A murder of crows flew their way across the battlements of the fortress. Cutting a swarth through the evening mist that blanketed the air in a shroud of chilled dampness. They’ve altered course from the east, the path along that of the rising sun, and ending within the southernmost direction.

Clive shivered, despite himself. The south has always been an ill omen, the direction of death. Early in youth he had observed this as a given truth, a fact to be watched and heeded. His family, slaughtered by those that had come from the southern borders. And his protectors, sworn to watch over all that needed their aid had all but fled to the south, chasing after those that had killed all that he had ever known. Naturally never to be seen again. It had always ended in bloodshed and needless death, always from that direction. More so than any other point on the compass. Without exception. Without fail. Unabated. Like the current driftings of falling snow that covered the cobbled ground where he now stood.

He cursed himself for this childish bout of superstition. A bitter habit that needed to be purged with time. Better things were known now of such things to him. His father and mother both were simple farmers; both had known nil to nothing of the dangers of roaming raiding parties filled with barbarians and murderers that were more beast then men. Nor did they understand of the countable horrors that trailed behind monsters such as these, and all that dwelled within their wakes. And as such, had been ill unequipped and unprepared for such things.

Clive could only curse at his own youth for not knowing what time had forged upon him. To learn that happiness and innocence come at a steep price that not all who enjoy them are willing to pay. We all must learn of the world, one way or another.

“You’re liable to fall over the edge there if you keep daydreaming on like that,” a cheer filled voice warned him. As he turned, a strong hand hit him in the back.

“Hello, Ector. I was just reminding myself that there is a price we all pay for the peace is all,” Clive said, his eyes washed over the parade of soldiers in the yard below. All was well and underway. Another day was drawing to a close. There had been no ill omens, save for a murder of crows flying of the south direction.

“You and your broodings. And what, pray tell, is the price of that, my friend?” Ector challenged, brushing strands of his deep golden hair out of his eyes. He was tall, taller than Clive could have hoped to become. Yet given the length of his arms and his swing, his range was shorter in nature. He had compensated for this in combat by becoming quick on his feet, making him cocky outside of confrontations in battle. A flaw that others tried with no success as of yet to properly exploit.

“Freedom,” Clive explained with patience, “comes at the cost of good men doing what must be done.”

“And are we,” Ector cocked his head to the side, “good men?”

Clive’s mouth twisted into a grim smile, “We will have to do. At least until better ones show up to relieve us in times of war.”

Ector eyes blazing a soft teal as he laughed. He gestured with a turn and smiling at the soldiers below, regarding them in a grandiose manner, much unbecoming for a soldier of his caliber. “Think any of these men, these, better men below us for example, that you seem to have become so overly fond of, should I ask any one of them to relinquish their post and relish in the opportunity to replace us of our own? If not but for a single day, they could feel the righteous ideology that you seem terribly apt at strewing about. I can ask, oy, you there! Have you got a moment to spare? Our fearless captain here wishes to find a replacement! No, no, not for any reason as noble as that. He just feels that he just is not up to snuff is all!”

“Shut it, Ector. Leave the boys alone. They’ll know the sights of death and blood soon enough as it is. No need to fill their heads with our bantering and your ceaseless nonsense.”

“Death now? And talks of blood? So now we are onto the grim topics associated of death. My, aren’t we in a foul mood this evening. I do wish you would brighten up. We are seeing a fascinating thing here. And soon, nevertheless at that. We should be enjoying the experience and relishing this opportunity ourselves. At least a little, before shirking the responsibility onto lesser men. Lest they know their worth in our eyes…

“And yes, yes, I know my vanity revealed itself there. I make no illusions of such things, and I believe what I have said holds true nonetheless. We are the ones, who, as you have so dourly put it, pay this, I assume naturally, steep price for peace. Now then, wipe that run of nostalgic longing from your dour face, and be merry dammit! The remainder of the company will be nearly here, and we need to finish our rounds before we can trade off the watch to the others. Walk with me. You can complain as we walk onwards.”

Clive sighed, and joined his companion on a brisk patrol around the cobbled walls of the fortress. The stone walkways circled the inside of the perimeter and rose steadily alongside the structures that jutted towards the darkening skies above. Three towers were there; each located at a distant corner save for the southernmost junction where the main gate was located. The location and structure of this small fortress was considered brilliant in design and build. The rear of the fortress was lined along a steep crevasse, either side adjoined along a rocky steeple of hills that made invasion nigh impossible to commit unnoticed. The only impasse to making any true advances would need to come from the south. No other direction would ford an invading force much, if any, semblances of success. Hence the name of the Stony Womb for this fortress they had called home these last two months.

Men, bustling down below the walkways were running and yelling about in aggravated confusion, busily readying themselves with last moment requirements of the banquet. Orders had come in for the entire unit that they would be assigned a detail to protect a high valued envoy. A diplomat of sorts was the prevalent running theory roaming throughout the barracks. No real news had been announced onto the mystery of who this envoy’s identity truly was, nor would likely any truth on the subject come to fruition until their arrival occurred. Such was the way with such things.

With all of the ruckus, clangor, and secrecy, Clive theorized that the person in question would be most likely a general or indeed a diplomate of sorts, perhaps from the eastern bordering kingdoms, just past the dividing rivers of Arkus. Of which was the more likely case. Neither much mattered to Clive, doing his job, and doing it well enough was all that needed to occur for this to go smoothly.

“Still musing along on the borders of your dark depressing thoughts?” Elric asked, they passed the halfway mark for the perimeter of the fortress. Nodding a silent greetings to the sentries at their postings. Fully armor clad soldiers that despite appearances were very, very, much cold.

“No. Nothing of the sort. Just watching the terrain,” Clive murmured. He rolled his shoulders to allow the fur linings of his clothing to shift more comfortably onto his stocky frame. The lining of leather and fur had a tedious habit to pinch itself into the looser gaps of his armor and chafe if he didn’t move accordingly, a trick he collected from Alter. It kept him aware of how very much cold it truly was. The setting of the sun was a further reminder and did nothing to dissuade these notions. “I doubt any force will attempt an assault while we are stationed here. I worry Commander Ty’s warnings may come true nonetheless. He mentioned that the scouts have seen a raiding party to the east that may feel a need to-”

“His warnings-”, Elric interrupted, choosing his words carefully as he watched the wind cross over the rocks and frozen remains of boulders and god knows what else that was beyond the crumbling fortress walls, moving brave stalks of loose grass free of the snow in its passing. “Naturally, must be taken with the utmost concern and understanding. I do not doubt that we must stay on our guard. I too am ill at ease in this dreadful place. He, hasn’t mentioned who our guest is to be, has he?”

“No. The men believe that it may be a lordling, of some sorts. Whoever they are has him on edge. That alone is a more pressing concern than anything else in my mind.”

“That may be the case. Whoever they are or may be, do seem to have the commander’s full attention. All is well, sir?” Elric nodded in question to the sentry of the second tower. The man made a gruff noise and nodded back in affirmation. “Good man. Best we have in our numbers. Lest anyone say such is differently, I myself, Elric Von Eil Lichtenstein, shall give them a right rousing. Good day to you sir. May your watch be both fruitful, and without event. And any wench desire you enough to heat the very air around you both.” They continued on with their path, rounding the steps of the final tower to the lower section where they had begun their watch. “Will you join us in the mess hall? I hear that the banquet is going to be something fantastic and quiet memorable of a meal.”

Clive shook his head. “I need to report to Commander Ty for further instructions once my watch has drawn to a close for the evening.”

“Then,” Elric bowed with a flourish, flashing a good spirited smile for added effect, “I shall see you, hopefully with a more jovial air about you. Another time, my friend.” He clicked his boot heels together and walked away, waving farewell over his shoulder, “Farewell, Clive.”

“Goodbye, Elric.” Clive bowed in return. He watched Elric pass down the steps of the walkways, entering the wide courtyard below. Elric walked inside the main structure though the broad doors of the second tower. A puff of steam exited the building as he entered, bringing along the smells of the kitchen, soft oak burning and the greasy remains of various meats, all busy at work to feed a small army and its near future guests. These smells were snubbed quickly as the large oaken doors were slammed closed a brief moment later. Yet they had more than done their job and left several sentries hungry for their watch to be drawn closed.

Clive observed his breathe seeping out and vanishing before him for a moment. Taking the second to collect his mess of thoughts. Commander Ty had not informed him of why it was that he was to return and report back to him after his patrol. Only that he was ordered to do so. The mystery behind the order was of little to nigh concern, and Clive wasn’t one to dwell on such trivial matters. The true issue of the matter, the real reason that the battalion was stationed in the icy wastes of this isolated bastion no less, was this unknown guest. Elric hadn’t heard news of who they were, or more troubling was how that information was withheld by those in charge. In the past Elric was able to procure information before his commanding officers needed to inform him and the other men about things. This had always streamlined situations for the better, but this withholding, this withdrawing with a sense of distrust along it was more than simply troubling. It made Clive ill at ease. It added a dimension of gravity to the situation, whoever it may be, they had the commander on edge. And that alone was warrant for concern and notice.

No matter, Clive thought. The commander would tell him, and the others soon enough, when the time and need came abouts. He could make his decisions then.

Loose bits of stone and light crunching of snowfall followed under his boots as he walked on, not bothering to wipe at his face, light streaks of melted snow began to build along his jaw, filling in the now stubbled beard with peppered patches of icy white snow. Arriving at the commander’s quarters, he brushed off the snow around his head and shoulders, letting it fall to the ground before he knocked.

A grunt could be heard through the other side of the door, acknowledging and biding him to enter.

Clive entered and saluted, “Commander Ty, sir.”

The man behind the desk nodded, returning his eyes to the loose leaflets of papers littering over his desk. He sighed, shaking his head. “I’d swear, Clive,” his blue eyes flashing a rough tinge of green from the candle dripping wax onto the floor, he smiled, “without you I’d be without my hands when it comes to getting any real work done.”

“Sir?”

“At ease. Grab a chair and help me sort through some of this damnable mess. You get that pile there. The ones with the correspondences and rationing orders.”

“Are we searching for something specific, sir?” Clive organized as he talked. Setting the loose mess about in organized stacks. Each based on the size of the reports, the contents, be it news from the western fronts or daily tax levies derived from nearby fiefdoms, and, as well the daily reports of Commanders Ty and Marco’s battalions. The paperwork was of minor concern from what a cursory glance could tell. Simple updates, nothing further.

“No.” Commander Tyrios, the aged leader of countless men shook his head. “All of this is simply busywork that Marco’s men couldn’t get done. We’re going to make short work of this in another moment. And, see. There now, as I said Clive, without you I’d be trapped doing pointless paperwork for others that, we both know well enough, sure as horseshit won’t read anything we send them anyways. All this aside, how went your rounds?”

Clive straightened up in his chair. “All went well, sir. No sightings as of yet, of anything. I informed the watchmen to be warry of raiding parties as-”

The commander interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “Clive. Ever the formal soldier. At ease. No news is all we have here in the wastes. You know full well my concerns and fears of this land.” He rose and stretched to his full height of over six feet. He was taller than Clive and Elric were, always towering over them, though without menace or intimidation. Commander Ty never ordered, nor commanded from a position of fear. “Superstitions and premonitions aside. I worry all the same about our guest. Have you gleamed who they are, just yet? Or are you remaining in the dark as the men are?”

Clive bit his lower lip, despite himself. “No. I haven’t been able to find anyone that either knows who we are expecting, nor anyone willing to admit that they know. The news seems to have a short leash holding it in place for once.”

The commander nodded his approval. “I apologize for all of the secrecy. I assure you know that its dreadfully important if even you can’t learn their identity.”

Clive nodded slowly that he did indeed understand.

“Pour me a draft from that pitcher, over there. No, not that one. From the green pitcher. Pour yourself one as well. A small one. I need you to have more wits about you than I require for myself. Now, a toast.” The commander grinned. “A toast to the end of secrets, and the beginning of peace within our short lives.”

“Sir?”

“Now drink! Before the toast grows cold and bitter. Damn this cold. It seeps its coarse nails into my bones and won’t let go. For anything. Only cure is this draft. That and knowing it will end soon. I know that look. Calm yourself. The legion is going to be on the move soon enough. Our quarry, the newcomer as it were, isn’t simply an envoy.”

Clive said nothing. He only leaned forward, his eyes mulling themselves in the light colors of the fire.

“An envoy has but one true position of influence left to them. One. Theirs is but the goal to further the reach of their superiors, those that cause truth and change to flourish, regardless of what those words really mean to anyone and regardless of their own directions and titles. But enough of talking myself out of my cups. Do you wish to know who we are expecting out of curiosity, or simply to be better forewarned lest that you may better to complete your duties unheeded? No need to answer. Forgive my sentimentality, Clive. With everything that is happening here, I fear that I am allowing myself to feel the years and the ghosts that linger along with them. What do you know of Lashia?”

Clive leaned back. Lashia? The word itself mean nothing to him.

“I’m not familiar with that word, sir.”

The commander nodded, near imperceptibly to himself. “It’s a forest, near the center of the main continent, due southeast of here. Peculiar place. I spoke in passing of ghosts haunting me. Lashia is a place filled with countless of them. Green leaves, wild arrays of branches that stretch out for countless acres. Further than any Drituk could fly within a single day. It’s wonderful, a sight to behold unlike any other. But from this forest, this testament to the beauty the world and its gods can bestow onto creation is another thing. A secret that some become privy to, if and only if that is, they live long enough to find it out for themselves.”

Clive listened patiently.

“Or so the story goes. There is a-,” the commander stared off, for a moment. Deciding how to say something, a characteristic Clive was unaccustomed to seeing him wear. “This envoy is important, Clive. Their mission is not unlike our own. To bring a semblance of peace and order to the masses. Whether we must trudge through countless battlefields, or wrangle and punish all the criminals of the world. Peace. In the purest form of the word, mind it. Is always out of our grasps. The only criteria we lack, at least I believe so, is that, we do not have the gift of time on our side. We do not have the luxury of learning from the errors of our ways and adjusting course where and when it is prudent to do such and so. This envoy brings with them change. For all of us. I am more than certain of this.

“Did you read over Commander Marco’s reports?”

The suddenness of the question threw Clive off guard.

“Nothing more than a cursory look, sir. Was there something in them I should have-”

The commander laughed, “Then my announcement will truly be a shock then. I am both gladdened and saddened by your shrewd prudence. Ever the dutiful soldier, Clive. Or should I address you properly?”

“Sir?”

Commander Tyrios did something else that Clive had only seen him do thrice before. He straightened himself, clicked his heels together, and saluted. Clive returned the gesture in kind, albeit rather ridged and forced.

“Now come now. None of that flabbergasting nonsense. I am showing respect and honor where it is rightfully and dutifully owed. Clive, or rather, Commander. Enough with that look. Drink. No, you will have another drink. That’s an order, and you will follow it while I am still in command of this regiment.”

Clive felt the warmth of the liquor flow through his bones. “When is this?” He coughed and straightened his posture. “I thought for certain that Ector?”

“Bah!” The commander waved his arms in an exaggerated theatrical display of frustration. “My son, he is a fine soldier. But he will have his own regiment long before I was able to achieve the same feat. Of this I have no doubt. This being said, his place is elsewhere.” At this Commander Tyrios poured himself another generous glass, then poured Clive another as well.

“Clive, you know what sort of moron the upper echelons would replace my command with. You’ve seen who we have to play fair with. The geniuses that get tossed our way to fix them up and make them useful soldiers, let alone respectable men who are useful for more than finding their own ass from a hole in the ground. I refuse to let those people make a mockery out of my son. I will discuss this and, other things, with him once the time is right.

“Now, this isn’t immediate. You’ll have ample time to pick who you want and where you need them to be stationed. You’ll also have full autonomy of the unit, within reason, naturally. Once I’ve stepped down from my position the whole kibosh will be yours to wrangle and steer as you see fit.” He froze and scrunched up his nose and eyes, “What’s with the dour face, soldier?”

“Nothing, sir. Just taking this in. That is all…Is this true?” Clive swallowed, he eyed the drink meant for him. Deciding against it, he allowed it to remain eyeing him back from the edge of the table.

The commander scoffed, well naturedly, of course. “Every word. Now, what questions do you have? I can see some percolating themselves around the inner edges of that grey matter you use ever so often.”

“The,” Clive reigned in his mind and questions back to the best of his abilities. Commander Tyrios leaving the Warhawks, that alone was scandalous news. Clive was going to be -if not soon at that- named his successor. That too must have been a mighty push to have achieved, in secret no less. Who, and how, did the commander convince to achieve any of these not so miniscule feats? “Sir, I’m just processing is all. Naturally I do have questions. Are these all your decisions? How-?”

Clive watched the papers on the desk sit where they had been left unattended. A thought formed itself and escaped his lips before he could stop it, and mull it over with the attention that it needed, “Where will you be going, sir?” His eyes betrayed that he hadn’t paused to consider his words. The answer felt obvious now he had said it aloud.

The small room echoed with the commander’s laugher upon its walls. He placed his drink down and wheezed before catching his breathe. Wiping a tear away from his eye he said, “Thirteen years. Thirteen years, Clive, and now you speak without thinking over your words. No need to lie to me or yourself. I can see it in your eyes. Yes. I am leaving once we have received and seen our visitor off.

“I will be joining them on their journey to the south. Their previous protector has departed and I have been charged as their latest replacement. A position of high honor that, that I do not rightfully know is mine to uphold and perform. As a request of my own, please do not mention this to Ector, not yet. He and I have some things to discuss before that comes to pass. No need to fret, I have good tidings for him as well that I know for certain that he will share at the first change with you and the others. The mouth on that boy. There are no secrets where Ector is concerned.”

“Perhaps Alter is worse?”, Clive offered. Knowing better of the fallacy.

“Alter?!” Commander Ty grinned, “That man, comes nowhere near as horrible as my own blood does with guarding the truths of others. Alter is an underground vault compared to the cascading waterfall my boy is. All this aside,” he wiped froth from his beard, Commander Tyrios watched the remaining candle on the table, letting the flames refract and reflect his thoughts as he talked, “No. Given my way I would lead our little merry group to the very gates of hell. And reclaim the islands of the small eastern continents, let alone depose that damned Blue Duke to the west.” He sighed and drank from his cup. “No, in the end these are not my wishes to be followed. Truly instead they are the wishes of others, of smarter and wiser men who know best and better for myself, for all of us. And if my information is correct, partially the wishes of this envoy. Allegedly they themselves decreed that I would be the next to lead their newest iteration of personal protection. As insane as that sounds, it may very well be the truth after all.

“This was long before I became in charge of anyone, let alone of myself, I had met them once. You see, this guest of ours. I’ll be sooner to roast over an open spit than to forget it. We had finally taken Iseler’s Keep back from some warlord or other. And I saw them. Just over the procession of captured prisoners and slaves that were led away to their new homes. They just, watched everyone. I don’t know how to describe the look in their eyes. You’re smarter than I ever was as a lad and I’m sure you’ll come little closer to the word for those eyes.” Commander Tyrios shivered the wistful thought away. “Enough doubts and sadness. No further orders or news from or for you. Go on. Join the others in the mess for supper. I’m certain they’ll have left you a spot of roasted beef if you hurry on. We’ll talk again soon enough. Hopefully over less, sad thoughts as my untimely departure.”

Clive bowed, he reached for his cup to return it.

The commander stopped him with another movement of his hand. “Leave it. I can tidy up the mess here, son. Thank you for helping an old man with the reports. One further thing, no need to toast this. I wanted to say it has always been my privilege and honor to lead this ramble of soldiers. I could do little in not nil better than to have you boys, excuse me, men, apologies, age and good drink have more than added sentimentality to my heart. Having you-”, he gestured to people not standing in the room before him, “-all of you. Has made being Commander the highest honor of my life. Thank you. And if you tell the others I said any of this sentimental drivel, I will deny it without any haste. Do you understand? Good. Now off with you. I need you sharp and at your post by first light to help receive our guests. Now off with you. Commander.”

“Yes sir. And good day to you.” Clive saluted and turned to leave.

“To you as well, Clive.” Tyrios, the Commander of the 125th regiment of the Northern Army, The Warhawks said, “Remember, not a word to anyone."

Clive nodded and left the Commander’s room. Small specks of frost fell off and melted away from the ends of his hair. Then Clive was off. He allowed his feet to carry him along the outer battlements so that he may watch the evening sun fall away once more out and over the icy mountains of this temporary base of operations, this passing homestead. Clouding all that can, or rather would be seen, in an icy layer of darkness.

He nearly stumbled, distracted in thought, over a loose cobblestone that then falls away from the wall with a wrenching gravelesque sound. He leaned over the edge with practiced caution and watched the stone disappear into dark white nothingness below.

Clive pulled his furs closer to his chest and fought an urge to check the strap at his side for his sword again. He was just jittered at the news, that’s all it was, he rationed. Not an ill omen. He exhaled frozen air that dispersed as quickly as it appeared, and walked over to the mess hall.

Flagons and plates were being tossed, emptied, filled again, and replaced at breathtaking speeds. The boys were in a jovial mood all around.

“Didn’t think the commander would release his star pupil so soon.” Clive turned to see Alter grinning at him. “The old man seldomly allows you a reprieve from learning all the ins and outs of running your own battalion. If I didn’t know better,” a twinkling of a spark seemed to appear in his eye, “I would wager that the old man was moving on to other, more pressing things. Oh, I would wager that indeed. And from your frigid silence, I’d say you’d know the remainder of my wagering. No need to become dismissive. Just let me know when you’ll be taking the reins so I can win a bet is all I ask of you. Hell below us, I’ll even split the kitty with you. I promise you this, my friend.”

Clive smiled, “That I can do, Alter. If it were such a simple and efficient decision to be cast upon me. Aye, I’ll let you know as soon as I get news of such a thing as it were. Of course. If that it were true, that is.”

Alter slammed a mighty hand against Clive’s back, nearly knocking all of the air out of him. “Good man. Do not allow anyone to tell you otherwise. Now, Ector has been asking for you. He needs a judge, not merely of character, but a ruling. Josel has been accused of swindling food from the kitchen. Cheese and bread of all things. Some of the boys think it’s to feed either an animal he’s keeping. Or, a woman he may or may not be smuggling across the bloody continent. In either such case, Ector needs a character reference to get everyone to lay off Josel. My logic being, that if we can’t spare some supplies for a dwindling stick of a man as Josel, then what good are we to anyone. And Ector is of a similar mind.

Snagging an abandoned cup and filling it with the remains from inside another equally abandoned flagon, Clive then nodded to Alter, “Lead on then. This sounds a matter of utmost importance. Life and death and all that such nonsense, as it were you have said. Ah, over in the corner. I don’t know how I wasn’t able to hear Ector over the other ramblings going on.”

As Alter and Clive walked closer they could hear the unmistakable shouting of Ector, rising up and quite obviously in a heated debate of a predictable sort.

“Shove it up your arse, you monkey faced prick! Diseased maniac!”

“I’m telling you. For the fourth time now, mind you, we can’t let that sprig of a man take anymore supplies. He is robbing us of our bloody birthrights. As soldiers we are due a certain amount of food and security of that said food. With him taking, and taking, and taking, for god knows what bloody reason. We are cutting him off. As simple as that.”

“And I am telling you, this! You are doing no such cutting of anything off! I refuse to allow something as inhumane as being told, no, you cannot have as much food as you can stomach. Let alone telling this to my dearest, and closest of friends here. The devil was your name? Again, please. I am quite serious. Don’t laugh! You’d forget your own nose if you had seen the horrors I have conquered once I have had some courage poured from my mighty cup to my gentle soul. I tell you boys two things, two indeterminate truths that nothing in this life can take away from you. One, wine is proof there is a god, or two, and that they love us and want us to be as happy as bloody clams can become. And second, no one should go hungry. Who cares if they take more than the rest? Have you seen the little shit that Josel here is? Let alone have to shovel it from the latrine? Let the poor man be, let him have his bloody secret family, or whatever the fuck it is that he doesn’t want to share. He’s as much a brother to me as, Clive here! Clive, talk reason to these asses! They’ll listen to you on this one. Watch yourselves boys. This man is going to become the next commander of the Warhawks. Mark these words. I don’t care where. Maybe on the table there. Hold this.” Ector made himself busy with his knife and began whittling into the nearest oaken table.

“Now what in the hells is this nonsense all about now? Who riled up Ector and got him drunk?”, Clive asked the room. He did a piss poor job of hiding his amusement of the situation. They all did.

“I needed no help,” Ector admitted, “Now, how in the fuck do you spell commander?”

“I’ll have to ask the carpenter if he can spell it out for you once he fixes up this mess. Now then, everyone bugger off and start cleaning yourselves and this place up. We’re having company in the morning. The Eighty-Seventh is coming in soon. Yes I know. We need to make this pigsty presentable for them. Drop that damned knife, Ector. I swear on everything holy that you will regret. Goddamit man. You added an extra ‘m’. You’re drunk off your rocker. Someone get him to his bed. You, there! No skulking off, grab and pass around the brooms. We don’t need to clean this place entirely tonight. Just clean the floor, it’ll take twenty minutes. After that, then bugger off the lot of you. We’ll have the majority of the morrow to finish up. Now get on with it.” Clive ordered the assembly of messy recruits and enlisted men into roles that were swiftly followed and obeyed.

“Rousing speech as always, sir.”

“Oh shut it, Alter. Ector, can you stand?”

An exaggerated smile melted over Ector’s face, his cheeks flushed vermillion. He slumped into a seat beside Clive, who filled a plate for himself with a modest sized portion of beef, potatoes, and a biscuit or two that had melted together. Alter poured himself a drink and sat across the long table from them.

“You eat like a bird. You know that?” Ector clucked. “A big one.”

“If you say so. You seem to drink like one tonight.” Clive cast a glance over the men, slowly busying away at sweeping the mess from the hall. They’d be done in ten minutes or so, faster than he’d honestly expected them to be.

“I drink, as the lords in the sky, and possibly the dukes below us, would all agree is a fair amount. At least due a man of my continence and position of honor as the entitled son of our fair commander.”

“At ease, Ector. You’re drooling over your words again.” Alter had a gift of pacification, to draw a rising conflict to a starch halt had always been his gift. Clive had told him that he should have been a priest in another life, or perhaps retire to a church when time permitted in the future.

“You both know,” Ector grinned, “I truly and honestly, am not in my cups as far as would be expected of me.” With a flourish of his hair he looked at them both expectantly.

Alter nodded, clearly unimpressed, “Yes.”

Clive said nothing and continued eating unabated with this unforeseen revelation.

“Truly? You both knew, or even suspected that I was exaggerating? Truly? Well, to hell with both of you then! To have such friends about one’s self…Damnation and ruin upon you both for having myself as such a friend who can’t fool you with an act of simple drunkenness.” Ector pouted into the nearest cup. “What gave it away?”

“Your volume,” Clive explained with food in his mouth. He washed it down and continued, “You get loud when you are drunk off your ass. That wasn’t it.”

Ector nodded and turned to Alter, “And you?”

Alter shrugged, “You only had three drinks that I could see before Clive came in.”

“And?”

“And nothing more.” Alter said, he watched the entryway. Always working was his mind.

“Well,” Ector said, “I was too loud, or not loud enough, and I had three drinks, either too many or too few then. Riveting notes, my friends. Now to a bit of business then since no one seems to want to ask. Clive. My dearest friend and confidant. What news do you have for us that you have gleamed from the commander? Any news? Anything at all. Nothing? I see you shaking your head, yes. Swallow and speak damn you. I am on the edge of my seat as it is.”

“All the news I have gathered is that your father wants to talk about your future with you.”

Ector’s expression fell to stark disappointment. “Again…That’s all the old boar wishes to talk about as of late. Never anything exciting, or filled with a deeper mystery than, what do I expect to occur in my own soon to be used up future potential? Damnit all, that is just so, very much boring. I don’t know where the blame of my disappointment lays. With my commander father, or with you.”

“Me? What in blue hells did I do then?” Clive wiped his mouth, though was unable to remove his smile. Ector was not drunk, but the signs of drinking were upon him nonetheless.

Ector sighed. “It is nothing that you did, my friend. More so the lack of what you could not accomplish is more to the liking of it all. I’m not upset, simply put, I am just disappointed is all.”

Clive smirked. “You, are an ass.”

Ector shrugged. Alter hid a smile; times had been tumultuous for the Warhawks. And times had been easier for them all the same. Little moments as these were hard to follow, and even harder to hold on to.

Clive broke the peace and silence first, “Now what was all of that nonsense with Josel?”

Alter cut Ector off before he could start, “Josel had been apprehended at the eastern gate with two bags of food and various supplies. And naturally, no explanation of any kind for his behavior.”

“We need to keep an eye on him. Same thing happened at the last bastion we were stationed in. Remember Ector? We caught him sneaking out the second month we were there.”

Ector nodded. “I recall thinking he was simply seeing a wench or two from the nearest village. Though, naturally that explanation doesn’t suit our needs here. If it is all the same to you both I agree we need to watch the men a little more closely. Whatever is happening with Josel may trail back to the others and affect morale of the unit. Safer to snip it in the bud, whatever it may end up being.”

“Agreed. We’ll station someone to follow after him the next few days and figure out what he’s on about. Probably nothing, but with our luck we should do our due diligences all the same.” The others nodded in agreement, with Ector muttering a wench or two would be lovely, notably given the cold season about them. Clive and Alter ignored the comment. “Any news, Alter? About the conflicts to the east? I saw a report that Marco’s battalion cleared out another fortress.”

Alter shrugged. “From the news we’ve received it seems his Highest Authority, The Blue Duke has tactfully retreated southwards again and is coming along the rivers westwards to avoid detection. Other than this, there really isn’t much news as of late. Minor raiding parties were apprehended several leagues from here. And, no updates on the retaking of the foothold in the southern continent either. Best I can tell the Drituk tribes have repelled any advances on that front.” He paused and sighed. “No word on Sirus’s scouting party either. Best case is that he defected to the Duke. Worse case…”

“I doubt you need much in the ways of words of comfort on this topic,” Ector pushed a cup towards Alter, he gestured to it with a rare face of authority. “Sirus is a better man than any of us. And more than half as a good a swordsman than that. Have faith that our brother in arms will be alright.” Clive watched Alter, without adding anything. Alter had been trained in the arts of being a soldier from Sirus, they all had been. Sirus is the reason they all have been able to stay alive in this godforsaken section of land for so long. “Sirus held back the Blue Duke’s main army, and his damn cavalry as well, for nigh on two fortnights of a continuous siege. All with the power of forty men, and two cannons. If we hear neither hair nor tail of him, then he will find us when the time is right. Make no mistake of such, my friends.”

“You talk too much.”

“What was that now, Clive? A jab at my being a wonderous spokesman?” Ector glared. “A moderator of the people, or even a ruling voice, a mouthpiece of things the gods deem suitable to having be needing to be said aloud. For all to hear and marvel at for that matter. Don’t smirk, Alter. My words have not the need nor the gumption to be mocked with so much as a half, let alone a quarter of a smile.

“I am far from appreciated by you both for my oratory abilities.” Ector huffed to a stifling finish that the others could not help but smile at.

“To Ector’s voice, and unending need to speak,” Clive toasted.

“Hear, hear. To his mouth and throat that never close for anything, or anyone,” Alter seconded.

“Cheeky pricks…” Ector pouted with a knowing smile. “I’ll toast these ridiculous insinuations, if only so that I may learn better of how I am to choose my words.”

“Shut it already and drink to the damned toast already!”

Ector obliged, willingly to the request. The others hoorayed the brief silence it brought the room. And once Ector had completed his cup of warm wine, Clive rose from his seat, “I will be retiring for this evening gentlemen. I bid you both good night.”

“Good night, Commander Clive.” Ector looked quickly away from Clive’s sharp glare. Alter laughed and consoled the situation, “Go get some rest. I’ll deal with Ector and his utter nonsenses.”

“Again, good night to you both, gentlemen.” And with a single nod he left them alone.

Once the wooden doors were closed again, Alter asked, “Now why in the hells did you do that for? The commander said to not say anything about him receiving the promotion or likely not. Granted, I was cheeky about it myself before. Told him there was a bet going on over it.”

Ector shrugged and slumped his elbows on the table. “Truly, it just slipped. The toast you both made was more on the nose than I would care to have admitted. I must work on that flaw, before it spreads to the rest of me and leads me to ruin.” Ector sighed and watched a few flecks of lone snowfall that had seeped into the hall. “As happy as I am that it is Clive to lead the Warhawks as the next commander. I am also saddened by the change. My father is leaving us. I don’t care what that means for my futures here, nothing of that sort. I worry that all of this is too much sudden change. You understand what I mean, Alter? Too much change…and all at once…”

“You are not disappointed to be overlooked?”, Alter asked, his face a stone mask of countenance.

Ector laughed, and attempted to cover up the noise with his fist. Once he finally regained his composure, he said solemnly, “Not, in, the slightest, my friend. Clive is the best of us all. I fear more so that we may not always be there to see him accomplish great things is all that I care about in that regard. How about yourself?”

“What about myself?”

“You know,” Ector, incredulous asked, “yourself? You were passed over as well. Don’t be daft. You as well as him are better suited for command than myself. If I must be the mouthpiece of our troop, you both are the arms, hands, and brains of it. We’d be dead on the ice without you both. And, as such, I feel indignant that you haven’t answered my question, Alter.”

Alter smirked and shrugged, indifferent. “Command means nothing to me in that regard. I prefer being able to help those that need it when I am able to do so. And having you both as comrades has allowed myself and others to do the same for others.” Alter stretched his stiff hands on the table, to regain circulation in the joints. “That all aside, of the three of us, no offence to yourself-”

“None taken, or expected,” Ector briefly interrupted, and nodded for Alter to continue on.

“Of the three of us, I would wager that he invokes the most confidence leading others into combat, and before battle for that matter he tends to keep a level head the longest of anyone I have ever known.” Alter’s black hair, flecked with snow and dirt matched the profile of his words and their meanings. Never one to use more than was necessary or unneeded.

Ector sat slack jawed in awe of his friend, “That was by far the longest I have heard you talk about anything. Let alone about anything I have an opinion on.”

“Go to hell.”

“Touchie, but I merely jest. You do have a point. And I wholly agree with it as well. Clive will accomplish wonderous things. I have no doubt about that. I only wish he would cease the constant and unending brooding of his.”

Alter asked, with visible confusion on his face, “What brooding?”

“What brooding?” Ector sighed. “Of course you wouldn’t know what I was meaning. That’s like explaining walking to a Drituk who only knows the soaring wings of the open skies. What I mean, is that the silent thinking and looking off into the far distance that you and Clive do, and all about those sad things that can’t be helped. What I suspect you do when no one is talking. That is called brooding.”

“I see.” Alter crossed his arms. Thinking hard on what Ector meant, it quickly became apparently clear that he was not going to be getting anywhere with the idea.

After a few seconds, “That. That right there is what I meant! You both do that blasted nonsense. Life is too short for glooming on the past as a specter would on their loved ones. More ever forward. Tomorrow is only hours away. And the day after that is only so much further away than that one is. And so forth till death takes us all in it’s cold yet tender embrace.”

Alter looked to the ceiling. Darkened and cold in the dimming torch light. “Too long.”

“What was so long ago?”

“Life,” Alter smiled. “Life is too long to dwell on sad things forever. I may not understand brooding as you’ve said. But dwelling, this I comprehend just fine, my friend.”

Ector returned the smile and raised his cup. “Now that is a thought I can toast to.”

Burning skies. All that is around has become upon death. Darkening waters became molten crimson within the faded crescent light of the fractured moon hanging overhead. All remaining things are cloaked in darkness and fire. The very earth itself was still burning. Stars overhead had all but been consumed in the maws of beasts who’s forms are engorging upon the heavens themselves. These are things that are beyond words here. Beasts of monstrous proportions consume all that remain behind of the world, be it the very soil of the earth itself or the futures of the survivors that stagger on behind the dead.

Dark distant death consumed the remnants of the destruction that draped over all things. All structures have been torn down, rooted to the base of all of their crumbling foundations. There is nothing left. All that remains are monsters and unending darkness.

He wiped at the accumulated layer of ash around his eyes. At first blush he had thought it snow, though the texture was wrong, it ran as stale water would over soldered steel. Clive coughed and covered his face. A practiced reflex from years of scouring the remnants of countless raids from the middle of the continent to near its northern most territories. The Warhawks had searched and done the best to contain the destruction of the warring barons and the devastation they provided to the masses.

This however was different. The air had a sharp, near sulfuric edge, lining the corners of each small breath, making it harder and harder to breathe. The fire hadn’t smoldered to a standstill, despite having been lit ablaze some time before.

Clive wandered the wreckage for some time. There was no one. Only charred corpses, burned a deep black that crumbled at the merest touch. No one was spared from this calamity. No one survived. There was no one.

A howl broke the silence of the fires. It roamed over and along the wind. Despite himself and his years among soldiers and battalions, the near two decades of seeing and hearing all manner of things in times of war, Clive felt himself cringe at the noise. A sense of defeat and submission traveled along his spine. Something was hunting, he was sure of it.

Searching for a safe area, he quickly found the remains of a small hovel. The walls and ceiling were all but gone, not simply broken and shattered, instead they were simply gone. As he hid inside the remains he noticed there were makings along the frame, deep gouges that seemed to envelope on the corners. Almost as if taloned claws had…

Another howl reached out and stabbed at his spine. He shuddered again. It was closer now.

A weapon, Clive looked for a weapon. Anything would do, something better than his wishful thinking that whatever that was howling would move along soon enough.

Clive released his clenched fist and fought against a growing urge to stay hidden amongst the wreckage. A mistake given how close the noises were becoming.

Castle walls lay nearby, scattered and destroyed as all else he had seen. This must have been a settlement of sorts. There weren’t any of this type in the northern section of the continent that he knew of. Nothing of this size and magnitude. Such a large area to now become so devoid of life was jarring. Clive shuddered. A howl echoed against the building.

Clive ran. Without catching a sight of the creature he managed to find a broken section of the walls and escaped the settlement.

Some time had passed. How long he could not dare to have guessed, all things felt as though distorted and perverted with a pensive weight that Clive could not find words to describe in detail. The lands had changed beneath his feet without him having moved them, as well as the sun overhead now was setting in a different portion of the sky than he was used to having seen.

Before him lay a forest filled with the skeletal remains of hundreds of acres of what was once a lush landscape of vibrant colors and life, now a testament to the despair that followed what had occurred there.

Clive walked onwards amongst this graveyard of broken sentinels until his breathe was taken from within his chest. A single tree remained behind. Nothing else he had seen before or since had as much life as this tree. She was tall, the trunk and bark appeared strong and coarse. He felt an overcoming desire to lay a hand on the tree, to touch it would prove that he was not alone, that not everything was gone and dead from this world.

As his hand reached out towards this tree, a snap and snarl resounded from behind him. Spinning on his heel he saw what had been hunting him for unspoken miles.

A beast made of darkness, its fur a rippling wave of movement and shadows not unlike that of the dark smoke left behind from a running kiln, the eyes held Clive’s focus. They followed his own while it’s fang filled maw remained silent. Save for the brief snarl to announce it had him within its sights. The beast moved forward.

Clive felt his feet move and the tree suddenly at his back. His hand moved to his sides for his weapon. He found a sword, and he drew it. It was heavy, much heavier than the sword he was accustomed to, yet it felt right and true in his grip all the same. He pointed it at the beast who drew closer, each step leaving behind a plume of darkness that drifted away behind it in the cold blowing wind.

With a lunge, it bounded towards Clive. He swung his sword. There was the sound of tearing flesh being rend away from a living thing. And nothing more. There never was.

His face felt cold as he sat up with a start. Nothing to worry over, he thought between quickened breathes.

“Only a dream.”

At a glance Clive could feel that morning had not yet broken itself away from the unending night. Soon the sun would arise and another day would greet the world around him. Keeping the nightmares at bay till he surrendered himself again to sleep.

Not bothering to mark the dream in his journal with its customary symbol, he instead readied himself for a walk around the battlements. Of all of the things that calmed his nerves the most, the security of a perimeter did the trick the best.

To his surprise he was not the only one out of place this early in the morning.

“Hail and well met with hope and good tidings my friend! What a blessed and true filled day we have ahead of us, Clive!”

“Morning, Ector.” Clive watched his step to avoid falling amongst the iced stones of the battlement. “You are about early. All is well?”

Ector shrugged away the cold and grinned away at his frosted breathe. “I couldn’t sleep well knowing what I now know.”

“Oh?” Clive watched over the cresting darkness outside of the small fortress. “If I may ask, what do you now know?”

“That my dreams are horrid when mixed with the swill we label lately as wine. That and I spoke with my father.”

Clive was silent, waiting patiently for Ector to continue on.

“We spoke at length of the future. His, and shortly after such my own. If it is all the same to you, my friend, I am all aquiver with my own curiosities. Why are you out so late? Or is it so early now?”

“It is early, I suppose. You haven’t gone yet to bed then?”

Another shrug and grin out of Ector, “I made the attempt. Followed by an ill omen filled dream. Then I found myself here amongst the charming sentries of our watch. Good morning, Julius. I bid you a warm filled day to replace the icy waste that was another night.” The guard grunted and ignored them as they passed on down the walkway. “You have yet to answer my own question, Clive. Did you yourself have a bad dream? You’re not known for being rattled by such sensitivities. No need to be defensive now.” Clive said nothing, nor did he move to do such. So Ector filled the silence for him, “I see you are guarded against this topic so I will pry no further. Now, on a business venture of notice for our line of work. What is your wager on our guest?”

“I do not know,” Clive admitted. “With the secrecy it must be someone important. Your father, he didn’t say one way or another on the topic of who they were. And the only redundancy I have come to conclude is that they will be here soon.”

“Hence your dressings.”

Clive turned with surprise written about his face.

“Your sword and armor, my friend. You don’t have your customary drapings on to combat the cold this morning. Instead you are dressed with the regality of combat and command. Not a critic, merely an observation. One I see you were plaining unaware of.”

“A sensible precaution I suppose,” Clive mumbled. “Though you are correct. I must have forgotten them in my haste.”

“Some nightmare it must have been to cause you to forsake your warmth unwillingly. If you would like, or rather, if you would not be a stubborn ass. Take this.”

“Ector I really am-”

“Shut it and take the damnable gloves. Your hands are more important than my own. Besides, these are extras that I have with me. Something told me to bring them along, not sure why. In any case they are now your issues to bear. Wear them with pride, for they are the warmest things I have ever owned.”

Clive put on the gloves, they fit like nothing else he had ever worn. Perfectly and seamless, without any wasted material to stifle the movements of his fingers.

“Where did you get these? They feel stronger and warmer than they look. And there is no lining of fur along the cuffs yet I feel no chill from the wind.” Clive flexed his fingers with experimental movements. “These are custom tailored.”

His accusatory look defeated Ector’s mocking indifference. “You are astutely correct as always.” Ector sighed and shrugged a single shoulder, “These are from all of us. We all chipped in to have them made and send across the Callous Rivers, marched over the Wilted Plains, and here. To the ends of the world as they were. Do not give me that look.”

“Why such a gift?” Clive glared past Ector, a shadow of light leaked out in the distance to the south.

Ector straightened his posture and bowed his head with respect. “I asked father commander if I may break the news to you first, though he had let slip that he may have already done the deed himself.” Ector mumbled something near imperceptibly, some curse or other, Clive could not be sure of the word but it’s meaning was understood all the same. “Regardless. Clive, from the Warhawks. All of us. This gift is the customary boon of becoming the leader of us. To better suit the hands that will guide and punish us all from the darkness, and the terrors within that come for us all.”

“Thank you, Ector. Though I’m not the commander.” Clive clenched and released his fists, shifted his cloak uncomfortably he continued to watch over the distance.

“Granted. But you will be soon enough. Mark my words. And the words of Commander Tyrios. Once his command has been yielded, and the words have been issued. You will be the righteous, and albeit merciful ruler of our modest and little battalion of soldiers!”

Clive smirked, “Too loud first thing in the mornings. There is no need to yell.”

“Are you not excited?” Ector asked in shock. “I would fathom you being over the stars and moons with joy at having the responsibility becoming yours. Are you not sated with the one battalion?”

“Really now? I am thrilled at becoming burdened with the responsibilities of the souls of everyone here. But we need not make a spectacle of such a thing. Let me enjoy these gloves and the rising of the morning with a semblance of peace.”

After a lengthy silence Ector broke the peace. “Brooding. All you wish is to brood and stare out over the falling snowdrift.”

“Shut it.”

“I will not do such a thing!” Ector barked, incredulous. His hair flowing around his face as a lions mane in the wind. “You should be rejoicing. Not being overcome with this damnable sadness. Now smile damnit all.”

“I am. I promise you I am.”

“Liars fell themselves upon their own words they cast…”

“Truly? I like that. You should engrave that on a sword or some such. I am smiling. This is a touching gift and gesture. I am overcome with emotion. Now, please. Let me brood and smile in peace. Just for a while more. I don’t want to miss the waking of the world.” Clive turned back to the frozen wastes and smiled. A single drop fell down his face; be it snow or something else it did not matter. In this moment, Clive felt at peace with something he could not describe.

Ector nodded, and bowed. He left without any further word to give to Clive. A grin was across his face, saying everything that he wanted to say, all the same.

Clive thought long and hard as he waited for the rising of the sun. It would be nigh on thirty minutes before it rose up and washed away the darkness of the dying night. He dwelt on what Ector had said, ‘Liars fell themselves upon their own words they cast…’

“Liars fell themselves upon the words they cast would be better.” Clive murmured to himself.

“I see you have spoken to Ector.”

Clive turned with a start before hurriedly saluting, “Commander.”

Commander Tyrios nodded and returned the salute. “Good morning, Clive. Since I have found you waiting on the morning to come, you will join me instead. Only in a brief task, nothing that will take you away for long. Worry not, it will be over before the rising of the sun. I know better than to interrupt a man in his morning rituals.” They walked down the steps of the battlements and into the courtyard below. The ground was littered with slushed, albeit frozen, muddy chunks and bits of straw. Thin trenches crisscrossed over one another from the passing wagons and carts. No other soul seemed to have arrived so early in the day, most of the soldiers would awaken and be busy enough with work of some sort or other once the morning was more than alive and well.

“Naturally from the gloves I assumed Ector has more than congratulated you on receiving your future command?” Commander Tyrios had a calm yet commanding voice, once in anger it would darken and draw insubordinations to heel, now however it was his usual calm and inquisitive tone. A stark contrast to his son’s snark and candor. “He appeared pleased at the prospect of aiding you however he and the others would be able to do so.”

“Aye, sir. Ector claims these gloves were custom tailored for me in celebration.” Clive nodded to a guard as they passed. The commander waved the guard to leave.

“You do not believe him.” Tyrios stated this as an observed fact.

Clive sighed. “Somethings about it sound odd. Like how did they know my finger sizes and lengths? And why not have it made at a nearby tanner? At most one that is not on the tail end of the continent.”

Commander Tyrios smiled, and nodded. “Little mysteries are good in life, Clive. I recommend you think hard not on these things and focus on the important facts. Your fellow soldiers placed their trust and coin into your succeeding into command. And, more importantly than this fact is this. You can only do your best to not betray that trust. You understand this?”

“Aye, sir.” Clive said.

“Good man. Now help me open this damned gate.”

Clive moved, and grabbed the other end of the draw bar. To his surprise he lifted his end with more ease than the commander did his own. Saying nothing of it they lowered the bar against the wall, and opened the heavy door. It gave away slowly, requiring more force than would be expected.

Clive stepped out after the commander. The narrow walls of the passage rose up on either side beyond the gate itself. A battered pathway was worn through constant usage until it resembled what it currently became, a cobbled road of rocks and ice. Barely wide enough to allow a wagon safe and protected passage, the narrowness added the caveat of being difficult to gain egress to the small fortress. And without being unseen was another matter entirely.

“Sir?” Clive asked, after nothing had been said for several moments.

Commander Tyrios kept his eyes ahead of him, watching the winding canyon path with mounting interest. “They will be here in a moment. Make no mistake.”

The sound of pattered footsteps dragged out along the ground. A step, then a shuffle, and what sounded like a soft thump crunching the frozen soil. This sequence of noises repeated, first muted, then louder and slowly becoming closer.

There, just past the first bend in the pathway, a cloaked form stepped and shuffled ever closer. In their hand was a weathered walking stick, used in gaining better footing amongst the hard earth.

Clive heard the commander straighten up beside him. He felt the urge to move forward and aid the traveler, though something stopped him. A feeling that this person would arrive all the same, with or without his aid at that, and that they would prefer the latter over the former. Clive trusted this feeling, especially since the commander mirrored the notion.

“At ease, Clive, steady. He has more life about him than what meets his visage.”

They said nothing further as the figure approached, stopping a few feet away. They pulled the hood of their cloak back and nodded in approval after seeing Commander Tyrios. Then they cast a curious glance at Clive and looked him over. Clive felt a chill run through him, though a chill would not be an accurate word to use to describe the feeling. It felt as though this stranger was seeing Clive beyond what was physically there.

Once sated with what they had observed of him, “Wonderful to see you again, Tyrios. And I see you have brought the grandchild of Arnolst here as well. Though I doubt that you likely knew that as a reason to bring him. No matter.” The man wheezed between sentences, his breathe left no trail of mist behind in its wake. Their eyes were green of an unending forest that could only be found in the purest of childlike fantasies. “Please, though the cold doesn’t affect me as it does others, I wish for us to retire inside if possible.”

“Of course, sir.” The commander bowed and led the way inside the gates. Once inside and the bar was placed back where it belonged they walked to the commander’s quarters. “Clive, you are dismissed.” Clive saluted and turned to give them leave, before the new comer added, “I hope you enjoy the sunrise. It is always my favorite part of the days.” And the door closed behind Clive with a soft whoosh.

Clive stared at the door, then turned and returned to the upper battlements to greet the sunrise.

Alter, busy barking orders to ready the area for the oncoming procession, had his hands and his wits full of things that needed to be done. The horses needed tending and feeding, their water trough had gone to ice in the night and needed to be melted so that they could drink. The yard needed to be deloused of all of the straw, animal excrement, and gods know what else that had begun to have lined along the inside of all of the ruts the wagons had left behind. They’d finish cleaning and being presentable in time, Alter had no doubt or concern over such trivialities, though he was stressed all of the same.

“Oy! You! Yes, you. Where was Josel going? Yes, I saw that he was going to that way. Where was he going is what I want to know. If you don’t know then just say that next time, instead of making excuses just answer truthfully. It will save us all the trouble of talking.” Alter dismissed the man and walked over to the last place Josel had been sighted. Several men had alerted Alter that Josel had several parcels and rolls of papers that he carried with him. Though he was on latrine and animal duties. And as such, Alter was naturally concerned. With last night’s excitements notwithstanding, today needed no more added excitements.

He passed the rabble of busy bodies, made a path for himself out of the kitchen area, and out into the back most section of the small fortress. The easternmost point coincidentally had nothing of excitement about it, a small courtyard with an excess gate for deliveries of food and essential necessities that needed to be delivered could be brought along through it without opening the larger, albeit more secure, front and side gates. No one else was in the small courtyard. Looking around Alter was confident no one had come this way in the last few days. Turning to leave something caught his attention, so he turned around and looked at the ground more closely. A set of boot prints led from the rear of the kitchen, a second door that Alter had not taken to enter the area. He watched their trail lead away from the kitchen, through the courtyard, and right to the gate.

Alter felt his hand drift towards the pommel of his sword, hanging close by his side. His steps are soft and cautious. Peering through the crack in the doorway as he opened it, he saw the footprints leaving the fortress and traveling someway forward, disappearing around a bend in the road some distance away. Alter cursed under his breath. And deciding against it, did not gather support, instead he followed the footprints past the safety of the walls of cobbled stone and mortar.

“To all the hells and beyond them if Josel abandoned his unit…” Alter watched as the prints became more defined, less changed by the slowly continuous rain of fresh snowfall that was beginning to come down. “And to his next life if what the rumor has stated. This place is nowhere to drag a secret family. Let alone a-”

A sharp twang of an arrowhead lodged itself into his right leg.

“Agh!”, the arrow lodged in Alter’s leg had blue feathers along the end of it. Though his thoughts after noticing this detail were drowned out by a small sea of bodies coming down along the snowbank, shouting as they came towards him.

Alter drew his blade and was able to hold the horde back for a few moments, killing a dozen of them in quick succession. More arrows flew, and he was overcome. A final blade found his throat and ended his life in one stroke.

Ector heard the thump sounds of arrowheads and shafts splintering on cobblestone before he heard the shouting. There was screaming coming from the kitchen area. Followed by the unmistakable sounds of throats and lives being separated from one another. He followed along three other soldiers, more following behind him. The mess hall was filled with bodies, nearly a dozen were dead along the cold floors. Warm blood was steaming along the cracks in the stone.

Eight men, Ector had the might of eight men with him as they went about slewing the attacking force. Suffering only a minor scratch to his arm Ector led his men to a brief victory, before the enemy appeared to multiply in number. More seeped in through the rear of the mess hall, just past the kitchen from what Ector could reckon. Of their total numbers he could only cast a needless guess. Two dozen were already filling the hall, with more following behind them. The hall would be lost in mere minutes. They needed to bar the hall. They needed to allow whoever was able to escape. They needed to-

“Ello, Ector!”

Ector spun on his heel in a deft pirouette, his sword fully extended outwards in a wide sweep of a circle.

The man stepped back, avoiding the blade’s edge.

“You mean to kill me? Is that it now, Ector?” The man’s face had a weaselesque appearance that was unmistakable.

“This is of your doing, Josel? When I defended you I was under the notion that your family would be little and not quite so hazardous to appear. Then again, they do have some of your lesser qualities.” Ector raised his sword and began stepping in a circle around Josel, ever watchful for the others around them.

“Your words sting sharper than any blade I’ve known. If only you could have seen reason sooner. Things could have gone differently for us all then.” Josel’s voice was deeper than normal. Less filled with hesitation. More filled with restrained malice and uncurdled bloodlust.

“I’m not going to understand your jabberings, am I?” Ector let his face fall into confusion, yet his eyes remained focused on Josel.

Josel shrugged. “Alas, this be a truth. Not that it matters any longer. Goodbye, Ector.”

Three arrows flew across the room. Two missed their marks, the remaining one splintered along the broad side of Ector’s sword.

“Goodbye indeed, you damned rat!” Ector moved as Josel had never seen. Barely able to hold off his swords advances he found himself stumbling backwards, his legs hitting tables and broken sections of benches with each oncoming strike. “No running! Stand up on your own, Josel. No one, not even I will defend you from this!” Ector advanced deftly and with beauty. Each swing of his blade was a work of art in motion. Poetry in learned violence and movements.

Josel felt his back against a wall. Ector swung downwards, the edge of his blade, the very tip, scraped against the wall and dug into his shoulder as he dodged away from the remainer of the swing. Sparks along with a quick splash of blood remained on the wall for a second before Ector swung again. This time his blade found its mark.

Josel felt his chest; blood was spilling out between his fingers and around his hand. “Damnation…I didn’t…you’re good…” Josel was dead on his feet without the need to fall to the ground. Ector waited a moment to spit on him before fleeing the hall, several attackers close on his heels.

An arrow grazed his shoulder as he slammed the door shut behind him, he watched it land against the ground. It had blue feathers on the end of it.

“Damnit all!” Ector shouted. He witnessed eight invaders entering through the main gates. The guards were sprawled about the ground, lying in pools made of their own bloody remains. There felt no end to this invading force. But as both a good soldier, and in his mind a dutiful brother to the others, Ector held his ground and began to fight for his, and any other survivors lives.

“Sir! Sir! We’re being invaded! We need to get you to-” Clive stopped short and swung his sword at the crouching form of the man stabbing Tyrios in the chest and face. His sword met with flesh and bone, cleaving the attacker through and through. With a kick he removed their remains from the Commander. “Sir! Breathe. We’ll get a horse and escape through the western gates. We’ll be able to-”

Commander Tyrios coughed, and to Clive’s amazement, and equal parts befuddlement, smiled. “Dutiful soldier…Do your duty…” Tyrios cast an eye across the room. Clive followed his line of sight and saw the crumpled remains of the Commander’s guest. They had been sliced along their mouth, deeply so until their head was held together with only a few remaining sections of flesh and sinew. The ground around them had naturally pooled with a dark red puddle of their life’s blood. Clive was on the verge of protesting this moment of hesitation when a flash of green stopped him. It floated out of the corpse, rising a foot or two away from the body itself. Then, as fast as lightning, flew out of the window of the room. Best reckoning that it was heading due South-East, by however many degrees Clive could not in the moment tell. Nor would he have said that it mattered.

“Clive…” The voice alone drew Clive’s attention back into the little room. The Commander’s voice was sharp and distinct, filled with authority, “Protect him…Through this life…And the next…if you are able to do…” Then he coughed, and said no more.

Clive nodded, and wiped at his face, smearing blood that was not his own upon it. “Aye, sir. I will do my duty. Farewell, Commander Tyrios.” Clive rose to his feet, shaky but determined, and saluted his commander for the final time.

On the walkway coming towards him there were three men, behind them the remaining guards were being slaughtered, one by one. Clive calmed his breathing. There were nearly three dozen more at a glance in the yard below. Of the original battalions strength, now there were nearly twenty remaining, maybe less.

One step at a time, Clive slew his attackers. Each with a single stroke of his blade, each without looking back. He moved as righteous flames upon the surface of the ocean’s waters.

There would be time to mourn later…

Fighting his way down the steps of the watchtower, he saw Ector, bloodied, albeit alive all the same.

“Clive, we must retake the west gate. There is no end to them. The fortress is lost!” Ector fought two men at once as he spoke. Slaying the first with a flourish of his sword. “Is this really how you expected to die, man? Losing your life in a barren frozen wasteland that freezes not only your bones but also your piss. Imagine dying knowing that your piss will turn to ice inside of you. Just imagine!” The attacker lost his footing and Ector took advantage with a lunge that flew true, killing the man with a sharp movement.

“Where did they come from?” Clive demanded. He drew himself into a neutral defensive stance. He appeared calm and distracted, though his arm was tense and ready to move at the next person who dared come forth.

“Must we discuss such trivialities now? East gate, Josel let them in. Why, I do not know. Nor rightfully must I allow myself to care. I slew him in the mess hall.” Ector looked Clive over, his eyes realizing something before his mind did. “Commander father. You avenged him yes?”

Clive nodded. Adding nothing further.

“Good man.” Ector wiped his blade on the corpse of the last man he had killed. “Let’s keep avenging him. And every other basterd we called brother.”

“Agreed.” Clive breathed out his fears, and inhaled the air of death that was all around the fortress. Another wave of attackers flooded in through the southern gate, a sea of blue feathered arrows singed past them both as they fought onwards towards the western gate.

“One step at a time! As Alter said!” Ector barked as he swung his blade, his voice sharp and distinct, filled now with an authority that suited him.

“Have you seen of him?” Two more attacked Clive as he repelled the swing of a third’s sword. Clive inhaled and swung diagonally, his sword meeting theirs, shattering both in one motion. A brief pause, an exhale, and he swung back the other way, killing them both. The third lunged and avoided Clive, but could not avoid the following movements of the blade of Ector. “Do you suspect he lives?”

Ector was silent. Despite his grunts and gasps as he swung like a deft painter, he made little noise himself. “No. I suspect he fell early into this attack. They would have only gotten past him with surprise being on their side. Josel had us all fooled.”

Clive agreed. “We will mourn later. One step at a time. Exit first. I will hold them back. Go now!”

A sharp whistle cut through the screaming and clanging of steel upon steel. It came from the commander’s chambers. One of the invading forces had made their way there and seemed to be signaling the others. Everyone looked up as the man made a brief movement with his hand. And like the tide rushing back, the attacking force receded out through the southern main gate of the fortress.

“Why on earth would they be retreating? They had already taken our fortress and killed our-” A thwack of an arrow hitting against flesh and bone resounded out, followed by a gurgle.

Clive turned to see Ector had an arrow lodged into his forehead, just above his right eye. “Ector! Oh no! No! Please! Calm. Calm. Remain calm! Please!”

Ector’s legs gave way beneath him as he slowly slumped down to the ground. A smile danced along his face as the blood flowed into his eyes. “Clive…It’s alright…despite the pain…it’ll be alright-”

Clive yelled, as his best friend’s life was snuffed out before him. There was blood everywhere. Clive was covered in it, even without having any serious injuries, only minor scratches along his face and arms, he looked a ruined mess. He began to hyperventilate, any attempt to control himself was slipping away without much restraint.

A frenzied scream from the horses broke some level of this panic from him. Three men were attempting to wrangle the horses, who from all of the screaming, bloodshed, and ultimate death, were now themselves wrought up into a panicked frenzy.

“Come on, you!” One of the men shouted, fighting against the horse for control of the leads.

“Hurry up! Or they’ll be liable to leave us all behind!” Another yelled out, “Watch your digits, lads. Damn beast are likely to eat a finger as if they are able to-” His statement was cut short with the singing of Clive’s sword slicing through his neck.

Clive did not hesitate for the reaction of the others. He grabbed the sword of the man he condemned to bleeding out, and thrust it into the chest of the man who was pulling for control of the horse’s leads.

The third man swung an axe at Clive. Clive sidestepped and removed the axe, as well as the man’s hand from him. He then punched the man in the chest. “Where are they going?!” He demanded of the man, who merely screamed out in fear and pain. Clive’s speed and feral strikes had their desired effect upon him.

“Where are they going?” Clive demanded a second time. “They can’t be heading to the west; there is nothing there. And they are not heading to the east; they wouldn’t be able to cut past the other battalions. So, where are they going? If you do not answer I will remove your other hand!”

The man’s eyes rolled back and Clive released his grip on him, allowing him to fall to the ground. The man had fainted. And Clive was in no rush to wake him. Instead he calmed one of the remaining horses and mounted a pursuit of the attacking forces. They were heading south, at least as far as the farthing pass. After that they would be in the wind. There would be no tracking their path, a storm was coming. Reports had announced it the week before.

“Hells and damnation to them all!” Clive cursed as the wind bit into his scrapes and cuts. Burrowing into his muscles and bones the longer he was exposed to it.

They knew! They knew when to strike, the opportunity was there…Josel…Ector had pointed the blame at Josel…

How did Josel know when to inform this attacking force? He must have been waiting for the Commander’s guest…

The flash of green light. What in all of creation was that, Clive wondered. It rose out of his body and flew off to the south-east. It flew straight and true in that direction. The commander’s last words echoed and haunted themselves within his mind.

““Protect him, through this life and the next. If you are able to do…”

For now vengeance overcame Clive’s senses of duty and honor. Even to the Commander. These men needed to be extinguished. Be it all at once, or one soul at a time. One soul…

Clive shook his head and leaned closer against the body of the horse. Vengeance now, duty and honor later.

“Vengeance…” Clive’s breath gasped out in a steady wisp alongside that of the horse’s own breathing. A large stallion, strong, stronger than any other animal Clive had ever seen. It would need to be strong to survive these environs of frost and frozen death that made itself abundantly clear of its existence all around them. The horse panted and pulled forward at breathtaking speed. They were gaining on their quarry; he could see the cloaked forms becoming visible in the distance. Pin pricks within his vision that grew more defined with each passing moment.

Clive drew his blade, and kept his grip on it reversed so that it was held as a dagger in his hand. His horse was outpacing theirs. They would hear him soon. Though he should be able to gather closer to them before then, given the gravel and the noises of their own mounts. They were racing as if a devil were on their heels. How odd.

Clive knew he wouldn’t have a chance to be silent after the first strike, so it would have to count for something.

His horse drew upon one of their own. Clive struck, his blade singing true in the air. The rider fell with a sickened thump as their horse screamed and ran off ahead. The second rider turned and saw Clive. They drew a small hunting bow and began notching a blue feathered arrow into place. The arrow flew; Clive deflected it with a swift motion of his wrist. The rider nocked another, and fired as Clive advanced, merely ten feet away. This time Clive wasn’t fast enough to deflect it. The arrow struck his horse in the leg, just above the knee.

Clive tumbled through the air as the horse fell. He rolled to a painful stop and watched the other rider leave him behind without a second glance.

How long he had lain there he could not say, though it was some time after the darkness took him that he woke up again.

“Oh. Awake now are we?” A kind voice stated before issuing orders to someone beyond Clive’s groggy vision.

“Clive,” A voice thundered, direct, and without the need for labels, “Can you give me a report as to what happened?”

“Yes. Sir.” Clive attempted to sit up; strong hands prevented him from doing so.

“Relax the best you can. Your injuries are not life threatening, but you will need to stay in bed for another few days. Now, that report.”

“Commander Marcos, sir. We were assaulted by an invading force that took the fortress by storm and surprise. From Ector’s reckoning…” He paused, took a breath, and continued on, “We were betrayed by Josel. It appeared that he was somehow in the employ of the Duke. The arrows and the armor of the invading force back up this assumption.”

He could hear Commander Marcos shuffle in place more so than he could see him. Clive wiped liquid away from his eyes and blinked until everything became clearer.

“The medics rubbed that fluid over your injuries, something about keeping the blood from flowing into your eyes. Should be fine now, your bleeding has finally stopped. And I agree with the assessment.” Commander Marcos nodded. He was a stocky man, with a think wave of dark curling hair that matted against his head, most likely from his helmet. “We came across an outcrop of the Duke’s mercenaries nearly fifteen miles to the east. Under interrogation we learned of the 125th’s fate and came to lend aid. Regrettably too late though. Save from yourself, there were only seven other survivors. The Duke’s forces were thorough in nature. Why they wanted to assassinate Commander Tyrios is beyond my reckoning. He wasn’t leading any raiding forces that would cause this sort of retaliation.”

“I do not think they were after him.” Clive offered. Now that the medical staff had given them space he sat himself up, slowly and with caution. His ribs and back seemed to have taken the brunt of his fall, and he was paying for it now. “I think they were after his guest.”

Commander Marcos grimaced. His eyes seemed to darken, filling with an emotion that was not unlike pity. “Do not mention his ‘guest’. Not to me, or anyone else. The official story that I am passing along is that he was the ultimate target. We don’t need to draw attention away from the heinousness of this crime. Do not misunderstand, please. I understand the situation well enough. The situation is as follows, if you are asked again. Josel betrayed the 125th to the forces of the Duke. You gave chase, though you were incapacitated due to your injuries. The remaining survivors of the 125th will be integrated into the 137^th, my legion, and given new orders upon arrival. Do not protest. Naturally as you are privy to the existence of Tyrios’s guest, I can assume that on his death you were given an order. From you face I see I was correct. No need to fret over anything just yet. I am in no way impeding or imposing my own directives to circumnavigate your own orders. Your final orders, as they were.

“Clive, Tyrios was a friend of mine. I knew him longer than I have known any other living soul in this world. I will respect the orders he gave you. I do not require knowing what they may be, though I may guess as to what they may be. That said, whatever it is you require, once you have healed from your injuries, name it and it is yours. I cannot spare you a battalion, nor am I wont to have to do such. But, something of a realistic nature, and it is yours. I have already had your effects brought here for you once you are discharged. Until then, I will check on you tomorrow to see what you will need. Good evening.” He turned to leave and once he was one foot out of the doorway he stopped, and without turning he added, “For what it is worth, Clive. I am hunting the Blue Duke as it is. I do not need aid in doing such. He is already dead. He simply doesn’t realize it just yet.” With that he then left the room.

Clive laid in his bed and mulled over everything. He remained mulling before the pain and exhaustion forced his mind back into darkness to rest.

Chapter One – Two Truths and a Lie

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