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.”