Kingdoms of Caelum; Autumn of the War Queen

Prologue

Wafts of hot breath came quickly on icy, thin air. The horse was beginning to struggle on the mountain pass, and its rider, Ragan, was in a black mood, he had already beaten the animal to the point of exhaustion and now as he yanked with more force than was necessary on the reigns, the creature buckled under his weight and collapsed. Ragan was thrown, cursing, into deep snow. He stood in a temper, brushing off the whiteness that now marked his crow-feathered cloak. "Damn stupid creature," his hissed, voice echoing off the mountainside. He shuddered, realising he could no longer feel his fingers under the black leather, wishing he had worn the clumsy mail he had been given; an extra layer would be welcome, it was so damn cold. There was only one thing he could do now, and that was to reach the peak of the mountain by foot. He took a final look at the horse that lay crumpled upon the ice and sneered, kicking snow in its face before departing.

"Curse the Kingdom of Fortis." he said aloud, looking at the sky. The sun was low, ready for the eve, but it was hidden so well behind thick, grey cloud it needn't have bothered making an appearance at all. It was always grey in the Vale of Pelyn. Icy, desolate, silent. Ragan hated it.

The rest of the journey to the top was hard. It was a wretched place with only the frozen mist and bitter wind for company and Ragan was not a man cut out for physical obstacles. His legs burned with every step that plunged his boots into knee high snow; his lungs ached, longing for him to stop. He became almost delirious with exhaustion, and for an age he walked and walked, but eventually his efforts paid off. Ragan reached his destination: the mountain top. It began to level off, to form clusters of large snow-capped rocks at each side of the pathway, with intricate patterns engraved on them. He managed a little further, catching his breath until it was there, a giant silhouette high above him, carving its way through the whiteness, and making the grey sky black with its mass.

"Fortis." he spat, curling his lip.

Floating in mid air, the island looked as cold and as unwelcoming as the Dark Elves that inhabited it. Ragan guided himself to the bridge ahead; the freezing wind that had scorched his cheeks no longer bothered him as he took his first steps onto the bridge. It was strong, made from Caelum steel. Meeting the Kingdom half way up through the clouds, it sat silently, anchored from the rocks, miles above the icy nothingness. For a moment he doubted himself as he clung to the sides, looking down at the drop with a shiver of uncertainty, but only for a moment. He closed his black eyes briefly, and inhaled.

"Today it will begin," he told himself. "It will begin."