Forged in Frost

The Guild of Warriors

Night lays heavily upon Tarreth. A cool breeze whistles through the quiet streets, not disturbing the flames glowing in glass-covered lamps, set at perfectly measured intervals along the roads. In the dark alley behind the Guild of Warriors, Caius crouches, waiting for the sound of the women inside the door to finish cleaning the kitchen. The narrow rim of light under the door at last goes out. He waits only a moment longer before quietly pushing inside.

The Guild kitchens were a favourite place of his for the twelve years he spent in the Guild. Always teeming with the most delicious scents—baked meat pies and stews, fresh bread, spiced rum. The nights in the Guild Ale Hall were some of the best of his life, laughing with Silas and his other friends until the night was deeply upon them. Ale and rum flowing freely, belly full of good cooking, exhilarated from a successful mission, Caius nearly forgot the horrors of his two years as a bandit.

The kitchens are deserted tonight, under the cover of darkness. Caius makes his way across the long room by the dim glow of the coals in the hearth. Past the storage rooms, toward the large archway leading to the Ale Hall. There, orange light suffuses the darkness, and feverish voices carry through the air.

"It's what I been sayin' from the start," one man says. "Trouble in the holds will make trouble for Tarreth. And the soldiers, they'll be the ones to suffer. It's only a matter of time before we're all swept away."

Several voices talk at once, many agreeing, some arguing.

"It's Meeves... He's too interested in fattening up."

"You seen the feast they had last week?" one man groans. "Fifty roast pigs for thirty-six guests."

Caius recognizes some of the voices as men he served with years ago, good men. All-in-all, it seems a good time to enter. Caius straightens up and steps into the beam of light.

Heads turn as he appears.

"Pevrel," says an old man, rising from a bench at one of the long tables. "Gods above, is that you?"

"Eddie," he greets as he walks over to grasp his hand.

"How are you? What in Hades are you doing here?" Eddie asks him.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Of course, of course! Ken, move over."

Men on the bench shift to make room at the end for Caius. Eddie slides him a clean tankard and starts to pour ale. Of all the old friends to run into, Eddie was perhaps the best suited to his cause.

"Thanks, Ed." Caius drinks deeply from his tankard. "Ah, the strong stuff. Must be a heavy conversation you all are having."

"War." Eddie turns to address the group at large. "Caius would know this best. Lyle appointed him as Training Commander of Lockmire."

Murmurs ripple through the group, almost reverent, as if they are now seeing one who returned from the dead.

"What was it like, the battle?" the man across the table asks him. "When they took Lockmire."

Caius shakes his head. "Unlike any battle I've ever seen. They had tried to distract us with enemies around Ralik, but thankfully, we were prepared for that. But when we got back to Lockmire, they were at the gates. Bandits everywhere, Esterden everywhere."

"How can Tarreth stand idly by while Esterden employs bandits to fight for them?" one man says indignantly. Others agree, but still try to keep their voices low, as if the men sleeping down the hallway mustn't hear.

"Their numbers overwhelmed us. Before long, they were flooding the gates. Battering rams, everything. A small team went in to make sure the count and countess were safe, but we had been betrayed by one of our own. They were captured."