Theurgy: Forsaken Oaths (Book Two)

Chapter 11 The Warfront

Edlund knew he was in the Frostlands when he started seeing his breath whisk by him as he flew. That and the blanket of white that decorated the landscape below. If it wasn't for the occasional shrubbery or roaming creature slinking across the frosted terrain, Edlund could have doubted they were making any ground at all. But he knew this was the nature of the frostlands. He had heard that these lands were vaguely fertile lands where farmers may have perhaps made their stay before. No sign of such life exists now. It seemed everywhere the Boreans walked became the chilled-over hell he had seen over the River Mer'dith, and this area just above northeast of Silondras was no different. His clothing kept some of the colds out, but with the wind ripping through him, he felt naked in a blizzard. He was glad that he was, in fact, closing in on his destination.

The central station of the Northern war front was at a small fort called Bastillon. It was once abandoned, as there was no need for such resources to be siphoned to such a remote place. It was only when the Frostlands decided to invade did this place become relevant again and given precedent as the first of many to be resurrected along the border as well. Not only, but it has served as a hub for supplies to reach even further outposts to the east, redistribute knights coming to aid in the effort, and direct any orders coming from the capital to the rest as well. And the man who ordered this all about was one man, who will be waiting for Edlund on this day.

He wondered what war was like. He thought he knew something of what it was at this point. He has lived through war, most certainly. Fought beings that any other man could only imagine in their wildest imaginations. But a part of him knew that this was different. The closest he knew of it was Mer'dith. That was the only time he saw the horror of a conflict between two sides. He didn't understand why it haunted him at first, seeing that frozen river covered in bodies slick with blood. His brother's blade is dripping with the lives of dozens. He came inches within meeting death. The warriors of Talin were lifeless, evil entities that wished only for the infamous, or so it seemed. He did not think twice of any hint of innocence they could perhaps display. But the frostlandians, the story that Lyse told him of a village in hiding, the reasons for this war. There was nothing easy in seeing that. But, they have to push this all to the side because he will have to face it again. And if he hesitates, it will mean his life. And he can't do that, of course.

He didin't know what he thought the Bastillon would happen to look like. He pictured much like the Mer'dith fortress, compact and small in scale yet still built to defend. As the mist dulled, he did not expect to see what appeared to be a small city waiting for him in the hills. The freshly fallen snow-covered a snaking road from the west, lined with caravans, wagons, and carts filled with goods and supplies making it to and fro the city. A smattering of rather large tents huts and other temporary shelter built-in one or two-story arrangements. Lumber was even being prepared for more permanent homes. A tower or two even jutted upwards into the sky, scouts looking down the snowy plains in perches. But even this paled to the might that the Bastillon itself posed. It was easily three times the size of Mer'Dith, and it was practically a castle in and of itself. The main road led directly to the gate, large iron sets hanging open to allow soldiers to travel. Barracks within the walls and the surrounding spoke to a force in the thousands, perhaps ten thousand. And the many blacksmith, tanners, hunters, bakers, and cooks to function this entire area made up the citizenry. Edlund had heard that sometimes installations this big could become full-blown cities by the end of the war. After all, that was how Silondras started, and it seemed Bastilon would be heading in the same trajectory.

"Alright, Old stank eye," Edlund patted the side of his pegasus' head, which immediately tried to bite it off. "Okay, okay, maybe that I not too fitting. Do you have a name?"

The Pegasus sputtered some more to indicate that was not the case. "Well, I'm not overly grand with naming. So how about . . . Myre. Seems fitting?"

The Pegasus seemed to consider this for a few moments., then wagging his head up and down in a very human manner. Edlund smiled. Perhaps he can loosen his grip on his reins finally. "Alright, Myre, let's get down. I don't want ballista being shot at us, you know."