Rigganmore

Chapter 1

Wind kicked up at the feet of the cloaked form sitting on the hard rock on the mountainside overlooking the emerald valley caught deep in its hues of dark greens and indigo blues. The full moon cast down its silvery rays of reflected light from the dawn soon to come with a chill that the region has yet to see for some years. It was a long night tonight unlike nights past. Invaders had been seen coming in from the pass three days away and still nothing had been said or done to counteract this movement. Softy the figure sighed and blew out warm breath in the chilling night air though soft nostrils. He really didn't want to be here tonight, doing babysitting duty for some green-necked recruits that sought the glory that the guardsmen were rumored to get.

'They didn't know any better,' he thought to himself as the moonlight glimmered off his armor as he shifted silently. If ever there were wealth he had yet to see any of it after years of loyal service to country and king. He looked about himself, admiring the view below him on such a night. The chill in the air didn't seem to bother him; years of training had made him a lean hard soldier. Leaning on his spear a bit more as the soft snoring of the young lads behind him pierced the calm night air he relaxed, mind wandering where it may on stray thoughts. The figures ears laid lazily to the side in a soft drooping motion, chin rested on hard hands meant to hold his sword that now entwined around the cool soft well-worn wood of his spear-blade. His thoughts turned inward at the days in his youth barely a lad of 13 with a glimmer in his eyes at the thought of adventure. His mind then was turned in those years to the though of blood lust. Hacking down the enemy with a deft swing of a sword and a charge down the Hills of Onswer. Softly he smiled and chuckled to himself while the horror skimmed the surface of his emotions. Too many all rolled together in the melancholy feelings of a honed fighter. Those were the good old days of yore when he was ignorant of battle and the ways of war. Now after so many fights and charges, blood-laden fields of gore and death his heart was heavy with the lives of others slew with his hand and blade. 'It didn't have to be like this... Not in a million seasons.'

"Here,take this. You look like you could use a warm draught to keep your attention where it needs to be tonight Nihrain," said the whispering voice behind him. The figure recognized it but even after years of experience made his body come alert and alive with tension.Without looking he reached out a hand and took the old crafted mug big enough for his hoofed fingertips. The smell of sweet spices and late spring fruits assaulted his senses; soft steam whipped away in the fluttering breeze this high above the town in the distance and ocean beyond. He took a large draught savoring the taste of such a fine brew, much finer than the average soldier got on the lines during long sieges. The warm mead coursed through his body waking it up from its cold long stance watching nothing. If anything was going to come down through the valley tonight he needed to stay alert.

"Merry thanks Roman," he spoke back softy in a deep baritone voice so as not to wake the recruits from their deep sleep. His dark near black eyes looked over at his shield-man with a soft friendly remark of compassion and brotherly love. Roman was a good looking older lad soon to be into his young stallion years. His ears were long and straight with a slight inward curving that bespoke of his high breeding. Graced with a long sweeping muzzle with a wide forehead,keen eyes that never seemed to miss the eyes of the mares they now shown dimly in the moonlight. Wearing the armor handed down to him from his sire's sire showed the wear of long lineage of service to the Kings and Queens of this realm. His mane was cut short, unlike many on the front lines that wore them back and out of the way with a crampettes of varying designs. It stuck up much like the hair of their wild southern cousins who wore little to nothing for garments and often bore stripes of white and black or spots like the cats of the planes that were their rivals.

He had known Roman for a year and despite his lineage liked the lad for his whit and his quick thinking under the rigors of war. Here was a truly good lad with a good head, unlike most of the boys behind him who didn't know when not to question orders or even how to make efficient use of tools or other soldiers on the field. 'Spoiled,the lot of them.'He snorted again as his eyes cast about him to the huddling mounds around the dying embers of the fire. They had made it too large last night and Roman had chastised them for it for what little good it would do. Instead some of them had snapped back, throwing names of sires and dams down on the table before all was said and done. Roman being good natured and tempered had come close to loosing it that night, all over the ignorance of lads little younger than him. Nihrain had to step into the thick of things and raise his voice in order to be heard. With the way things that echoed around these mountain faces he hated doing it, but nothing less would work.