Runespeaker

Chapter One

Although it was only early autumn at the foot of the mountain, at the top, the snow fell in sheets. Even under several layers of fur, draped over top of a mail coat, Agdir was fairly certain he was about to freeze to death. Nonetheless, he kept pace with the rest of his comrades. After all, what kind of mercenary was he if he couldn't handle a little cold?

The forest was thick, for this was supposedly untamed land, although Eidar had been told there was a castle atop the mountain. That was where they were headed. According to whoever Eidar's source was, the lord of that castle was looking for men. For what purpose, he neither knew nor cared. A mercenary's only cause is money, and he'd been promised quite a lot of that.

It was going to be well worth the journey, according to Eidar, but, at that moment, Agdir fought back grumbles. He should've stayed home. They all should have. The cold bordered on lethal, and, worse, he felt like he was being watched.

Five years ago, he'd been hired by the Akarian Empire which lay to the south. The Empire had been at war with the nomadic tribes of the eastern woodlands, and the men of the Northern Kingdoms were well-known for their martial capabilities. The Imperial army had been marching through enemy territory when Agdir started to feel just as he did now—as though someone were watching him. And, indeed, someone had been watching. In the ensuing ambush, the vast majority of the Legionaries and their allied mercenaries had been butchered. Agdir had barely escaped. He'd been lucky then, and he doubted the gods would grant him such a gift twice.

Snow pelted Agdir's face. Not even the trees of this thick forest could stop the howling wind. It only got worse as they neared the edge of the forest, but, paradoxically, it also moved toward the periphery of Agdir's concern. When they stepped out from the tree line, they were met, as promised, by a castle.

The castle loomed overhead like some demon from the old stories, lurking above a man's bed to steal his soul. Its black turrets stabbed at the sky and almost seemed to make it bleed. But that wasn't the worst of it, for a man in a dark cloak was waiting halfway between it and Eidar's company of fifty men.

"Were you expecting us?" Eidar asked as the man approached. His voice was precisely what one would have expected from a northern mercenary—harsh, low, frightening.

"You were spotted on your way here," the cloaked man said.

"By whom?" Eidar said.

The cloaked man didn't answer that question. "Your name, mercenary?"

"Eidar of Mirstat."

"Well, Eidar of Mirstat, I am glad you came. My name is Vorin, and I rule the lands through which you have just marched."

"I thought we were still in King Boril's territory," Eidar said.

"So they say," said Vorin.

"And that is why you want men," Eidar said.

Vorin shook his head. His eyes glowed in the shadow of his hood. "I don't really care about politics. I have other aims."

"And those are?"

"Do you care?" Vorin asked. "You fight for coin, yes? I have that, and that is all you need to know."

"How much, then?" Eidar asked. "You should know that I'm expensive, especially when I don't know what I'm walking into."

A twisted smile cut into Vorin's face as he drew a single copper from the pouch tied at his waist. "Men like you, battle-hardened, armed with swords and great round shields, will strike fear into my enemies' hearts. I believe you will earn this." With that, he tossed the copper at Eidar, who let it fall into the snow.

"You insult me," Eidar growled. "My men too. Give me a real offer, or maybe we'll turn our swords on you."

Vorin was still smiling. "A real offer?"

Eidar crossed his arms and stood still for what seemed like an eternity.

"A real offer, then," Vorin said with a thin laugh. A dagger fell from his sleeve into his hand, as the swish of hundreds of feet shuffling through the snow turned the mercenaries' eyes back to the forest.

A small army stood in the tree line, their focused gazes piercing Agdir's gut just as surely as their swords soon would. Each man had a strange rune like the gnarled branches of a cursed tree carved into his forehead. Blood magic. The runes carved into these poor men's foreheads had turned them from human beings into slaves of the hooded man standing before them.

"Shields." Eidar's voice shook as he gave the order—not as a defiant shout, but as a desperate plea. As one, the mercenaries drew their swords and raised their shields, forming a ring so they couldn't be flanked.

They prepared to die.

Or worse...