CHAPTER ONE

FORT FRIGID

It was a blaring sound that has not been heard in a long time at Fort Frigid that woke the Casassean troopers. It was the bugler sounding reverie. It was also very early, the sun not yet upon the mountains. No sooner had the first wave of shrill music tore the men awake, when they heard the next. This was a call to assemble. The usual meeting place would be the tavern hall as it was the only place big enough, and warmed by fireplaces, to hold all the men.

The majority of the men in the fort detested the very notion of rising so early. Fort Frigid was one a number of far northern outposts of the Casassean Empire. The forts stood in small valleys all along the Great Dragonbreath Mountains, which ran east to west and formed the northern border of the Empire.

Their official purpose was to guard the Empire from a northern invasion. Only three things made this idea ridiculous. First, there were no tribes, of any race, to the north, unless one wished to believe the bedtime stories about the infamously unseen ‘snow orcs’. In all the many decades that the forts had been here the men had even hunted out most of the large animal populations as well. Secondly, the forts were manned with only fifty men apiece. If any invasion were planned, and they intended to take on the vast Casassean Empire, these forts would be nothing more than practice stops for the invaders. And lastly, the men who found themselves stationed to these outpost were the poorest of troops.

These forts of the Dragonbreath Mountains were more often used by commanders to get rid of a troublemakers, a lazy soldiers, and any rivals. Even more recently the lesser criminals found their way here, rather than taking up space in a military prison. Those men cursed their luck. For at least in a prison of the southern regions of the Empire they would be warmer and better feed.

It was now late autumn and in these mountains winter always arrived early. The chill was biting colder with each passing day and the wind only added to the men’s misery. Their heavy winter coats barely seem to be doing their job of keeping them warm. The frozen mud, washed with swirling patterns of snow and rutted badly by past traffic, made the trip to the tavern unsteady. With the slow procession from barracks to tavern hall, the rambling movement of the men, wrapped in their coats looked all the more like a herd of stumbling, two-legged buffalo, then troopers of an Empire.

Entering the tavern the heat attacked like a flame from a red dragon. The fireplaces had been stoked and the Captain could be seen already there. As the soldiers of Fort Frigid entered they removed their coats and pushed their way to the back, away from the open door. As the wind assaulted the lanterns and fireplaces, dancing shadows and reddish light gave this early morning gathering an eerie sense of being a roll-call in hell. The men, not quite awake, found little to say and all that was heard was the heavy footsteps of those still entering.

After the door no longer opened, to allow others to enter and all within were seated or standing against the wall, a lieutenant started to called the names on his roster. Most of the men grunted or moaned when their name was called, although several stood and clearly spoke, 'Present.' When this was finished the junior officer sat back in his chair and Captain Emer stood. He had a single sheet of parchment in his hand and a candle to aid him.

After a glace around the room he spoke, although he did not read from the parchment, as many thought he would... thinking it to be special orders from above, "Six days ago I sent ten men on early winter patrol. They were to take four days to Boreal Point and back. This puts them overdue by two days, for those who can not add."

A splattering of sleepy laughter escaped a few of the men, the Captain smiled at his own joke then continued, "I am not really all that worried, as it might have snowed on the other ridge during or shortly after they had arrived there. They, of course, would just hold up in Boreal Point. Yet by regulations I am forced to send a search party to look for them. This rescue party will most likely meet them on their way back... all the better."

As burnt hickory coffee was being passed around the men were coming out of their slumbering mood and someone in the rear bellowed out, "Perhaps they were taken by snow orcs."

The Captain join in with most of the men as coughing laugher passed thru the crowd of men. "I would hope not Jesslio... such a thing would disrupt our little vacation here in the sun."

The men sensing the Captain to be in a good mood, despite the meaning of the news he had just gave them, were more lively with their pleats and bellows of humor. The Captain had to wave his hand to quiet them all, "Yes, yes we all know how much we would enjoy some action here," he said dripping with sarcasm, "But I find that unlikely."

Pulling the page before his eyes the Captain said, "I have a group of 'volunteers' here to make up this search party..."

The room got suddenly quiet. It would not be long before a mention or lack of one's name meant days in the cold or a trip back into bed. The Captain kept them waiting just for the purpose of adding suspense to the affair. Searching the mass of men before him the Captain could see a sea of pleading eyes, begging not to be on the list.

It seemed as if the whole room held their breathe as he began to speak, "Leading the foray will be the honorable Mehreme, Chosen of Nualroc, under her position as Warrant Officer of the post."

Mehreme’s eyes lit up. The sounding of her name from the list was furthest from her mind. She and the Captain did not see eye-to-eye. She knew his career was going no where, although had yet learned why he had been stationed here, he obviously thought he would never get a transfer out. Thus he cared little for military protocol, while she was always on his back to improve the battle-readiness of the men. Mehreme, as a holy chosen priest of the war god, Nualroc, she dreamed of glorious battles and vast ranging wars. But she found herself doing nothing but meaningless paperwork. Captain Emer even kept her from taking her turn on the monthly patrols. She had been here a little over two years and had been on only two short excursions beyond the fort’s walls.

Before her name had been called she had been thinking the day began with a god-sent omen. ‘Early morning trumpet? Had Emer changed his mind about that one?’ Heart and head uplifted at this sign, Mehreme had stepped quickly to the tavern, shaking her head at the shuffling, grumbling horde of soldiers. They'd be better off if they got up this early every morning. The tavern was a hall of red, further gladdening her. Red was one of
Nualroc's colors. First a trumpet, now this transformation of the tavern - battle was in the air. Finally, something was going to happen out here.

She had nodded to herself as the captain spoke. She had been wondering if Emer was going to put forth the effort to look for the late patrol. He was, for once, following regulations. She piously hoped that her ministry at the fort might have had something to do with it. Then he listed the volunteers for the mission. Herself? Commanding
officer? It was a but a daydream come true...

The Captain gave her a glance to see her reaction, Mehreme stood up straighter and nodded briskly. She wasn't foolish; she knew the captain resented her. He didn't intend this as a reward. But she quickly decided that it didn't matter how the opportunity came; it had come and it was hers.
The Captain continued down his list, "Etienne..."
The extremely tall elf, who wore heavy plate mail and was a master horsemen. It was unknown to all why such a fine soldier found himself at Fort Frigid. He talked little and gave even less of his past. Being an elf did not help him any in endearing himself to the others of the outpost if he wanted to in the first place. Elves were only slightly more liked than a band of orcen raiders. But as the tall elf kept to himself the men did what they could to ignore his presence.

"...Piotr..."

A gambler and con man of the first decree. Although honest and forthcoming with whatever endeavor he took on, his desire to obtain anything of value, labeled him the master of thieves among a house of thieves. For although he had never been known to steal outright, his skill at the confidence game gave all the impression he stole much from the men who fell prey to his talents.

"...Bongar..."

One of the few men in the outpost who could still find large game in the area. This large man was unofficially declared the fort’s huntsman. If not for the already large supply of elk and mountain sheep frozen in the store house, many a men would be missing his presence here, if only for a few days. But his desire to take off on long hunting trips kept him from the others, and thus few knew much about the man. The Captain was only to willing to let him go. For not only did he bring in meat to supplement the poor amount of supplies the fort received, but the Captain reported each of his hunts as ‘secondary patrols’. Thus impressing the upper brass, and keeping the number of inspections low. The fewer officers who came to the fort, the more relaxed Emer felt. The more relaxed Emer felt, the less the men needed to do. Thus Bongar was granted kindness even tho he was a foreigner, a Belum of Beljarek.

"...Jirama..."

A barely civilized tribesman from Casassea’s eastern highlands. Although a conquered region, these tribes remain nomadic in nature, and stayed to the foothills of the Lower Dragonbreath mountains. Under the rule of Casassea these once proud tribes no longer can act as their warrior’s blood desires. Jirama, along with many others over time joined the Empire’s military in hopes of great battles. Yet find too late that Casassean troops have no one to war against. Jirama, like many of his kind, grew to become troublesome to his commander and ended up even farther from any possibility of battle.

"...Artemis..."

A sergeant of one of the four patrol units of the fort. Yet due to the laid back running of the men and a complete breakdown of military protocol, Artemis no longer has a set group of men under him. With no designed activities prepared to work the men, this sergeant got involved in practicing with his crossbow, to pass away the hours. Now finds he seems to prefer the concept of attacking from a distance, but not fearing sword to sword combat.
"...and Novak."

The largest man in the fort. Although not in height but in mass. If not for his even temper he would be feared by most of those within the walls. Looking like the son of a blacksmith, this quiet farmer’s boy bucked the stereotype of such individuals by showing signs of intelligence and forethought. Many of the men gave comments that if he ever made officer he could one day rise to challenge the tyVan... the military dictator of Casassea. This being not a wild dream as any man of rank, skill, and with loyal sub-officers could gain the Emperor’s seat by right of The Arena.

With the completion of the list, as one, the vast majority released a heavy, verbal sigh. The Captain placed the parchment into his jacket, blew out his candle, and said, "You listed have one hour to be on the move. May the gods and spirits find you successful... that is all. Dismissed."

The Captain was handed his coat by a lieutenant and while placing it on, headed out into the early morning darkness. The rest of the men gathered up their own coats while at the same time milled about. Most of them being awake now thought to have breakfast. There was talk of who was lucky in not going and who would be fixing the morning meal. Some parted for the door, as a warm bed was the only thing they wanted, others found better seats, closer to the fire, and started talking with friends.

From the throng of men a voice was heard by all, from a man who liked to have himself heard, Calbatur, "I feel the Cap might be wishing the second group returns not either. He has picked the most unwanted from the trash bin of the unwanted."

Those that muttered agreement were not near the chosen seven, hiding themselves from discovery. But the underlining idea that it was; the foreigners, the uppity high class ones, the elf, and the Captain's least favorite...the cleric, who were all chosen. If they were not to return it would cause no sleepless night among those others gathered here. With the new tension rising most found other things to do, that were not to be found in the hall. Soon it was only the chosen seven, having found there way to each other, and a few quiet ones eating or cooking over the fireplaces, that was left.
Piotr toyed with a set of dice. Smiling grimly he looked around at the other six "volunteers". He glanced over at one of the stragglers eating his breakfast at a nearby table. "Don't suppose you'd like to dice for it, your next month's round of guard duty against my honored position on this little hike in the mountains?" He tossed the dice: two ones, a losing roll. Looking to Mehreme, he grinned wryly. He knew there was no way out of this one.

Bongar had listened to Captain's address impassively. When he heard he was among the chosen ones for the search party, Bongar frowned a little and then shrugged, as if he didn't really care. He turned to the nearest of his brothers-in-arms. "I s'pose", said Bongar, struggling a little with the language of the Northern Kingdom, "we 'ave time enough for a bit of br'akfast, ay? I'm all set to go anywayz. What'd you say, ladz? Br'akfast first, eh?"

The large barbarian tribesman, Jirama, was excited. He finally had something to do that could, if luck was with him, would give him a chance to bloody his sword. ‘I do truly pray it be bandits or raiders we go to save the lost patrol from’ thought Jirama. But he knew, as they all did, that such an idea bordered on the absurdity. In the many decades that Fort Frigid and all her sister forts had stood on the high mountains, not a single soul had been seen. Even the huge frost giants of ancient times have moved far to the north out of range of human concern.

"Hey amicis," Jirama spoke to no one in particular. "Don't take it badly. Anything you can do can get you killed. Even nothing..." and like the rest they waited word from their newly appointed leader Mehreme.

The cleric’s mouth had thinned when the rest of the team was named. Not her first
choices, but again, Emer wasn't looking to do her a favor by this. ‘No matter.’ she thought. When the tavern had more or less emptied, she addressed her - her! - troops. "The Captain has said that we leave in an hour," she said briskly. "Breakfast is an excellent idea, as we will be marching the remainder of the day. Muster at the main gates in under an hour."