A wind rose over the Corus palace and swirled through the night air. The palace was calm in the night with pleasant dreams. Nobles slept safely in their cushioned bedrooms; blissfully unaware of how great strife was in the North. The wind whiped along the outer walls, over the outer walls and then steadily began to climb North. It ran over vast plains browned from drought and heat. As the wind rose North the landscape began to diminish - as sure as it was getting colder. Fiefs closer north were less taken care of and all fiefs on the border were abandoned. The roads to the North were deserted. Every once in a while a lone figure would be running south, away from the North. Not even bothering to stop for nightfall. The now cold wind whipped around small hills and majestic pines. The hills grew gradually higher until mountains rose. Valleys with cold rushing streams became the normal landscape. Wolves and bears prowled, uneasy not finding rest in the night. Cities still remained, as if in defiance in to the North. But steadily, they to would fall to shadow. The cold made food almost impossible to acquire. Although it was technically summer weather was an icy winter.
No one dared to leave the city walls to hunt. Odd things prowled in the night. Odd metallic creatures that ate souls and had the voice of a child. And driving them was the Lady of the Night. Her eyes were stars, and her face a crescent moon and her daggers the moonlight. As beautiful and deadly as the night. She became well known in the North, a creature to scare children but at the same time all to real. The Lady driving the creatures with the Scanran army behind her to devourer the free land. Fear became the emotion of all people in the North.
The wind stopped at the Scanran border – as if it did not want to go on. It swirled and came down around the plato that sat right upon the Scanran border. Camps sat there. Men slept easily, knowing that the camp was guarded. Men slept easily, all prepared for death. All the tents were the same, from the knights to the foot soldiers. They were all equally damned by this position. Surrounding the camp were fully alert watch guards, knowing that a moment of daydreaming could kill a hundred men.
On the edge of the plato stood a tall man with blond hair cut to his shoulders. His eyes were crystal blue that betrayed no emotion. His skin was as white as the snow around him. Although he dressed just like all the other men, he seemed different. He used to be a lord. His aura gave off a glow of knowledge and power. He stood their reminiscing the past. His triumphs and as well as the defeats. Personal defeats in his character. When he was younger he was arrogant and ignorant. A full-blooded conservative. Truth and pain had changed his mind. He smiled grimly. His eyes searched the Scanran territory in front of him. The plato was right on the border, if you looked down it would be on Scanra territory. The land seemed darker, stained with blood. He had once been there. He liked to pick out familiar landmarks – to remember why he was here.
Busy staring at the land in front of him he did not hear the footsteps till they were nearly on top of him. He turned his head just enough to see who was behind him. A tall man, almost his height, stood just a few footsteps behind him. He had short curly locks above his tanned face. He wore the normal garb for the people stationed here. His eyes held something all men knew of – death and endless grief. His eyes had once held this too. It was the sign of a recent loss.
Joren turned his head back to the North. "I did not see you their, man. Such stealth is useful here." He turned back to the man. "However stealth can only be stretched so far. Go back to your tent. With haste." The man stood, almost stunned at the words. Joren added the last when he made no move too go back. Mentally shrugging he turned back to the North once again. Orders here could be only carried so far. If a man wished to fight a personal war with the north then they were welcome to do so at any moment. Many men came to this spot to make their way down the plato to Scanra territory. Joren had been an exception to this law. This spot was where he had gone into Scanra before. It was well weathered with footsteps of men descending to their deaths. Many of them had death in their eyes, just as this man did.
He heard stumbled footsteps behind him fallowed by stumbling words "S-sir, Please do not dismiss me so quickly. I have heard of your loss and your crusade against the North." He paused, as if not sure what to say next. "Some things are better left to rot in the dust." He said the words softly but they carried deep weight and seemed loud in the silence. Words used to end a conversation. But the man was persistent. "You went into Scanra, did you not?" He stepped angrily in front of him. "You did as I would have, what me heart yearns to. I too have lost my family to the Night." He clenched his hands in front of his face and thrust them down angrily. He turned to the North. Joren remained silent. He turned back to Joren. His eyes held rage beside the death. "But you returned. What called you back from your death? What called you away from avenging your family? From killing their murders? From the black land that calls you as much as it calls me now. Tell me, why should I not go out there and kill every Scanran that lies between me and death?!"
Through this Joren remained silent and unchanging. In his eyes the smallest emotion betrayed him. Pity. The man caught sight of this and became even more enraged. "Do not pity me! Answer me! Answer me Goddess damn it!" Joren still remained silent. The anger and rage in his eyes changed to something more hard and resentful. HE drew his sword and turned to the path that would lead him down. "Your sources are wrong, man." The man stopped in his tracks. Joren went on "I felt just like you. Full of rage, at the gods, at the king, and most of all Scanra. I forsook my title as knight of the realm and came to the north to fight to the death. Just as law allows me to. So I went and just down this path, to the Lady's embrace or so I thought. About a day later the king's forces came to take me back. They did, but they had to knock me out first." His eyes were once again stone staring into the night; the man might as well have not been there. "They offered me back my title, but I did not take it. Then they offered me to be the first and I took it eagerly." He seemed to come out of his trance and scratched the nape of his neck. "You see, boy," The man stiffened at the address, "It was force that called me back, but what kept me here was that the longer I stayed alive the more Scanrans would die."
Joren dismissed the man, he had done as much as he was asked, and looked to the sky. It was a clear night and because of that it was brutally cold. He pulled his thick cloak around him. "You could catch your death out here tonight." He glanced at the path the man still stood their, frozen in his tracks, "If you decide to stay I would come back to camp quickly. No reason to meet the Lady after such a significant revelation." The name of the Lady was a synonym to death. Joren turned and began his way back to camp. After a while he heard the same quite footsteps behind him. Perhaps he should talk with the man in the morning. He struck him as an intelligent man and stealth was always something to be valued. Here it was considered a blessing to survive a night. People bid people goodnight with wishes to survive the night.
The men who took a position here usually were ready to die. They have no fear of death. Joren is very much this way. He would dance with the Lady at the second's notice, just as any other man here. The king had made a long tradition of never forcing people to guard the border, but Joren knew that it would soon be broken. The North was becoming too aggressive for the few who wished to die. Raoul and his company had pulled out a month ago and it had gone downhill since then. Casualties had doubled as soon as he left. He hoped he came back soon. Raoul had gone to ask the King too force people to serve in the North. It was that or lose his country. Joren thought it was a clear decision but Raoul looked troubled.
Joren sighed as he came into the camp.
[ God, I wish I could make these chapters longer but they come to me in parts. Plus I want to be on the first page. It surprised me how much story updates come out daily. It's cool… I guess. The next chapter will be very interesting. At the rate I'm going I would say 7-10 chapters. Please review. ]