House Vadirska

Shivering, the two young patrol recruits stepped into the dark, close, warm barracks in the far back of the castle, far underneath the more luxurious and regal buildings of the royal family itself. Pulling the heavy steeled door shut behind them, the two young men shed their heavy furred cloaks.
The barracks room was a low roofed, long building lined with the dozens of rough cots and piles of armor, weapons and soldiers' items here and there. Several blazing red fires burned on the several hearths of the barracks, keeping it quite warm in the dark stone chamber. Men, in and out of official armor, strode through the chamber, some talking in circles or otherwise. It was the common room for the carl guard of the Countess, where they stayed, lived, and slept.
Today it was busier than usual, however, as the quickened paces and hurried movements betrayed. Gaeljwen glanced around quickly, taking in the scene and particularly making sure his cot was still where it should be. Armor clanked and the low voices of many men filled the hall, talking and discussing. A few captains strode through and ordered out sharp commands once in a while.
Jyonahal grinned. "Looks like its marshaling day, Gaeljwen."
The other nodded in agreement, his eyes coolly taking in the scene. "I wonder when it is..."
"Scout patrol northwest! Gaeljwen, Jyonahal!" A new voice suddenly recognized the two newcomers from a nearby fire, where a few older men stood over warming themselves, talking. Both younger scouts looked up quickly, snapping to attention.
The closest captain looked them over closely, his large, dark frame shadowed by the firelight. Their unit captain was no fool, both knew.
"We've returned from the northwest, Captain!" Gaeljwen hurriedly reported, "Nothing! We found nothing but a few far reaching Kire`falraedis riders, and certainly no lurking spy bands. Even the hard river roads seemed clear of the usual highwaymen bandits." He saluted with a fist on his chest and bowed quickly, his friend following example. The calls and talk of men, the crackling fires, and the constant clanking of metal filled their ears. Outside, what sounded like a few riders rode past in the cold courtyard.
The large, dark haired, dark eyed, dark faced captain nodded grimly. "That's good enough news. Excellent." He paused, turning to speak briefly with the other official looking men around the fire. It was a short minute before he turned again to face the two boys.
"Alright then, go and take an hour's rest. After that, however, both of you are reporting with the rest of the castle garrison to the front courtyard. The marshaling will begin at that time. Be there."
"We will, captain." This time, Jyonahal spoke quickly, flashing a smile for his commander. If the older man saw it, he didn't recognize it.
"Dismissed." He pronounced casually, and then turned back to the fire. Both boys gladly strode down the corridor, through the waiting men to their cots...and probably to go and search out a decent, hot meal from the castle kitchens.

Far to the southwest, some weeks travel away from the House of the Countess, a slightly different and slightly warmer wind was blowing. Far, far in the southernmost reaches of Savarica, nearly on the edge of the great realm's borders, the trees grew a little thicker and greener closer to the southern edge, though the icy, cold mountains and wild wastes still surrounded on all sides, as if laying siege to tamer Savarica.
The forest, at last, came to an end, the ranger noted. As the hooded and cloaked figure atop the hill crest shivered and pulled his cloak a little tighter around him, he noted with satisfaction that the unending trees at least ended, just an hour away in the distance...he could even see the white spire of Kire`lendava standing like a tiny white needle in the distance, to the northeast. They were close.
Standing almost hidden under the dark forest foliage as it was, the ice draped boughs and branches hanging low over him, sparkling in the sunlight, the dark hooded ranger was nearly invisible. He turned and looked back behind him, at the rough traveling route road he had come. The rest of his caravan was still with him.
Behind him, on the road and coming up the massive, tree and ice covered hill, was a chain of half a dozen wagons or so, pulled by strong horses and driven on by cloaked and furred men shivering under their leather and furs. Precious women and children, families, huddled inside each wagon, the ranger knew. A few of his own companions, rangers and a few guards, rode alongside the wagons and behind them, a few choice travelers like merchants or pilgrims also riding beside the families.
The usual collection of brave travelers, coming for all different reasons from homesteading to profit and gold, followed doggedly behind the rangers and their guide, who had led them so far. They had come for two months across every kind of wild, frozen mountain and icy wasteland, to the far north where the distant Savarica lay. This would be the fourth caravan of daring humans that the ranger and his ragged, wild ranger band had led back and forth to and from the south, the long, treacherous routes across the wastes from one kingdom to the next.
That was his job.
"Christopher!" A voice from one of the nearest wagons shouted. The ranger, his dirty blonde hair hidden under the cowl of the hood, looked up sharply at his name.
"Are we close?"
The ranger chief nodded warmly. "Yes! Very close!" He called back to the entire wagon train. The atmosphere seemed to brighten visible at this news. Almost there!
"Kire`lendava is in sight! Another day and will be in Savarica!" Christopher announced with some quiet gladness, which was shared by the rest of the weary train he had led all this way.
Christopher, the ranger guide, waved a hand in encouragement at his little band. "John! Markus! Go back and cover our trail, we don't need any unwanted visitors at camp tonight!" As the two forest rangers turned about without a word and rode back down the trail, he looked over them to another one of the many friends he had brought with him.
"Hey, you two!"
It was a middle-aged man, and a older girl. They had been the strange sojourners on this journey, and there was always a unusual traveler in every northward caravan, Christopher knew, but these had a different air to them. Both rode dark horses, as though from the far southern lands...and both, strangely, were clothed in blue and white tunics. Only the young, slender lady had a long, trailing blue dress instead of the man's blue breeches her companion wore, but other than that, they appeared the same. The brown and silver haired man, who appeared older but still strong, wore a sword and shield. His young companion was weaponless, as far as the gray ranger could see.
As soon as Christopher gestured to the two strange travelers, blue and white wearers who looked like experienced sojourners, the older man looked up quickly, a friendly enough look on his face.
"Yes, good guide?"
"Can you stay in the rear, so as to make way for the heavier, slower wagons?" He paused, "all the horsemen must ride behind! Women and children first, sir. Your daughter may ride in a wagon." He offered politely.
"I'll stay with my father!" The blue and white young girl flashed a smile back, and the older man didn't seem to object.
"Very well then!" Christopher, the ranger, nodded coolly. The two strange travelers dropped back into their positions as the caravan rode over the hill, towards Savarica.