When nightfall came, snow begun to come down in earnest. What was a few months ago green and brown was now a never-ending white sheet. There was no sound, just the silence of winter.
The air was biting, but it did not disturb the lone figure walking through the woods. With his grey cloak on, Jyarvik could have easily blended in with his pale surroundings. Even in daylight he could vanish, but the night was now at it's darkest. The clouds in the sky blocked every ray of light from both the moon and the stars. The snow was already up to his ankles, but it did not disturb his walk.
In a small clearing, a tiny spot where one could look up in the sky without the bare branches would not block them, he stopped. His eyes turned to the sky and the snowflakes around him became fewer and smaller. The clouds began to part, revealing the face of the hidden moon.
"Great Elder, the Red Mountain has failed. His army is in ruins and his mind is a cesspool of injured pride," His hands went together to for a cup, and he held it to the sky like a thirsty man trying to catch rain, "Give me a sign of what to do, for I cannot reason with that man. Give me a sign, give me assurance that we are not set back!"
For a few moments, the was only silence, and then the gentlest rumble in the air. In a spot as quiet as this, one could have mistaken it for an earthquake. But it was just the flutter of a moths wings. It appeared before the moon, its shape dancing it the light before landing in Jyarviks hands. The legs and the antenna gently tapped and caressed him before the wings fluttered again and the moth disappeared into the night.
"Yes, Elder," he said to the one who sent the little flying messenger. He turned and followed his rapidly fading footsteps back to where he came from. if a few minutes, all evidence that he was ever here would be gone. Even the clouds returned to normal and shielded the land from the moon's light.
The snow was making what should have been a night of celebration into a night of shivers. Their waning fires and even the brief light from the moon would not give them ease. With barely any light and no warmth, a feeling of loneliness had spread over several of the soldiers, especially poor young Wallis.
A few weeks ago, he would be with Darren and Kruger, laughing and talking just as they had been in the nineteen years they have lived in Rengle Fallaner's domain. Now he was alone, freezing in the realm of Horith the Bloody, and his friends were rotting in the ground outside of Talonwood in unmarked graves.
He now had one friend remaining, Jergan Fallaner, the son of the man who sent his friends to their deaths. The more he thought of it the more he felt hatred for his Baron. Rengle was up there in the tower with Jergan and the girl from Noor, while Kruger and Darren got slaughtered down below. How could any man in good conscious do this kind of thing to young boys?
Fuck those lords. If he could, Wallis would drive his spear into every last one of them.
The sight of the camp was no great morale booster for Jergan either. In the place of recognizable shapes of men were vibrating dark mounds that shook if too much snow got on them. There was not enough room in the tents for all of them. He could not even tell who was Ruskaman, Westlander, or Userian. That did not matter to any of them, he supposed. They all froze equally here.
Of all he looked at, he could not find the one he was looking for; Wallis. he had not seen his childhood friend since the Battle of Talonwood and the deaths of Kruger and Darren. But there was no sign of him, but he saw Jergan.
From the shadow of his cowl, the young man could see his future lord through the dark and the snow. Wallis guessed he was looking for him, but the last person he wanted to see was Jergan Fallaner. Even when the heir of Carell Keep walked right by him, he remained silent.
"A fine time for winter to show it's face," Argus said, strutting back and forth around Lady Katelyn Ryd's tent, "If it continues to fall like this, we won't get back to Talonwood for days!"
"And when we do get there, we will have lost half our men," spoke Rengle, "Lady Katelyn, we cannot stay here."
"Not if you hope to live," Katelyn and Katherine were both huddled together in heavy robes and a blanket made from the skins of deer and fox and each with a warm cup of tea in their hands.
"Is there any place we can go? Until the snow stops?"
"My mother-in-law will welcome you, I'm sure."
"You mean Lady Bryn?"
"Lady Abigail Bryn, yes. Though now, it would the Widow Abigail Bryn. Her husband perished with mine in the war."
"I'm sorry to hear that, my Lady," Argus said, giving his condolences.
"I'm afraid I've grown too accustomed to horror to feel much right now. My husband, my father-in-law, and now my uncle and cousins are all in chains and my youngest cousin has sided with the Morcars. All that matters to me is the preservation of my daughter."
"You'll forgive me if I say this is not a great place for preservation," Rengle said, "Your daughter should be behind walls, not in a war tent."
"I'm afraid Grapevine Hall is not much of a fortress. It is much more of a comely house than a castle. My daughter would not be much safer there, so I keep her where I can keep an eye on her."
"Fair enough, but will she welcome us?"
"The good lady Bryn adores visitors, Lord Fallaner, and she is always eager to share that damn wine her family boasts about."
"Brynyard Wine is famous around the Kingdom, Lord Rengle," said Argus.
"Very well, how many days march?"
"Only one, Lord Rengle. In this weather at least. And it's right in the direction of Talonwood so you will lose no time when the snow melts."
The flaps of the tent then parted and the pink-faced Jergan walked in.
"What on earth were you doing out there, young man?" Katelyn demanded to know immediately.
"Doing out there?" Jergan asked, bewildered at this woman's questioning.
"Yes! Any longer out there and you would be a flesh and blood icicle!"
"I'm... sorry, my Lady."
"Well, no guest of mine is going to freeze to death. Get by the fire at once!" near where Katelyn and her daughter were seated there was a furnace that warmed the whole tent. It was not much protection from the cold outside, but they were better off than the poor souls stuck out there being slowly buried. Jergan took a seat beside it and Katelyn handed him a blanket.
"Will Grapevine Hall be able to accommodate my whole army?" Rengle asked.
"It will be crammed, but we'll think of something."
"We need to, or else we'll arrive back at Talonwood with an army of skeletons," Argus agreed.
"But what is to be done about Olsen?" Katelyn asked, "Forgive me for reminding you, but he still has at least two thousand men."
"He will need all those men to defend Rydstone from an attack from Prince Tauron. He will not be a threat to us. Besides, this snow will stop any advance for at least a day."
"If you say so, Lord Rengle. Say, Katherine, why don't you play us a song?"
"Yes, mother," young Katherine stepped up and took her flute out a chest of her belongings. When she retook her seat she played a song that made the whole tent seem warmer. When she was done, she glanced at Jergan, whose cheeks were still red from cold and tiny ice crystals lingered in his hair. She then glanced towards the tent flap and thought of all the men out there, who had no furnace to warm them up.
"I ask you again, Nakbar, why are we here?"
The snow and the loss of many comrades at the Battle of Talonwood sewn rifts in the ranks of Nakbar Nazeen's company. On this cold winter night, the first that many in the company have experienced, those rifts have come to sprout.
The one fervently questioning their role in this strange land was Nakbar's captain, the impulsive Aqorro Norsier. He was many years Nakbar's minor, but he was still a fine warrior and he knew how to get men riled up battle. On his face, there was not a wrinkle or a scar. With blue eyes, trimmed beard, and light-brown skin, he appeared to be a vision from a woman's fantasy.
"We're here to do what we do; fighting for rich men so they give us money," he simply stated, They spoke in the language of Aqorro's province, which lay in the northern regions of Useria. Nakbar's southern tongue was less familiar to most members of the company.
"If by fighting, I'm guessing you mean dying! Dying in this white weather and in front of their walls, while they hide in their warm castles and cosy tents."
"We're sellswords, Aqorro. We fight. And we die for coin. If you want a safe profession I suggest you become a farmer."
"I took up the sword to fight for Userians, not these Litici pigs!"
"Litici or Userian, gold is gold. The Prince promised us that we would be paid double want Arhan Saud pledged us."
"Promises. What good are promises? How do we not know this Litici Prince will not slam the door of his palace in our faces once he longer needs us to hide behind?"
"If there's one thing Litici value, it is their damn honor."
"But if there are no Litici, there will be no gold for us."
"What are you saying, Aqorro? Are you saying that you have no faith in their victory?"
"You saw what they face! They cannot defeat the marauders at their gates!" men around Aqorro began to voice their agreement, "I don't care about these people, and neither do you, Nakbar. Let us go to these Morcars. Offer them our swords and we'll live to see home again."
"You want me to betray Prince Tauron?" Nakbar said.
"What's to betray? They care nothing for you. To them, we're just dark-skinned shields for them to throw pocket change at. Do you think the man in that tent sees you as anything else?" Aqorro pointed over to the big tent where Rengle Fallaner was making himself at home.
"Do you think Arhan Saud saw us any differently? Or any other rich Userian we fought for? Or would the Morcars?" Nakbar's homeland was the Kanharah region, which was a sparse collection of cities with none of the great architecture of the Litici or Userian cities. There was not time or the resources for it. What the Kanharah did have was some fine warriors. Many in the northern regions believed that a Kanhar Warrior could kill a lion with their bare hands and had the strength of oxen. This was, of course untrue, but that did not stop rich men from offering money to any Kanhar who would fight for them in their wars. With this money, they could buy water, food and other supplies for their families back home. That is, if they ever got home. Many Kanhar sought out employment with these rich men as a living, men such as Nakbar Nazeen.
"This is different, Nakbar!"
"Is it? Give me five difference between Tauron Heflite and Arhan Saud!"
Aqorro's look indicated he was trying to find reasons, but it after a few seconds it was clear he conceded. He told Nakbar he was going to be and left him by his waning fire. Aqoro was a fine fighter, was better than Nakbar with a sword and almost beat him in combat, even when Nakbar wielded his trusted spear. Though he could always beat him back, Aqorro had the years on his side. Every time they spared, he came a little closer to beating him. Nakbar has been in this company for more than fifteen years, and he took over when his old company leader died. The old man was forty-five. That is ancient for a mercenary.
A few hours passed and the snow kept falling. Nakbar could feel it from the Litici as well as from his own men. The victory earlier in the day might as well have been a crushing defeat.
He glanced over at Rengle's tent. Though he was letting his men suffer in the snow, there was something about the Lord of the Ruskamen that Nakbar respected. Sure he may be a pink lord, but he was not afraid to get his sword bloody, or stand side-by-side with his men on the front lines. That was something Nakbar admired. His thoughts then returned to Julius the Black. He saw the fearlessness in that man's eyes. If he didn't know any better, Nakbar would ask Julius to join his company. The Black Sun of Syandor would make a fine addition to any mercenary.
Before he took his eyes off, he saw the flaps part and a small figure emerge outside. Though it was dark, Nakbar recognized the red hair in the dim firelight of Katelyn Redstone's daughter. He kept his eyes on her curious as to why she stepped outside. She walked past several huddles of men and proceeded deeper into the camp. Upon a closer look, Nakbar saw that she was carrying something in each hand. in her left it looked like a small chair, and in her right it looked like a stick.
She proceeded past Nakbar's group. She then stopped and set her chair down in a empty spot in the middle of camp. No other man seemed to be paying any attention to her. The spot she chose was nowhere near any fire. The poor girl must have been freezing. Whatever it was she was doing, the cold did not seem to hold her back. Nakbar assumed that since she was a native in these lands, the ungodly freeze must not affect her much. She laid her chair down and placed herself in it. Something then happened that Nakbar nor anyone else expected.
The silence of winter was broken by a song. The girl was using a wind instrument, a flute most likely. A Westlander tune most likely. This variety of song was unfamiliar and alien, but in the cold and dark, Nakbar thought it was the most beautiful music he had ever heard.
For the first time in the night, the camp was moving. Men were shuffling to see where this harmony was coming from. Within a minute, Katherine Bryn had an audience in a circle around her. Her Westlander hymn brought them more warmth than a thousand fires ever could.
After a few minutes, hundreds of soldiers from all the groups; Ruskaman, Westlander, and Userian came to hear her. Even the Lords and ladies in Lady Katelyn Ryd's tent were awakened. Katelyn rushed outside to try to find her daughter, with Osby, Rengle and the others in tow. When Katelyn found her daughter with playing with that flute, she almost screamed at her for sneaking out of the tent. The song she played was nothing she had heard a thousand times before, but when she glanced at the faces in all the men. She stopped. Their faces had a look of peace. She turned and saw that look in young Jergan's face, as well as Osby and Argus. Rengle showed no feeling, as per usual.
She left her daughter be.
As if the Gods themselves were blessing this song, the clouds parted and the snow stopped for a brief time. In that time, every man and woman in that tent fell the weight of the war fade away.