Jack Frost: King of Thieves

CHAPTER I: Southern Isles Army

From within the brooding shadows of Cyan Forest, Jack Frost could see the pale colours of dawn touching the mourning sky; glimpses of pearl and pink and pale yellow sifted through branches and leaves. A Wren sang from the shelter of a nearby thicket and a woodpecker drummed in the distance. A fox slicked through the underbrush, pausing to regard Jack and his companions with luminous eyes before slipping away into the darkness. A peaceful morning, the air still and cool. If not for the subtle scent of a hundred cooking fires lingering in the wood, and the faint murmur of a thousand voices not too far off, it would have been easy for Jack to forget that he was at war.

He had been up with the first hint of morning light, as had the two men walking with him, Sinbad and Peter Pan: a hunt to begin their day. And a successful one it had been. They were carrying back to their camp coneys and quail, a brace of pheasants, and two plump grouse that Peter had managed to kill. They couldn't know what the coming battle would bring, but at least they would start their day with a good meal.

Jack had grown fond of his two companions through their travels together. Peter, with his fiery orange hair and beard, and a spirit to match; Sinbad, a small beard and long haired, less flamboyant in appearance than Peter, more reserved and considered in manner. They were older than Jack by serval years, but they we're prone to the foibles of youth. Sinbad's exuberance occasionally landed him in fixes that a more seasoned soldier might avoid, and more often than not Peter blindly followed his friend into trouble. But they were brave and loyal, no good in a scrape. A man could hardly ask for more in his comrades.

As they drew nearer to the encampment of the Souther Isles army, the forest around them thinned and brightened. They passed through a small camp of Moors and Gipsies. It was common for such bands to follow armies on the Continent, hoping to make some coin catering to the various appetites of fighting men. Though a few of the dark-skinned men looked up at Jack, Peter, and Sinbad as they made their way through the camp, none of them offered much by way of greeting.

But a Gypsy girl sidled up to Jack, her hips swaying, dark eyes peering up seductively through long lashes.

"I tell your fortune?" She asked him sweetly. "Read your palm?"

Jack grinned but didn't break stride. "I've been in this army ten years. I've a fair idea what's going on."

"You have a quest," the woman said.

"Indeed I do, breakfast."

He continued past the girl, as did Peter. Sinbad, however, eyes her with obvious interest.

"Tell me about our fortune, you and I," he said. "Does it rhyme with luck?"

She took his hand, stared at his palm a moment, and then gasps. Jack and Peter stopped to listen.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "You will always find love...by your own hands."

Jack and Peter burst out laughing and continued on. Sinbad hurried after them. His face was still bright pink when he caught up.

The three men reached the edge of the forest and entered the enormous camp of King Manny Homme-sur-la-Lune army. Beyond the army loomed the Alsace-Lorrain castle to which they had been laying siege for the past seven days. The banners of the Alsace-Lorrain Lord still flew above the battlements, but the stone walls of the fortress were blackened and her tastes scarred though still intact.

As the three men wound through the armed camp, Jack began to distribute some of their kill from the morning's hunt. He gave a quail to one man who's shared a meal with him, a few nights before, and offered a rabbit to a Fletcher, receiving a stack of arrows in return. Some of the meat he gave for no apparent reason, sharing a good word and a laugh with the surprised recipient. After then years he had learned that there were two things an archer in the king's army should never have short supply: arrows, and the good will of his fellow soldiers.

By the time he, Peter, and Sinbad had reached the embers of their campfire they had just enough game left to feed themselves. Before they could even get their meat on spits, thought, they were joined by young Jamie, a foot soldier they had befriended during the return from The Theocracy. He was gangly and pale, and he regarded them now with an apology in his eyes.

"Archers are called to the ranks."

Peter stared ruefully at his breakfast. "Bloody typical."

Jack merely shrugged and set the meat aside. "It's alright boys. Hide it well. We'll have it for supper instead."

He reached for his armour, he began to suit up for battle.