Aurum

Chapter 1:

She'd slept next to a corpse, not knowingly of course, just mistakenly, accidently, wrongly, - oh well, all she could do now was pray for the man's soul, if she bothered that was. Priscilla was used to death, its pungent smell almost normal to her, the sight of mangled frostbitten cadavers just a blip in the afternoon, at first she'd feared them, the dead, the way they lay - motionless and unnerving, the sight of a body used to frighten her, cause goosebumps to rise on her quivering limbs, cause convulsions to overtake her, but that was then, she was changed now, though she hardly gave it any thought, the idea of change a painful one. Hesitantly, she folded the mans limbs, checking for signs of disease, cholera had overwhelmed the army, dysentery before that, she was just glad it wasn't plague. Satisfied, she dragged his limp frame out into the weak sun of morning, tugging on his rags of clothes as he sunk into the fresh snow, and left him out in the open, taking his weapons and raiding his bag, before closing his eyelids and turning away. Her foray had taken some time it seemed, - when she returned to the camp, plumes of smoke choked her, from large fires that sustained a boiling broth. Taking a bowl - of overflowing lukewarm soup the colour of dried manure -, she plopped down on a frayed mat and ate, looking towards the centre of the camp.

They set up the same for every night, the horses and carts in the centre, surrounded by a circle of tents housing, the highest officials, the general, and the elite guard. Around them, in concentric circles that sprawled, were more tents and temporary huts - for the bulk of the first army -, interspersed with cooking stations and latrines, - finally, outside the camp were dumps, for bodies and waste - they'd left a trail as they moved, polluting the vast plains of perfect snow, a landscape she'd come to hate for its blinding light and frigid cold, its sun bearing down on her yet leaving her shivering in her dense layers. By noon, she was prepared to start off, back on their long march through the Kingdom's outermost reaches, - she was practically itching for the order, - they typically marched for 6 hours a day, nearly every day, mostly in the afternoon to savour its dying warmth, and she was desperate to leave, hoping that they could escape the pungent odours of their waste, and the constant cycle of encamped life. Eventually, she spied the General, Hrafn Cadence, - his career was a successful one, from obscure official to head of the most prestigious army, but no-one denied that his wife had essentially created this path for him -, Sabrina Cadence was only 19 when she'd married him, but the generals wife had ploughed ahead anyway, securing and enriching herself through begrudgingly elevating him. Most of the gossip at the camp portrayed them as enamoured lovers, a couple who had achieved greatness through the fruits of their own labour, but Priscilla simply rolled her eyes at the thought, to her they were the typical pair she'd seen across her childhood, an ambitious, and dynamic woman saddled with the burden of a wealthy man whose patronage would sap her once boundless desire and leave her grateful for the most miniscule of unrestrained comforts.

Her eyes narrowed as Hrafn whispered to his advisors and gathered a small assembly at the entrance to his sprawling tent, but suspicion turned to sinking disappointment, as she realised that there was no chance of them moving now. The booming order to converge at the centre came from a loudspeaker fashioned out of the warped and welded skulls of some unfortunate animals that'd had the audacity to look impressive even in death. Heavily, Priscilla trudged her way to the meeting, her feet dragging and catching on her long cloak that flowed straight into the crushed and stained snow. Officially she was an aristocrat, possessing numerous legal rights above those serving alongside her, that should have left her with some semblance of privilege. Unfortunately, Hrafn had taken it upon himself to tout his own humble upbringing as the source of his achievements, and so he'd curtailed her rights and relegated her to the life of an ordinary peasant soldier. She resented him for that fact, but couldn't ever hold her grudge for long, - the painful glares shot at Hrafn by his wife always clearing her mind and satisfying her revenge. Lost in thought, she nearly crashed into the person stood before her, soon steadying herself, - she'd reached the meeting spot, now it was just a game of how long the officials would drag out the wait.