Dusk and Ash (In Progress)

Chapter 1

The scarred brand in the shape of two swords over a shield on Durmhain's left hand was itching. He briefly wondered if it were simply because of the crisp, cold weather of the Northern Reaches, where he camped with the rest of the Broxian Seventh Company. But Durmhain felt it was better not to ignore any sign from his god, Akreus. Though he was not even an Ur'ken, the first of the Four Realizations, and therefore could not even invoke Akreus' First Blessing, he knew the gods spoke in whispers just as often as rolling thunder.

At the base of the massive pine tree he sat against, the pale light reflected by the snow around him traced the outline of the branches above him. His breath undulated before him like a wave, curling in on itself before the cold took it. Beyond the tree's canopy, soldiers under his command waited by the campfires which were positioned in the open so as to not make snow on the trees melt and fall. The air was filled with the scent of cold smoke mingling with the decaying bed of tree needles that carpeted the forest floor beneath the snow. Usually, Durmhain would find some comfort in the rich familiarity of those scents and in the flow of his breath, as Captain Virrin had taught him. But today, trying to find solace in them only put him more on edge.

Approaching from the campfires, Virrin weaved her way through the crowd of soldiers, who regarded Durmhain with expressions ranging from concern to impatience. Virrin's angular face was tinged with red from the cold, her bronze Gulbathi skin a stark contrast to the surrounding snow. Her breath unfolded as a thick current of fog that trailed behind her, framing her short graying black hair, single remaining brown eye, and eyepatch surrounded by scars over her left eye.

"A mark for your thoughts?" she asked once she stood before Durmhain, her face now a silhouette beneath the tree's shadow to match her black-stained leather armor.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Durmhain replied, rubbing the back of his left hand with his right.

Virrin smiled wanly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised you are tired of fighting, given how badly you want the war to end."

"I'll fight this war until the end, hopefully with Nithia nothing more than ashes on the wind. We have proof they are trying to mount an offensive front here and are ignoring the conditions of the armistice. We should just attack them directly and be done with it insteading of acting like a bunch of cutthroats, robbing every merchant who passes by before scurrying off back into the forest."

"Those are our orders," Virrin replied. "Besides, we certainly look the part."

"No. We don't. We don't scurry like thieves or lurk like footpads. We're soldiers. We should be fighting other soldiers out in the open. This is dishonorable."

Virrin sighed and squatted on her heels to be level with Durmhain's eyes. "What could be more honorable than helping to end a war?"

"Attacking caravans isn't going to prevent the war from continuing. It will stall it at best while sending merchants to them empty-handed to be slaughtered. Abyss take us... if they discover the Elmiari are orchestrating this, the armistice will be shattered immediately and the fighting will erupt again anyway."

"It will be shattered to the Nithian's advantage if we do nothing."

Durmhain heard the crunching of snow beneath heavy sabatons and turned to see Qulkest, the Elmiari general leading their sabotage missions. Heavy plate armor was hidden beneath Qulkest's ragged brown coat which also concealed all but a glimmer of his commander's blade at his hip.

"Is everything ready?" he asked, his voice as coarse as the stubble and shorn hair framing his tanned and strongly featured face. "The caravan is due any moment."

"Nearly so," Virrin replied, rising to her feet, her posture impeccable with her hands folded behind her back. "I am ensuring my soldiers are prepared to be fully present."