very strong town, and definitely backed by powerful, rich merchants of all kinds. The powerhouse of Usadel was not a small political force.
However, all three of the dwarves noted at once they were not alone in the opening room. Nearly half a dozen men stood here and there, mostly around the fire, talking in low voices and looking up as the dwarves entered. Thibble noted quickly that they were all dressed in armor of blue and violet…a symbol of what could be a Savarica House.
Thibble took the queue and bowed in their direction. “Good day, friends!” He called out cheerily, “Where is the merchant’s council? Here today, I don’t doubt?”
For a moment, the armed men looked at each other curiously, before one of them in particular stepped up. A captain of sorts, probably.
“The high leaders are now talking with our liege lady.” He offered, pointing, “In the next room. Two or three of the leading merchants are in there if you wish to see them…but they might be busy. Our lady, the countess, is speaking with them.”
Thibble Strongofarm bowed again. “Thank ye, sirs, we’ll take our chances.” Striding off towards the door, the other two followed and entered the side chamber.
Inside it was much like the former chamber, only perhaps smaller and warmer due to several fired hearths scattered here and there, with shuttered windows in the cool walls. In that room, a large wooden table was set up in the middle, surrounded by chairs, like it was indeed a small council room.
Only two or three of the chairs, however, were filled with human people, who all turned to look at the newcomers as they entered.
The dwarves all bowed this time. They easily recognized that the lady, the young woman who sat at the far end, was certainly no head merchant. The three men with her could be, though, even if the an older man there appeared to be her councilor.
“Who is this?” The nearest man, a middle-aged, black haired man with a short beard looked over. He was dressed in fine clothes, probably a richer merchant, Thibble guessed. They all looked slighty irritated at being disturbed.
“I am Thibble Strongofarm, good sirs…and lady!” He tacked on, “These are my brothers, Thrable, and Pibble.” He gestured to each in turn, who nodded and stood up again.
Before any of the humans could speak, the dwarf cut them off and got right to the point. “We bring grave tidings from the Bronze Dwarf Clan in the East Mountains, sirs, and we’re heading to the Savarica council in Ilelphosta to inform those there of…some very urgent matters.” He glanced from one face to the other, looking for expressions.
The men all seemed rather skeptical, having three dwarves walk in unannounced and claim they had dire tidings, but the young woman, now standing up, was smiling faintly. Her hair was dark, with perhaps a red tinge in it, a dark auburn, and her face was pale white. Her green-blue eyes smiled to the small creatures.
“I am Countess India, of House Vadirska.” She informed them, “Glad to meet you, Thibble Strongofarm, and your brothers.” She nearly gestured to a chair for them to seat themselves, when she realized that might be a bad idea. They might be able to barely see over the table at them if they took a seat at the table.
She studied them for a moment, the older man near her whispered something in her ear.
“Ach, Sesircas, they cannot be our enemies! Calm down!” She seemed amused by that thought. “They are not goblins!”
“Humph!” Thrable grunted, standing up a little straighter and glaring at the older councilor suspiciously, as though that might be an insult. And to most dwarves, indeed it would be considered much less than complimentary. Sesircas, the careful politician as always, studied them just as cautiously.
“What news do you bring?” The countess asked.
The dwarves were silent for a moment, looking at each other. “Madam…we’re instructed only to tell the council members.” Thrable bluntly stated, clearly trying to decide whether he should or not.
Countess India smiled wider. “I AM a council member, and one of the main five. Let me assure you. What do you have to tell? If it’s rather important, I’d wish to know now. We have some rather…disturbing news as well.”
Thibble watched her, and her councilor, for a moment, and then nodded grimly. She was indeed a countess, there was no doubting, which meant she was also indeed a high Savarica council member. He bowed.
“Very well, countess!” He replied gruffly, “Tis a long tale, though.”
“We have time.” One of the merchants spoke up this time, apparently also involved. The head dwarf nodded.
“As you wish, sirs…and lady. I bring news and an urgent message from the Bronze Clan…”