Sun down - Dance of ice and fire

Beneath the ice

Winter had come fast and without warning. It had surprised Mizar on his trip back to the camp and he was freezing on Bug's back. Yet he took the time to appreciate the scenery. It was the  time of the year that he found the beach to be most beautiful. So he enjoyed riding along the shore.

The campsite was farther up, where snow had no means to settle near the sea. Only one steep path led to the waves that crashed violently onto the rocks. When his clan had set up the tents there in summer few would jump from the cliffs into the raging sea. But the place proved to be practical. If anyone tried to raid their camp they would only have to defend in two directions. North and West. In times of war this was crucial, especially this close to the border.

Mizar himself was a general, which meant the only ones allowed to order him around were the council and the supreme commander. And they had ordered him around plenty during the last week. He was guessing they did not like him very much. But honestly he couldn't care less. He did what was necessary to keep most of his soldiers alive.

In winter however, that was difficult. It was dark which gave the enemy an advantage and it was cold. To think he would have to lead his soldiers into battle again in these conditions made Mizar shudder. They had lost more men during the last winter than two summers combined. The enemy was more accustomed to the cold and their eyes were built to see in the evernight, so darkness wasn't an issue to them.

Light, however, blinded them. So when they stalled until dawn they were more likely to survive. If not win. Pressing forward, into the evernight, was difficult for the same reason. They could use fire, of course, to convert the night into day, but they'd need a blaze of extraordinary size. And fire was not only hard to control, but also didn't care who was on which side of the war.

Mizar had decided in favour of the fire once. He would not make that mistake again. He'd lost more men trying to put out that fire than he had the fight before. And those who did survive had been immensely distrusting in him the next few weeks. Which did nothing in matters of helping them survive. A general could not lead an army that distrusted him and questioned his every command.

This had happened at the beginning of his career. He had still been inexperienced, which of course wasn't an excuse for the many lives lost, but it had sewn his whole battalion closer together in hindsight. Before, they had been a bunch of lighthearted elves that would have never met if it hadn't been for the norren declaring war.

The norren had been in advantage since the beginning, for it was hard to maintain an army within a country of travelers. The tribes didn't know how to fight in unison. They would stand in each other's way and rather fight their own than the enemy before them. An army like that was doomed for destruction.

As a general, Mizar had been trained to work around that problem. How to use anyone's skill set to everyone's advantage. How to make them work like different parts of the same wolf. Some were more fit to be the legs and some were meant to be the teeth. None were meant to be replaceable.

That he had acquired this through his own failure was a thorn in the general's side. He should have been able to avoid the incident. Should have known better than to use the fire. He had never understood how he had gotten the trust of his men back. But he was grateful that he had. There would have been a lot more bloodshed if he hadn't.

Blood.

There was blood on the snow before him.

And with the blood there laid a body.

His first thought was that it was one of his own. That the norren had raided his camp and he was too late. His heart calmed only when he saw the tents upon the cliffs. They were still standing.

Mizar hadn't noticed that he had dismounted Bug and was now kneeling beside the motionless man. There was already frost forming on his body and his dark hair was caught in ice.

The sea must have washed him on shore. Mizar concluded as he turned the body onto his back to get a better look. His cheeks had sunken in and there were black rings still visible around his eyes. Both his ears were cut down so they had the length of a human's and countless gashes decorated his chest.

The general placed a hand above the heart of the frozen man and began drawing runes in the air with the other. They opened his senses and allowed him to analyze the wounds more precisely. He needed to know what had happened to this stranger so he could prevent his men from dying the same horrible way.

Unfortunately the runes made everything louder, too. Mizar almost drove a knife through the man's heart when he detected a beat. It was slow, but it was there. 

„Hare-son", the general smiled, as he wrapped the nearly naked man into his summercoat. This one might just survive, then.

The remaining ride to camp the only thing he noticed was the biting wind in his face. Without his coat the cold was even more prominent and the air burned in his lungs. He was clinging desperately to Bug's neck, but wouldn't allow her to slow down. Only when they had reached the camp did he tell her to stop.

His soldiers had noticed him half an hour ago and had not thought much about it, but now that they saw him up close they worried. The swaying general had almost fallen from his horse. Breathing obviously hurt him.

"Get me a healer", he roared. „Send him to my tent."

They scattered and made way for him to pass. His own tent was stationed in the middle of the camp. A blessing when it came to planning attacks, a curse when it came to privacy. The whole camp would know everything about the stranger before he re-emerged. But that wasn't the most pressing concern at the moment.

Instead, the general was struggling to dismount. Which proved to be difficult since he wasn't planning to drop either himself or the injured man. When he had finally managed to do so, a mirror image of himself came to a halt before him. The same smooth,
silver hair, the same sorrel skin, the same hooked nose and the same burning green eyes - courtesy of their mother. He grinned at him and it screamed mischief. Another trait they shared.

„Mizar", he smirked, trying and failing to sound concerned. „Your men worry about you, but you seem to be well. Who requires my healing then?"

„Make yourself useful and start a fire, Merak. I'll explain inside", the general found himself grinning back and rolled his eyes at the mockery of a soldier's greeting he received before his brother bowed low, holding the entrance to the tent open. Still he was grateful he would not have to maneuver the leather out of the way by himself.

While his brother did as he had told him to for once, Mizar placed the injured man on his bed. Then the general made room for Merak to work and watched him do so.

„So", Merak pressed over the silent whispers of the flames, stitching up one of the more serious wounds. „Where did you find him?"

„On the beach, I almost raced over him. I think the waves brought him to shore."

„Do you think he was held prisoner by the norren? A scout that was caught? Do you think he managed to escape?"

„He would be the first to do so." Mizar looked away. It was unlikely. Many of their scouts had gone missing and hadn't resurfaced. „I plan on asking a few things as soon as he wakes.  Who knows. He may even have information which helps us end this war."

That, too, was unlikely but Mizar dared to hope. He was tired of this bloodshed.

They sat in silence after. Merak tending to the strangers wounds, Mizar watching.