Shadow of Winter Pt. 1

14^th day of the 10^th month of the 446^th year of the Second Age: Northern Hithlione

Mist hung low over the mountains as a pale half-moon rose over the dark twisted forest. Spires of rock and trees clawed at the night sky giving the horizon a sharp and unforgiving appearance. Fall was coming near an end and the mountain peaks were capped with glistening white snow that shone in the moonlight as if they were a beacon lit by some divine specter to signal the coming end of another year. High atop one of the steep, rocky, mountains sat a great stone keep with high walls surrounding the perimeter and a massive steel gate at the front. An arching bridge of fine craftsmanship connected the spire of the keep to the adjoining mountain and led to a narrow winding path down to the valley. Below the bridge was a river with smooth, black waters that reflected the sinister towers of the keep. Within the outer walls was a spacious courtyard and a small row of neglected looking wooden buildings that, at some point in time, could have been houses but were mainly used for storage since the start of the war. A small cathedral sat off to the east side of the courtyard with a large pointed steeple atop its domed roof which was inlaid with many fine stain glass windows that would bathe the cathedral floor in a marvelous kaleidoscope of color and light. In the center of the walls was a massive feat of engineering, tons of stone, mortar, and steel all combined to create one massive castle that housed the soldiers of the Hithlione Empire. The castle was small in comparison to that of the on within the capital city to the south, but was still a large building that one could easily find themselves lost in.

            Within the council chamber of the keep the commanders of the regiment were gathered around a large oak table with a large cloth map spread out before them; across the map all forts, towns, and strongholds were labeled and upon first looking at the map it was clear that the red army was winning in this region. A sturdy built man stood at the head of the table, his beard was close cropped and grey was appearing among the black. His sideburns matched the color of the sky during a storm and his eyes were a washed out blue, many battles having taken the light from behind them. He wore armor that had lost most of its polish and was stained with the grease of the northerners war machines and the blood of the men who operated them. His face was draped in shadow from the torch light, and he was silhouetted by the fireplace on the wall behind him. His name was Tanré and he was the commander of the 1206^th regiment of Imperial soldiers. The others in the room were platoon leaders and captains of various squads within the army and as they stood around the map they looked weary and demoralized from months of fighting with no ground gained. Tanré spoke in a grim voice, leaning his hands on the oak before him; 

“We have just received word that supplies from the Capital will be late. How late, none can say; it could be weeks, it could be months. This means we will have to do with what we have, and with the coming of winter and the Northern Tribes capturing another of our supply towns that could be easier said than done.” He took a deep breath, “For this reason, I move that we send out squadrons of men to find and capture enemy supplies for our own use, mainly food and fuel. Temperatures are dropping faster this year and we may only have a matter of weeks to gather as much as we can before the pass becomes too dangerous to travel. All those in favor, say ‘I’.”

            

              A deep and somewhat reluctant chorus of ‘I’s was followed by a blonde captain on the other end of the table speaking up with, “This is outrageous, we do not have the manpower to mount such an operation!” This was Vuld, almost Tanré’s equal in age, and his superior in education, Vuld had a tendency to lean more towards the side of playing things safe so as not to cause too large a ripple effect. So naturally the proposal of mounting hit-and-run attacks on the enemy would cause him to speak out, as was the case when most offensive operations were proposed. “Commander,” he continued “half the men are wounded or so weary they can barely lift a sword, sending them to combat the Tribes, likely well rested, and fed soldiers will almost certainly be their death. I say instead of more mindless attacks we send a group of men south to fetch supplies from within our own boarders.” Tanré straightened his posture and replied, “No. We do not have the time for a southward expedition, by the time the expedition returns from the south the pass will be too treacherous for wagons of supplies to travel; and successful attacks on the enemy would do well to boost the morale of the men.” Vuld looked as if he were about to form some rebuttal to that statement using all of the complicated words he had learned in his schooling, however Tanré cut him off “End of discussion. A vote has been held and the ‘I’s have it. Prep three squads, they leave at dawn for the nearest enemy camps. That should place them back here with supplies just before the first snowfall of the season. Any opposition to this operation will be ignored from this point onward. Council dismissed.” The men left gratefully, all except Vuld. He hated when Tanré pulled rank like that and over ruled any other opinion. In Vuld’s mind Tanré was the devil of this icy hell they were forced to stay in, and he would have loved to usurp the power for himself and let knowledge lead these men rather than the ‘gut-feeling’ that Tanré let dictate his decisions that had, on more than one occasion, led to the brutal defeat of the 1206^th Regiment. 

           "I see you are quite pleased with yourself." Vuld sneered "Sending a batch of disposable soldiers off to their deaths while you stay safely behind these frozen walls. I suppose it is all the same whether they fail or succeed. Succeed and there shall be plenty of food to go around; fail... and that is just less mouths to feed." Tanré glared at the other man, knowing very well that he could surely convince many of the draft soldiers that this was the case and stage a mutiny if he desired, and this far north no one would ever know about it. If they killed him they could just make up a story that he became ill or slipped down the canyon wall in a snowstorm. After coming to this conclusion Tanré could only see one solution. "I will not be staying here in safety. I will accompany the convoy there and back and assist in capturing the supplies." He dared not smile, although inside he was swelling with pride thinking that he had outwitted his opponent. "Very well." Vuld replied seeming somewhat shocked "I shall inform the men of your decision and have your horse and equipment readied along with the rest." He then saluted and left the room, the clinking of his armor fading down the hall until Tanré was left with only the crackle of the fire and the winds outside broke the silence. He suddenly felt very uneasy about this expedition and his stomach churned inside him, and try as he might he could not set his mind at ease, not even when he had gone to sleep. Dark visions of death filled his dreams the whole night through almost as if he were being warned of events to come.