The Wheel of Time and all its characters is owned and trademarked by Robert Jordan and Tor. This story was written for entertainment purposes only and not intended for monetary gain.
פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ
Prologue
One thousand years After the Breaking, unstoppable waves of Shadowspawn stormed out from the Blasted Land, led by vengeful Myrddraal and Dreadlords to raze the Westlands. The Ten Nations of the Second Covenant stood against this inundation: Coremanda, Aelgar, Almoren, Aramaelle, Aridhol, Eharon, Essenia, Jaramide, Safer, and Manetheren. Heroes of tragedy and destiny collided with the Dark One's forces. One of the most unforgettable groups of those heroes was the Band of the Red Hand, the Sword that could not be Broken. Memories still linger of those men of courage and vigor, chronicled in the Ballad of the Band...
"The Old Blood sings of a mighty Band,
The infamous guardians of the Land.
The Dark One 'self felt the bite of the Thorn,
The bravest souls whom ever born.
Forever live those bold Red Hand!"
פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ
Chapter One: Reinforcements
Sergeant Stef Reimos tugged at his frayed red cloak, pulling it closer. He shivered and wrapped it tightly around his body in an effort to cut out the wind. He was always cold nowadays. The frigid Aramaelle air froze his lungs when he inhaled and came out in a thick steam. He plunged through the high packed snow along with the rest of T'Eldrene Company.
His exposed face felt scarred from the harsh dry winds, and he earnestly wished for a thicker cloak and better boots. He walked mechanically; the long monotonous snowdrifts remained the same for miles, as the snake of red-cloaked soldiers marched through the white wilderness. The only break from the mind-numbing monotony was the back of the soldier walking before him, the blood red hand stitched to that faded cloak claiming his vision.
The only sound was the cracking of snow being trampled beneath and the howling winds. Like most, he had long stopped talking, with each voice drawing more cold air into his already frozen lungs to steal his precious life heat.
Stef wished for the warm hearth of the Mafel Dadaranell Keep where T'Eldrene Company had stayed a few days ago... was it days? Weeks? How long has it been? How much time has passed since the company had left Manetheren? The snow swallowed time as much as heat. All he could remember were long days of cold march, sometimes a warm fire in a town or city, more often sleeping covered in cloak and the issued blanket.
Although only twenty-four years old, his body felt ancient. He could feel the ravages of ten hard years of enlistment now heightened by the vast cold. And he was one of the lucky ones. Two decades in this cruel world was a luxury for a frontline soldier.
T'Eldrene Company had been sent north to reinforce the main body of the Band of Red Hand, the famous name of the Grand Legion of Manetheren. The Band had seen its numbers chiseled down by attrition of sword and cold. Like all Companies in the Manetheren legions, it was named after one of the guardians of Manetheren. They marched for the honor of Queen Eldrene, the beautiful Rose of the Sun. Since the Trolloc Wars had begun, the main body of the Band of Red Hand had rode to the thickest knots of fighting. Right now, the Band had taken up residence in northern Aramaelle, where it could do the most damage and the most good, and occasionally revitalized by new bodies like T'Eldrene from the Mountain Home when their numbers begin to dwindle dangerously.
Stef took an appraisal of the vast land, and saw the black Mountains of Dhorom etching the sky around the company. The company had just entered the vast mountain range named after the famed Sentinel Dhorom, stretching from the cliffside coasts of Jaramide in the west to the Spine of the World in the east.
A faint but clear note from a horn far ahead shattered the silence, its blast drawing Stef immediately to attention. A second note followed quickly. The sergeant stiffened to the familiar sound.
"Trouble?" A nearby foot soldier asked. Stef placed the voice to a young recruit, Cordin Brogan, part of his squad, who had recently enlisted before the Company had left for the North.
"Something like that. The pickets ran into spawns." Stef replied, distracted. His eyes skimmed around the pale white horizon, searching furtively.
"If it's a full host, we'll be boiling in a pot tonight." A soldier beside him muttered.
"Well, then it's about time we had a hot bath, Tayren." Stef retorted to his Second, but he knew the brash soldier's words to be true. The 250-men company was a force in its own right, but was a drop against a trolloc host that could number in the thousands. But there was no time for doubt. He drew his sword out from his red-stained leather scabbard and hefted its weight in his arm. His frozen joints groaned in protest. He ranged his arms and neck, forcing the memory of movement back into his stiff body.
Orders rippled through the line of men, and the soldiers began to split into defensive formation, infantry forming up at the perimeter with archers jostling for position.
"My squad with me!" Stef shouted over the voices of others and plunged through the snow towards the edge. As he reached the perimeter, he could now see the rapidly approaching shapes of the scouts racing towards the safety of the main body. Behind them appeared the hulking and unmistakable figures of Trollocs, the grotesque half-animal half-human footsoldiers of the Dark armies. Their terrible black line cut through the edge of the horizon. Thumping drums of war hammered through the air and could be felt in the bones. And they came.
The Trollocs poured down the snowy plains as the ground shivered at their approach. Cloud of powder snow agitated violently into the pale blue sky. They charged like a rolling avalanche of violence. Though the sergeant was experienced in engagements, even he had to keep a tight rein on the internal knot of animal instinct screaming for him to flee.
When the human armies first met the Trolloc armies at the start of the war two hundred years ago, it was nothing but a disastrous and epic loss of human life. The Second Covenant was simply not ready. The massive strength and unquenchable blood lust of the Trolloc Armies had reaped through the human armies in a bloody harvest, until the Shadow finally broke on the unlikely, desperate alliance of Saferi phalanx and the Manetheren archers. But now they had learned their lessons upon the graves of the past. Now, the Manetheren steel and its legion stood ready, the lessons of the past etched deep in their bones, their sword quenched in the blood of the thousands dead before their time.
The squad formed besides Stef , a small segment of the perimeter lines. The entire infantry line shifted in anticipation.
"Let's make this a good one! Stay together!" He shouted, adding to the roar of hundreds of voices.
Those dark hulking shapes came on, faster than humanly appeared. Their enormous size dwarfed an average human, and their strides were deceptive, leaping across the snowdrift with unholy speed. Stef grabbed the ring that hung on a thong around his neck, kissed it for luck, and slipped it protectively inside his jerkin. A flight of arrows flew over Stef's head, to feather the oncoming shadowspawns. Many fell, but more howled in blood rage, ignorant of their wounds. Another flight of arrows took off. A third.
And then the spawns arrived, smashing into the infantry lines. The sword in Stef's hands flashed and parried desperately. The Trollocs bore long wicked swords of massive weight and enormous spiked mattocks. Sharp pain streaked up his arm as his sword barely deflected a massive blow, nearly sending his weapon flying.
The beast gave a pained howl when Tayren rushed under his defense and sliced through the flesh of the beast's leg. Stef took that opportunity to lunge in and bury his sword through its massive chest. He barely had time to pull the bloodied sword out before the creature collapsed to the ground.
The sergeant gave a quick nod to Tayren and leaped into the carnage again. The heat of battle boiled over, cold steel and burning blood intermingled. Then, there were no more to kill.
Stef exhaled and took a reading of the carnage. The Trollocs had numbered barely a fist, wild and unorganized, a rare gem these days, with most Shadowspawn hosts totaling in the thousands. While the main Band of Red Hand could hold its own against many a shadow host, T'Eldrene would have barely been a nuisance to a host, a light snack, no matter how determined. However this time, the readiness of the Band had made short work of the attacking foes, with minimal loss.
"Victory!" The cry roared. Stef licked his cracked lips, and kept a wary gaze towards the dense clusters of pines scattered around that could hide many lurking spawns. He stooped and wiped his blade on the snow, the dark blood staining the white crimson. Satisfied that it was mostly clean, he sheathed the sword.
"A taste of battle." Stef gave a measuring look at the soldiers in the squad. All of them had survived, more or less. Cordin was wide-eyed, but his sword was stained and spawn blood smeared his face. He was the only raw tyro in Stef's squad, the rest having seen their share of battle.
"Savor it while you can." Tayren Suturb grunted in agreement, "that was just a delicate appetizer." Tayren had already served in some northern patrols, and knew the reality. His tall lanky frame knew battle, and a grim scar stretching his face attested to it. He had a good head on his shoulder, and Stef knew he could trust him with the squad if he died, though he was not yet looking forward to that.
The groans of the wounded punctuated the air, and Stef moved forward to help. Grimacing, he kneeled beside a fallen infantryman, an oozing stump where an arm should have belonged. Its owner groaned softly but the blood loss was beginning to take its toll. Stef tore off strips of the soldier's red cloak and began to hastily bandage the wound. Dark red blotches immediately blossomed onto the already red fabric as he aggressively held pressure until the bleeding seemed to staunch. Young Cordin came beside him, licking his lips nervously.
"Help me with this, will ya?" Stef grunted. Cordin glanced down, looked decidedly uneasy, but grabbed the moaning soldier by his good arm. With Cordin's help, Stef carried the soldier onto an awaiting stretcher. Two red-armed medics carried him off, towards the temporary hospital tent.
"Not too bad for your first time, kid." Stef glanced at Cordin. He looked barely over 'scripting age, but from what he remembered from the battle, was not a coward and could fight decently. Not a grizzled veteran by any measure-neither was Stef-but the recruit was getting there
"Thank you sir," Cordin answered hesitantly.
"The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can meet up with Cathon's army. Wherever they are." Stef remarked and rubbed his stained hands on the snow. The cleansing white soaked up most of the blood, but Stef could still feel the blood staining his hands dark red like his cloak. Seeing that the wounded were removed, he gave a wave, and he and the squad trudged back. The perimeter of the defense began to collapse into itself and formed back into the long line of cold marching soldiers.
Looking back, Stef saw the hospital tent going down as well.
"Patched up as fast they could be," Tayren said, almost reading Stef's mind, "Right back into the march if they could walk. And for those who meet the bone-saw, they get transported around like barley."
Stef nodded grimly. The Trolloc Wars had taught many lessons. If you were in hostile territory, mobility equals survival. If they remained in one spot too long, chances are good that they would be swarmed by ten times the number within the hour. There would be no relative safety until they could link up with the Grand Legion.
"Don't know whether to feel sorry for them or jealous." Tayren grunted, "A free ride sounds nice around now. Even if I do have to lose an arm."
Once more, scouts moved out, disappearing over the snowy mounds.
Stef grunted, feeling the cold seeping into his bones again, and tramped on once more through the white infinity.
פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ