The Chronicles of Encompassing Shadows: The Ancient Fear(Book 1)

The Noble I

The ground was hard, snowflakes were lightly falling all around, arranging in almost beautiful intricacies. The dead grass, brown and ugly, was being covered by the slowly forming sheet of forzen crystals. The horizon held the sight of large oaken trees, prbably some pines mixed in, and numerous maples.

A man took a step forward, his boots crunching on the light layer of snow. Shivering, he pulled his fur cloak around him, staring out at the group of soldiers in front of him. He watched the drill sergeants yelling orders at them, formations, and marching positions.

Drayven, the man's name was, watched this all. And he watched it with one expression on his face.

Disappointment.

"They won't be ready by Rainesmere..." He spoke aloud, maroon eyes flashing in annoyance.

"Ah, give them some slack," another young man walked up behind him, "It's only Deresmaine." He wore a dark-gray wolf fur cloak, over a blue and white officer's uniform.

"And at that point," Drayven continued, "They need to be prepared for a campaign!" He shifted, his helmet in the crook of his elbows making it uncomfortable. His dark steel pauldrons clinked as he shifted his shoulders. His charcoal black hair blew softly in the light breeze.

"You're too hard on yourself!" The other man spoke again, "Sure, this is your first military comission, and sure, you're going to be in charge of the whole thing..." At this point, Drayven felt his friend grab his shoulder, and turn him around. "But you've earned this, and you're uncle wouldn't have given this to you if he didn't believe in you."

Drayven was quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. He was right. "Thanks, Rademus." The younger man, 'Rademus', nodded his head in acknowledgement. They both turned back to watch the recruits. The Drill Sergeants now had them facing the practice dummies, and had them shooting their muskets, leading off to the sharp cracks of gunfire.

The recruits all had their guns, loading it with the Grimm powder, taking aim, and firing in volleys. Sure enough, this batch of 2,000 recruits was going along well enough, albeit, as well as can be expected after only two months of training.

Deciding that he had seen enough, Drayven mounted his horse, signaling to his entourage to do the same, and began to head off into the east. The cold air nipped at his face as he rode his destrier. The white clouds of his hot breath blew back into his face. He loved this feeling...

It made him feel free.

Rademus caught up with him, and then asked him a question that seemed to have been on his mind for awhile. "What did your father have to say?"

Drayven took a breath, and blew it out harshly. "What do you think?"

Rademus had a thoughtful look on his face, and then it brightened up. "Drayven Pryde!" He yelled out, voice mockingly pompous, "You are the third of your name, and my sole heir!" He now pointed a finger in the air, and scrunched his face, "What are you thinking, accepting a military commission this young!" Rademus burst out laughing now, and Drayven, having struggled to keep a straight face, joined him.

Afterwards, they managed to calm down. Silence followed them for awhile. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that falls when you are just taking in the beauty of something. The clip-clopping of hooves signaled the rest of the entourage catching up. The group continued on for another couple hundred yards, before loud booms, like cracks of thunder, echoed throughout the air.

"Ah," another man, a few years older than Drayven said, "Right on time."

"Good to hear the artillery is keeping their training up, right Terrion?" Drayven said back, 'Terrion' nodded in agreement, eyes closed as he listened to the shells of his group training. Terrion was the second-eldest son of the Duke of Thiers, Thibault VII Chareven. The Emperor had assigned Terrion to be the leader of Drayven's Artillery Division.