The wind, bitter and cold, roared out of the western mountains to slash across the frontier of the last human stronghold on Earth. Such was its power that it cut through the thick forests along the western boundaries straight into the heart of human territory, the nation known only as Gideon.
Brin av Nethal narrowed her eyes as she watched the flames in her hearth flicker wildly as the wind hissed down the flue to dance amongst the glowing embers, sprites of mischief and chaos here, in the midst of humankind's greatest surviving fortress. She glanced at the window, still covered with a thick layer of frost.
By all accounts, and by the old calendars, spring should've been well upon the land. But the cold and brutal winter was one of humanity's lasting legacies, the result of the Great Burn that forever changed the face of this world. It clung to the land with claws of ice, snarling winds screaming their defiance at a sun that seemed to lack the strength to push the snows aside.
'Yet the winters are shorter than they've ever been in recent memory,' Brin mused thoughtfully, turning her gaze once more to the flickering fire in the massive stone fireplace. 'The Long Night is finally drawing to a close! Or so the clerics would have us believe.' With a sigh, she turned back to the parchments in front of her which detailed reports of food stores, weapon status and troop strengths from all over the province.
Born to the powerful family of Seth Nethal in the capital at Nerun Drell, Brin was the eldest of six children, all girls. It fell on the eldest female to take up her family's traditional rule of the fortified outpost at Tor Raphael. And so Brin had come to Raphael, a fresh-faced woman of eighteen summers to take her place at the top of Raphael's command structure.
That had been almost twenty seasons ago. 'And still I sit here behind my desk, mired in reports, summaries and speculations.' She frowned, pulling one report aside that caught her eye and interrupted her maudlin thoughts. 'What's this? The elves have finally ended their siege of Bekkis Down and have taken the Tigris outpost? Now that's going to change the balance of power along the Southern Ridge.' And with that, Brin pondered the elves' success for a brief moment.
The elves, according to the old records still buried deep beneath Nerun Drell in the vast archive known as the Vault, weren't the pointy eared creatures of woodland legend. They were nothing less than the result of a series of experiments made with Humanity's own genetic make-up. An attempt to craft the perfect soldier as URNA had begun rebuilding a dismantled war machine in preparation to truly begin exploring space.
Why they would need soldiers to explore had always puzzled Brin. As had their name: elves. It was derived from the original acronym for Elite Light Infantry Force, or E.L.I.F.. The nickname 'elf' quickly evolved from that and stuck, making its way into the sacred records. A name the Conclave had immediately decided to use.
Of course none of that made any sense to the middle-aged commander of the Raphael outpost. She, like many of her contemporaries, had made the pilgrimage to the Vault to gaze upon the holy relics of the Deep Dark, the time before Humanity was allowed to return to the Earth's surface. But she had made no attempt to either read the sacred records kept during the Deep Dark, or learn the archaic language of the time. Something called 'English'.
What she did care about was that ever since the elves were awakened from their hibernation by explorers from the Kanid Imperium, the powerful warriors had quickly gobbled up territory and consolidated power all throughout the island continent of Noranda. Gideon's ruling body, the Conclave of Elders, had hoped that encountering the Tigris would be enough to slow the elves' march northward.
"So much for another lost hope!" Brin muttered darkly before a light tap at her office door interrupted her grim line of thought and took her attention off her reports.
"Come," she said out loud and the door creaked open to admit the face of her temporary secretary, Lef dar Istin. The young woman, just reaching her twentieth summer, was interning with Brin until a replacement for her regular secretary, Kes dar Hible could be found. Kes, and her second brood mate Uls were expecting their third child. 'I swear those two breed almost as well as a pair of love-lorn kembuks!' she thought with a smile. A smile that was about to disappear.
"Forgive the intrusion, commander," Lef said softly, taking note of the pile of parchments on Brin's desk, "but there's a man here to see you."
"A man?" Brin rasped, frowning. "Did he give you a name?"
"Yes, commander. He called himself Kala Shef tel Uthon."
Brin almost exploded out of her wooden, high-backed chair.
"What?? The master of the Order of Grim is here?? Show me to him, immediately!"
By the time Lef had led Brin to the reception room down on the main keep's first floor, the big man was anxiously pacing the floor. Wrapped in a cloak of unrelenting black, Kala Shet tel Uthon was powerfully build and massively made, even for one of his gender. A dark gaze lashed out from beneath thick black eyebrows to rake across Brin as she stepped into the room. The look instantly made her feel naked and unprotected despite the chainmail shirt she wore beneath her tunic and the serviceable sword she wore at her waist.
The commander of Tor Raphael, despite herself, skidded to a halt to stare openly at the big man, knowing full well that beneath that cloak was a veritable arsenal of weapons along with the best armor that could be forged. If he was so inclined, he could take the outpost. By himself.
"Master Uthon,' Brin finally managed to say after regaining control of her tongue. "You honor us with your presence."
"Pah!" Uthon snorted, turning away from the slender commander with a swirl of his heavy cloak. "You and I both know I do no such thing," he rumbled in a gravelly voice more used to snarling battle commands than speaking in civilized conversation.
"I come here only out of necessity."
"The elves have taken Bekkis Down," Brin quietly reported. The big man looked over his shoulder at her.
"I know. But it isn't their success that brings me to your fortress, Nethal." With a rustle of parchment, he pulled a scroll from somewhere inside his cloak and handed it to her.
Frowning with curiosity, Brin took the scroll and quickly unfurled it. And she immediately whistled with astonishment.
It was a scouting report from the Order itself! Such documents were never seen outside of the Order's headquarters, hidden deep in the reaches of Blood Canyon.
"Why have you brought this to me?" Brin asked, looking back up at the big man without scanning the tight script beneath the Order's seal, crossed battle-axes on a field of blood.
"Because something more important than the elves' northward march has come to our attention," Uthon replied, clasping his hands behind his back as he turned to face Brin once more. Despite the fact that the man was tacitly an ally, Brin's guards, standing on either side of the door, quickly came to attention.
But the giant wasn't reaching for any hidden weapons. Instead an uncharacteristic expression washed across the grim, weathered features. He looked up at her, his gaze abruptly thoughtful.
"And because I served with your uncle, Jin av Nethal against the Ryon at Chevar Ridge. He was an honorable man, and a good warrior. I felt that if anybody could be trusted, it would be a woman of his family."
"My uncle died in that battle," Brin husked, frowning. "A battle marred by the mistaken retreat of General Javon's troops, leaving the field to the Ryon and the Orders."
Uthon nodded, grim once more.
"Aye," he growled. "We were outnumbered twenty to one. And we got slaughtered. But your uncle's unit refused the general's orders and stayed by our sides. He fought alongside us until a Ryon war hammer split his skull." Uthon looked down at the floor. "We in the Orders do not take such bravery lightly." He looked back up at her, the thoughtful expression returning to his chiseled and scarred face.
"But the others, the other Masters didn't want to bring this before the Conclave and its generals. There's still much distrust there, between your rulers and the Orders. Only my powers of persuasion, as poor as they are, got any sort of agreement from them to let me come this far. To your fortress."
Brin blinked in shock as she nodded, looking back down at the scroll still unrolled in her hands. The Orders acting with one accord?? That had never happened before. Never! 'But, then again, one of their reports has never found its way to the regular Gideon military either. Yet here I have one in my very hands.' she mused before letting her eyes finally scan over the dense text.
Only to feel her heart jump into her throat at what she read.
"Maker preserve us," she hoarsely whispered, looking up from the report with a stunned expression. "This can't possibly be true!"
"It is," Uthon confirmed with a tight nod, his expression darkening as he thought upon the report's contents. "We received confirmation but five days ago." He began pacing again, his movements rapid and anxious.
"We sent covert scouts deep into the Primiad Empire nearly three months ago, while winter still held us in a steely grip. We had heard rumors of something large going on in their capital at New Haven and we wanted to see the truth of it with our own eyes. Because whatever it was, it was something that frightened our local informants enough to make them beg for asylum." He glanced over at Brin, who had managed to find a chair to sit in, her legs suddenly without strength. Her weather-darkened face was pale with shock.
"If one of the Fisted asks a human for asylum, then something monumentally bad is about to happen," the big man dryly pointed out. "So we sent the covert scouts. What they reported back was enough to make the blood of even the most hardened warriors in the Orders run cold as spring melt. And that was from the mouths of just three of our men. The rest were slaughtered attempting to escape the Empire."
"Can they do it?" Brin hoarsely whispered, looking up at Uthon with a wild expression of fear.
The big man nodded slowly.
"It's more than just possible, commander. It's already happening. The Primiad have begun a holy war against the other races of Earth. And the so-called 'New Men' will not stop until they are undisputed masters of the entire planet." He looked back down at the ground, lips pursed thoughtfully.
"The news that they consider us, the 'Old Men', their greatest enemy in this new holy war is almost trivial compared to the rest. Already they make blood sacrifices to their pagan gods, using the leaders of their own nations that do not agree with this war. Their blood is spilt on the steps of the main temple in the center of New Haven before their bodies are cast to carnivorous monsters stabled beneath the main complex. With the bulk of the southern continent already under their direct control, they had gathered tens of thousands of troops for their march northward." Uthon abruptly grimaced.
"And our contacts in the Kanid Imperium have indicated that Kanid outposts along the northern shores of Suudama have been obliterated."
Brin drew in a slow breath, letting it out through her nostrils as she forced her raging fear to the back of her mind, calming herself as she did so. It was a calm mind that functioned in battle, with fear used to sharpen the wits, not overwhelm them with panic and anxiety. Calm once more, she spoke.
"Any indication as to what Emperor Novus is going to do to stop the invasion of his nation?" she asked quietly as she re-rolled the scroll with practiced twists. Again Uthon nodded.
"He has begun evacuation of the southern reaches of the Imperium while moving in crack lupine shock troops from the northeastern border with the Pantor Protectorate."
Brin slowly shook her head, not wanting to believe her ears. Evacuation only meant one thing.
"So Novus doesn't think he'll be able to hold them, even with lupine troops," she husked.
"No," Uthon's confirmation was terse. "The Legions of the Imperium have thrown Primiad invasions back before. But never before have they lost their fortified outposts in northern Suudama. Estimates of Kanid losses already close in on 100,000 dead and wounded. Survivors report captured troops are rounded up and summarily slaughtered, their remains going to feed the monsters the Primiad are bringing with them."
Uthon stopped his pacing for a moment to look at her with an expression that, if Brin didn't know the dark master better, could only be categorized as worried.
"Novus' generals estimate that the bulk of the Legions will only hold the Primiad back for a couple of weeks, no more. And not only will the Primiad defeat the Kanid. They will crush them, slaughtering every male, female and offspring that they can get their hands on." He shook his head as a dark vision filled his mind's eye.
"The ground will be well watered by the blood of the Fisted," he softly said. "The Protectorate will fair no better than the Legions. And the other Masters feel that the Black Clans of the Tigris, weakened from their ongoing war with the elves, will fall even faster."
"Leaving the pathway to the very gates of Gideon clear," Brin hissed, grimacing as dark thoughts of her own began to fill her mind. "Maker burn me, Master Uthon, but we have to take this information to the Conclave!"
The big man immediately snorted.
"And what will they do with it, commander? Huh? I will tell you. They will cast the whole of Gideon into a panic! Just as the Imperium is now experiencing. We may be a nation dedicated to the arts of war, but we do not have the strength to withstand a force the size of the one we see gathering in Suudama. Even if the Imperium, the Protectorate and the Black Clans all kill twice their own number in Primiad soldiers, that will still leave thousands of fanatical troops marching on our gates. Thousands to each one of our warriors." The big man's voice fell to a hoarse whisper.
"The slaughter will be even greater than the Day of Rebirth when we first returned to Earth's surface. Greater than all our battles put together." He began to pace again, jerkily marching back and forth, hands still clasped behind his broad back.
"How could a panic not erupt in the general populace? If the warriors of the Orders of Death have had fear cast into their hearts by this news, how can ordinary people resist that same fear?"
"Then what do the Masters of the Orders suggest we do?" Brin asked frankly, standing to hand the scroll back to Uthon. "Surely not cower in our homes to await this dreadful death that will undoubtedly fall upon us. As you have stated, we are a warrior nation. We will face this threat with all of the bravery, resolution and courage of our ancestors. Though few in number, our warriors are mighty and our places of resort powerful. We will give these 'New Men' pause when they face us!"
"Well spoken," Uthon said, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth, "and I expect no less from a woman of the Sethal family. But the Masters have devised a plan that may forestall what will most likely the greatest of all battles."
"Oh?" Brin's eyebrow rose in curiosity. "Do speak on, Master Uthon."
"Of its meat, I cannot tell you, commander. But I can say that it involves the unification of the Fisted Races with our own to face a common enemy." He paused to look directly at her, the dark eyes once more cold and piercing.
"To bring about this bold step, we will need an emissary to carry our message to the Fisted Races as far as we can reach. One that is not only skilled in diplomacy, but in the arts of combat. For this emissary must swiftly cut deep into Fisted lands to reach those that will hear its message. And yes, even the elves will be asked to join us. If we can persuade those powerful and enigmatic warriors to join forces with us, we may yet turn the tide of blood that is poised to wash over us."
Brin smiled slightly, hearing something in Uthon's tone and seeing something in his craggy face.
"Well, I have many names I would suggest, of people skilled in the arts of diplomacy of war, that have served as ambassadors to our neighbors for many years. But I get the feeling that you've someone else in mind."
It was Uthon's turn to smile.
"Aye. That, we do."