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Reflections of Conquest Part II
Far to the northwest of Corinthia, past the Great Mountains, and beyond even Dragon's Ridge, the winter had set in with a vengeance. The harvests had been nothing this year, and the food stores were already beginning to deplete. All summer it had felt as though the land itself had been poisoned, and now if froze with a dark ice that seemed to rip at everything. Soon, the seas of the west would be freezing over, and the raids of orcs from the other side would begin for those along the coasts. Anuick Pass was a stronghold, a harbor in the storm for the outlying villages. It would a hard winter for the people of the north crammed into the battlements with little food.
It was in the midst of this misery that the Icewatch noticed the warm fog roll in from the south of the pass, washing over the walls cut into the mountains, and the stones that had stood against the green incursion for generations, covering the entire city in a cloud that felt hotter than even the warmest summer days. It crept in quickly in the night, carrying with it that unnatural warmth, warm enough to melt the snow and ice on the stone paths into small streams that ran the length of the fortress. Thick, it blocked the trained eyes of the watch from seeing more than even a few inches in front of them, wet enough that it doused even the torches that lit the pathways.
* * *
Re'athrut pushed hard against the door, the tendrils of fog pushing back as though they had a mass of their own before fading from the fires in the tavern's hearth. He pulled aways his cloak, and disgarded it atop a pile of similarly shed garments. This fog brought with it a heat that made wearing the furs impossible, but no one would travel without one. If the fog mysteriously left, the cold here could kill quickly. That was one of many lessons he had learned since being sent here as emissary from the south. He did not understand why these northerners refused to leave such a horrid place, and abandon their rediculous customs, but, he was in this forsaken land for a reason, he needed to bring this army under his lord.
For months, he had waited, growing more and more impatient with the Elders that ruled these lands. He had completed their tests easily, yet they still refused to speak with him. He was beginning to suspect that they knew, but he had been careful. He had not used it openly as his predissessor had. Yes, he had kept it secret, and he would not use it here until he could meet with those Elders and bind their wills to his. He sat, another night, at the same table, once again spending the night staring at the girl that worked the room. Her dark skin and big eyes drew him to her, and through his shirt, he idly fingered the strange flat stone medallion he wore about his neck. Yes, once these Elders bent to him, he would have her as well, and the rest of this cursed land be damned.
He forced himself to smile politely when she served his meal, his sunken eyes almost breaking their dark scowl. It was almost painful for him to maintain that forced grin, and the thanks he gave fell spilled from his tongue like bile. Soon, he could drop this pretense, soon. He stirred the strange stew, made from what he thought was mostly fat, with his spoon. There would be no vegetables, there were none, but he had grown used to that. There never were for long where he traveled. That was the cost, he had learned. Small price, he thought, shoveling the goo through his gaping teeth. He swallowed it down, vomit that it was. He forced himself to finish it, then stood, spindly fingers forcing the bowel away from him.
The door slammed open, leaving a tall man with broad shoulders sillohetted in its frame. The newcomer stepped slowly into the common room, the fog from outside stretching in with him as he did, rolling with his pace just enough to obscure his feet. As the light inside poured over him, Re'athrut soaked him in. His eyes drew across the stubble on his face, framing a slight grin, and rose up to the coronet the sat on his head. A simple leather band, holding in place, centered on his brow, a crude golden serpent forming a half circle on a disk of polished silver. He moved with a purposeful gait toward Re'athrut, his too blue eyes that showed more age than his face pulling Re'athrut into them. He sat down at the table, and Re'athrut realized the he had sat back down, as well. This man must be one of the Elders that ruled this place.
The stranger pulled the coronet from his brow and sat it on the table, rubbing at his brow where it had rested, then reached into the large pouch at his side and pulled from it a set of dice, carved from bone and placed them beside it. Grinning, he leaned forward, conspiritorialy, “Re'athrut, you have something that belongs to one of my children, and I want it back.”
“Everything I have was paid for, or given to me willingly.”
“I do not refute that. I came here to win it back. One round of the game called Greed in the south. My position, and all of the power it comes with, against the scale you wear around your neck. I'll even throw first.” With a quick movement the stranger scooped the dice and rolled them across the table. Grinning, he pulled the three ones from the pool and sat them to the side. “I'll stay,” then pushed the dice across the table to Re'athrut.
Re'athrut looked down at those dice, and then across at the strange man, “And what title will I win?”
“I am king of my people, and you will win my position and with it much more... on one throw of the dice.” He pulled from his pouch several gold coins as if to show his wealth, inside Re'athrut could see it was filled with gold and gems enough to buy a kingdom. Something inside him grew suspicious that this man was hiding something, something bigger. He squeezed the medallion below his shirt, it felt as though it was pulsing, eager for him to throw the dice. Without thought, he scooped the dice up and tossed them onto the table. Three five and two ones stared back up at him. Anxiously, he grabbed them and tossed again, three twos and two fives. It was a tie, but he had to win, needed to win. Grabbing the dice again, he throw them out onto the table, watching for an eternity as they clanked into place, two, four, six, three... three....
His breath locked in his chest as the final bone bounced and rolled, spinning slowly to a stop. Six pips stared back at him. “I... lost...” the words passed out of him as though drawn by force. “No.” His hand pulled the medallion from beneath his shirt, holding it aloft, giving off a faint glow. “No, I was mistaken, obviously there are three threes.” He pushed the stone toward the stranger, swinging it before him, “You see that, obviously,” he commanded.
The stranger smiled, reaching out and snatching the medallion with monsterous force. “I told you this belongs to one of my children.” He grabbed the coronet from the table and positioned it back across his brow. With a quick movement, he stood, and scooped the dice from the table into his pouch with the stone, and threw the chain back at Re'athrut. He turned and began to walk toward the door, the fog rolling out with him.
“No, I was cheated!” Re'athrut threw himself at the stranger, skeletal fingers grabbing for the pouch. The stranger caught him in one massive hand, raising him off his feet and holding him to stare into those too blue eyes.
“I suppose, as it wasn't a fair wager, I can give you something in return.” As he spoke, the heat of his breath flushed over Re'athrut, burning at his skin. “You, Re'athrut, I will reward for bearing this curse.” The stranger released his grasp, dropping him back to the floor. “In the morning, wagons will arrive from your lord, filled with the grain this city needs to last the winter, and in exchange, you will be given one last gift. Choose wisely, and know you will never return to the south.” The stranger turned, fading into the fog as the door closed behind him.
The servant girl moved from the door, reaching out and helping Re'athrut to his feet. She smiled at him, warm and inviting. For the first time in years, he smiled back, even his eyes.