Sergeant Stef Reimos tugged at his red cloak, pulling it closer. He shivered, and wrapped it tightly around his body in an effort to cut out the wind. He was always cold nowadays. The air froze his lungs when he inhaled, and came out in a thick steam. He plunged through the high but mostly trampled snow along with the rest of the company.

His exposed face felt scarred from the harsh dry winds, and wished for a thicker cloak and better boots. He walked mechanically; the long monotonous snowdrifts remained the same for miles, as the snake of soldiers marched through. He watched the back of the soldier walking before him, the blood red hand stitched to that faded cloak claiming his vision.

The only sound was the cracking of snow being trampled beneath and the howling winds. Like most, he had long stopped talking, with each voice drawing more cold air into his already frozen lungs.

Stef Reimos wished for the warm hearth of the Mafel Dadaranell Keep where the company had stayed a few days ago? was it days? Weeks? How long has it been? How much time has passed since the company had left Manetheren? The snow swallowed time as much as heat. All he could remember were long days of cold march, sometimes a warm fire in a town or city, more often sleeping covered in cloak and the issued blanket.

Eldrene’s Company had been sent north to reinforce the main Band, especially with much of the latter’s numbers chiseled down by sword and cold. Like many companies, it was named after a guardian of Manetheren: Queen Eldrene, the beautiful Rose of the Sun. Since the Trolloc Wars had begun, the main body of the Band of Red Hand had taken up residence in northern Aramaelle, where it could do the most damage and the most good, and occasionally revitalized by new bodies like Eldrene’s from the Mountain Home, when their numbers begin to dwindle dangerously.

Reimos took an appraisal of the land, and saw the black Mountains of Dhorom etched the sky around of the company. The company had just entered the vast mountain range named after the famed Sentinel Dhorom, stretching from the Aryth coast of Saldaea east to the Spine of the World.

A faint but clear note from a horn far ahead shattered the silence, its blast drawing Reimos immediately to attention. A second note followed quickly.

“Trouble?? A foot soldier asked. Reimos placed the voice to a young recruit, Cordin Brogan, part of his squad, who had recently joined before the Company had left for the Blasted Lands.

“Something like that. The pickets ran into spawns.? Reimos said.

“If it’s a full host, we’ll going to be boiling in a pot tonight.? A soldier beside him muttered.

“Than we’d better kill them first, eh, Tayren?? Stef drew his sword out from his red-stained leather scabbard and hefted its weight in his arm.

Orders rippled through the line of men, and the soldiers began to split into defensive formation, infantry forming up at the perimeter with archers jostling for position.

“My squad with me!? Reimos shouted over the voices of others and plunged through the snow towards the edge. As he reached the perimeter, he could see the rapidly approaching shapes of the scouts racing towards the safety of the main body. Behind them appeared the hulking and unmistakable figures of Trollocs. Thumping drums of war hammered through the air. And they came.

The squad formed besides Reimos, a small segment of the perimeter lines. The entire infantry line shifted in anticipation.

“Let’s make this a good one! Stay together!? He shouted, adding to the roar of hundreds of voices.

“Stay together!? Tayren echoed, “if you get separated…I’ll kill you after the spawns are done with you!?

Those dark hulking shapes came on, faster than humanly appeared. Their enormous size dwarfed an average human, and their strides carried them ever closer. Reimos grabbed the ring that hung on a thong around his neck, kissed it for luck, and slipped it protectively inside his jerkin. A flight of arrows flew over Reimos? head, to feather the oncoming shadowspawns. Many fell, but more howled and worked themselves into a bloodlust. Another flight of arrows took off. A third.

And than the spawns arrived, smashing into the infantry lines. The sword in Reimos? hands flashed and parried desperately. The Trollocs bore long wicked swords of massive weight and enormous spiked mattocks. Sharp pain streaked up Reimos? arm as his sword barely deflected a massive blow, nearly sending his weapon flying.

The beast that delivered it, bore on, but gave a pained howl when Tayren rushed under his defense and sliced through the flesh of the beast’s leg. Reimos took that opportunity to lunge in and bury his sword through its massive chest. Reimos barely had time to pull the bloodied sword out before the creature collapsed to the ground.

The sergeant gave a quick nod to Tayren and leaped into the carnage again. The heat of battle boiled over, cold steel and burning blood intermingled. Then, there were no more to kill.

Reimos exhaled and took a reading. The Trollocs that attacked had numbered to only a fist or two, a rare gem these days, with most Shadowspawn hosts totaling in the thousands. While the main Band could hold its own against many a shadow host, a company at two hundred some men was barely a nuisance. However this time, the readiness of the Band had made short work of the attacking foes, with minimal lost.

“Victory!? The cry roared. Reimos licked his cracked lips, and kept a wary gaze towards the dense clusters of pines scattered around that could hide many lurking spawns. He stooped and wiped his blade on the snow, the dark blood staining the white crimson. Satisfied that it was mostly clean, he sheathed the sword.

“A taste of battle.? Reimos gave a measuring look at the soldiers in the squad. All of them had survived, more or less. Cordin was wide-eyed, but his sword was stained and spawn blood smeared his face. He was the only raw tyro in Reimos? squad, the rest having seen at least some battle.

“Savor it while you can.? Tayren Suturb grunted in agreement, “it’s going to get a lot harder.? Tayren had already served in some northern patrols, and knew the reality. His tall lanky frame knew battle, and a grim scar stretching his face attested to it. He had a good head on his shoulder, and Reimos knew he could trust him with the squad if he died, though he was not yet looking forward to that.

The groans of the wounded punctuated the air, and Reimos moved forward to help. Grimacing, he kneeled beside a fallen infantry, a pus-filled stump where his arm should have belonged. Its owner groaned softly but the blood loss was beginning to take its toll. Stef tore off strips of the soldier’s red cloak and began to hastily bandage the wound. Dark red blotches immediately blossomed onto the already red fabric. Cordin came beside him, licking his lips nervously, his eyes trying to avoid looking at the wound.

“Help me with this, will ya?? Reimos grunted. Cordin glanced down, looked decidedly sick, and grabbed the moaning soldier by his good arm. With Cordin’s help, Reimos carried the soldier onto an awaiting stretcher. Two red-armed medics carried him off, towards the temporary hospital tent.

“Not too bad for your first time, kid.? Reimos glanced at Cordin. He looked barely over ‘scripting age, but from what he remembered from the battle, wasn’t a coward and could fight decently. Not a grizzled veteran, blood and ashes, but neither was Reimos, but the recruit was getting there

“Thank you sir,? Cordin answered hesitantly.

“The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can meet up with Cathon’s army. Wherever they are.? Reimos remarked and rubbed his stained hands on the snow. The cleansing white soaked up most of the blood, but Reimos could still feel the blood staining his hands dark red like his cloak. Seeing that the wounded were removed, he gave a wave, and he and the squad trudged back. The perimeter of the defense began to collapse into itself and formed back into the long line of cold marching soldiers.

Looking back, Reimos saw the hospital tent going down as well.

“Patched up as fast they could be,? Tayren said, almost reading Reimos? mind, “Right back into the march if they walk. And for those who meet the bone-saw, they get transported around like barley.?

Reimos nodded grimly. The Trolloc Wars had taught many lessons. If you were in hostile territory, mobility equals survival. If they stayed in one spot too long, they’re going to be swarmed by ten times the number minutes later.

“Don’t know whether to feel sorry for them or jealous.? He grunted, “A free ride sounds nice around now. Even if I do have to lose an arm.?

Once more, scouts moved out, disappearing over the snowy mounds Reimos grunted, feeling the cold seeping into his bones again, and tramped on.

פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ

The Storm God stood upon the rise, his gaze sweeping far across the snow-covered plains. The black vermin of spawns dotted the far distance like cancerous growth. He regarded a particularly large cluster of the foul beasts, and raised his hand in a fist.

The heavens wept fire and rain of unyielding stone upon them. That cluster was shattered, dying and dead spawns littering the pure whiteness.

“YES!? Lieutenant General Diest Arcanum bellowed, his voice a deep thunderous boom, one reason for his nickname. He was large man, muscled and cloaked in Band red. He glanced with pride at his assembly of catapults perched on the crest of the hill, spewing burning naphtha and bone-crushing boulders upon the distant spawns. The main body of the Band of Red Hand, nearly two hundred thousand, was arrayed around the massive hill. His fascination with siege weapons was attested to by the fact that his Legion was almost entirely composed of Ballistic Banners.

The fleet of ballistic machines at his disposal was the very best. Arcanum had seen to that. Those light-weight tension catapults were, as some would call it, his obsession. Scaled down from the heavier siege catapults, they could keep up with the ever-moving Band, even through snow. Crafted from the finest sungwood imported from the Ogier Groves by Manetheren city. All the best.

The Storm God pulled his lips back in a sneer, and made his way through the battery. A team of loaders had just finished cutting out a massive block of ice from the side of the hill. With the convenient amount of ice always present in the north, who needed to carry boulders around. Arcanum gazed at the man-sized mounds behind the catapults. Even covered with leather canvas and buried in snow, it worried him greatly. Each one of those buried clay barrels contained either naphtha or witch’s brew. Any stray spark, however rare they are and?

Arcanum shuddered. He had already lost one catapult to one careless mistake dealing with those volatile liquids. He glanced at his hands, both were scarred by fire on the back.

Arcanum shook his head and watched his men again. The ice block was already loaded, and the Observer gave a shout. The boulder of ice arched through the air, diminishing rapidly. Arcanum followed the frozen missile with a practiced eye, and grunted with satisfaction as it slammed into an enemy siege weapon.

“Good eye, soldier.? Arcanum pulled out his watch-glass and set it to his eye. Watch-glasses were indeed rare these days; Arcanum had to pull all his strings as a General to obtain one. He saw the crushed figure of the spawn rock-thrower and gave a snort of derision. Crude was the kindest thing he could say about it. Onagers of bad design always irritated him, no matter which army they were deployed for. The Hordes rarely used any ranged weapons, lacking even basic archers. Onagers were their preferred siege weapon, but most of the times didn’t even work, or killed their own crews.

“Thank you, sir.? The observer answered, his eyes still casting the distance for viable targets, while the loaders heaved on another ice boulder, “Tuning the hoist. Cold weather’s distorting the wood. The accuracy should be correct now.?

Arcanum recognized the wind-scarred observer as a Captain Cydin Blake. Arcanum considered his words, and nodded.

“You have something there.? Arcanum stroked his chin thoughtfully, “the accuracy of the catapults have degraded lately; I will speak to the other cat crews about correcting the windlass.?

“If they had any skill, they should’ve recognized it already,? Blake replied disdainfully, “Five slack…half-range…FIRE!?

The whistle of another projectile leaped toward the enemy lines. Arcanum watched as it slammed into a thick formation of spawns. Captain Blake will go far, Arcanum noted to himself.

Finishing with the inspection, he strode through the snow, past those ominous mounds of barrels, and came to his latest machine ordered from HQ. The Ballista was pulled by three large workhorses up towards the edge of the bluff towards the rest of the cats. The giant wheeled crossbow rolled across the snow, its sinuous bolt gleaming.

“About time.? Arcanum licked his chapped lips.

“Freshly built. Got stuck in a snowdrift.? The Ballista’s observer replied, “Major Drov Borsy.?

“Diest Arcanum.? The two shook with gloved hands.

“The Storm God?? Borsy smirked, “should’ve guessed you would be the one to have it dubbed the Aclare.?

“The Thunderbolt.? Arcanum said, and watched as it reached its destination and was unhitched.

“You have the honor for its maiden shot.? Borsy bowed and grinned.

“Don’t mind if I do.? The two men strolled over to the machine. Some nearby batteries gave it a curious look, but returned to their own cats.

Arcanum studied the long bolt perched in the carriage. A large sturdy oak javelin with a steel-tipped head, it could completely punch through an armored soldier’s plate and body. There were some stories that boasted of Ballista bolts slamming through as much as ten bodies, though Arcanum gave those little credit. But looking at that wicked missile, Arcanum pondered if it truly might be possible.

Arcanum scanned the enemy lines with his glass and saw that the spawn assaults were deteriorating and most of their forces had retreated. But his gaze came upon one last wave, this time lead by a black-cloaked Myrddraal riding in the midst. The Myrddraal stopped his horse barely out of archer range and raised its black sword in the air. The hulking trollocs streamed around it, attempting to slam through the Band’s infantry lines.

“Perfect. three…four slack…full range…Third arc…” The creaking of wood behind Arcanum told him that its crew was moving into action. The Myrddraal still stayed in one place, but suddenly its face turned upwards. If the Halfman had had eyes, Arcanum would have sworn they were focused on him.

“FIRE!? Arcanum boomed. With a roar of tension being unleashed, the huge bolt flashed across the battlefield. His gaze continued to be fixed upon the shadowy rider, who was still motionless, even his black cloak.

The bolt flashed through the view circle of the watch-glass, and punched a hole through a Trolloc beside the Myrddraal. The Myrddraal’s black stallion reered and he rode out of view.

Arcanum cursed vehemently, “The Dark One’s own luck.?

“Not terribly accurate.? Borsy noted, “but it’ll do. It seems better for larger targets, such as ships. We have some designs for water-born ballistas, and they’ll sure to come handy when Trollocs learn to swim.?

A cry came rushing through the ranks interrupted Arcanum’s response.

“Victory!?

“Nui Vonn Ganei!?

“For the Band!?

“The Band of Red Hand!?

Arcanum took a viewing through his glass and saw that the last wave of spawns had been crushed.

“Alright, men! Get some canvas on those engines. Looks like we’ll be camping here.? Arcanum roared, “If they try again, we’ll lick’em again.!?

As his men scrambled to cast covers on their cats to protect them from the cold and damp, the sun began to sink. Arcanum eagerly anticipated a warm fire…far away from the naphtha of course.

פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ

Marshall-Generall Lawe Cathon flexed his fingers, stiffen by cold and age, and gazed at the aftermath of the battle. He felt old, as if a heavy weight had been placed upon his shoulder. Which was technically true. He had been in command of this Grand-Legion of the Band of Red Hand for?15 years (has it been that long?), moving up through the ranks, through a combination of skill and harsh fatalities of previous commanders.

He tugged at the beard at his chin, almost as if he just discovered it existed. He remembered when he used to shave everyday. But, it kept his face warm. And shaving supplies were non-existent, considering that the grand-legion camped thousands of leagues from civilization in the midst of a hostile territory. A half world away from his home. He had not seen his family in twenty years, nor the silent woods where he had explored during his youth…the Sandbars and the giant buried bones that were made of rock…the great Halls of the Citadel and the voices that echo forever in their vaulted arches?

“Sir?? A voice broke through the faint echoes of home. Cathon shook his head sadly. All the things that we fight for. If only I could believe we are winning?

“Yes?? He replied.

“The Butcher’s Bill is in.? Nathen Austern, Lawe’s Adjutant, stood patiently by Cathon’s horse.

Cathon sighed, “what did we pay??

“A hundred and ten infanty casualties. Most of them concentrated in Zephyr Legion, which took the brunt of the spawn assault. Thirty-two cavalry. Ten percent casualty in Noter Raisse’s 133rd.?

Cathon gazed at the battlefield, and mentally replayed the battle in his head, “Less than I had expected. Some would call it extraordinary small, considering what we faced. But we cannot continue to lose this much in every engagement. We cannot 0afford to.?

“It is only the first time we tried the Bashere Gambit. I am sure that next time, we can be more efficient with it.? Austern noted.

“Yes, and we can be even more efficient the third. And than the Spawns learn. They counter it. By the fifth engagement it becomes useless. The longer they drag on the war, the more they win. Even if every one of the Band licks ten spawns, twenty more comes to replace them. Call a staff meeting, Nathen.?

Austern nodded and walked off, his faded cloak trailing behind him.

Cathon sighed again, and ran his fingers through his hair. His once raven hair were streaked with gray now. It is a rare occasion, almost non-existent, for an officer stay alive more than ten years in the Trolloc Wars. The only thing keeping him alive was his luck. Luck was all he had.

Cathon nudged his horse with his knee and began to move towards HQ. His thirtieth horse. The wars in the north had been the most harsh against horses, with hidden trip-holes hidden by snow, and their bulk making for prominent targets. He had stopped bothering to name them.

He nodded to the soldiers that he passed, huddled around campfires in tattered red cloaks. Sometimes he stopped to speak a few words or offered a word of encouragement.

“Sir, when will the next supply convoy arrive?? A soldier asked. He looked to be no older than twenty, but his eyes had the grim set of a veteran who had seen battles.

“Soon.? Cathon promised. Both the soldier and Cathon knew it was a lie. But, the soldier nodded and returned to his fire.

Cathon tried to remember when the last supplies came in. A month ago at the most recent. Supply lines were suffering appallingly. With meager amount of armed escort, they were easy prey to the spawns that ranged throughout Aramaelle. And because the Band kept moving, any supply trains that survived spawn raids had to scour the land before finding them. And, than they had to make the journey back. The bravest of man were not those who carried a banner into battle, but those who rode the caravans through dangerous land, so that others may live to fight, and rode those caravans back into the shadows of obscurity, while generals claim the victory.

Cathon came towards the main tent in HQ, and dismounted. A stable boy took the reigns from his hands.

Lights emanated through the canvas walls, evidence that the generals have already gathered. Cathon adjusted his frayed cloak, and ducked in.

He blinked, and felt the tendrils of heat warming his body. The fire in the middle of the tent crackled and popped, its smoke streaming through the break in the tent ceiling.

Cathon noted the familiar faces circled around the fire, many of whom have been with him through much of his command. Cathon sat down at the space left for him, and lifted his hands towards the fire, the warmth seeping in.

?Bandor Lu’tra e Shen an Calhar.? Lieutenant General Stren al’Vader greeted him.

?Tai’shar Manetheren.? Cathon replied. He met the eyes of every one of the waiting generals. Then his eyes came upon a particular ageless face. Two green eyes met his, a cool and calculating look. She was knitting, but set down her needles.

“A victory today!? Lieutenant General Diest Arcanum proclaimed.

“More victories like this, and we’ll lose the war.? Major General Glene Hill replied. His Zephyr Legion had suffered the worst fatalities.

“Better than a defeat.? Arcanum retorted.

“I agree with Glene.? Cathon cut in, “we are losing. Sure, we’re winning battles. Undefeated so far. But, we’re still losing.

“We lost close to a company today, and we’ll keep losing them. This…war has gone on for two hundred some years. All we have known in life is war. Eldrene’s Company will arrive soon, and will cover the losses this time. But there will be no more reinforcements after Eldrene’s for a very long time. The last able men in the Mountain Home are in that company, and the rest here. Manetheren is bled dry of men. Anyone who is able to carry a blade or staff is fighting. And dying. Our crops have long wilted and our homes lie entombed in dust and cobwebs. The Band of Red Hand will lose. Perhaps not today. Perhaps not tomorrow. But the hardest rock will not withstand two hundred years of storm and flood.?

Grim eyes that met his were without emotion. Major General Jot Diadrem steepled his fingers, and leaned forward, “Than what are we to do.?

“We end it.? Cathon spoke softly, “Gentlemen, we have long seen that tall black visage like a dagger in the sky, in the long years we have been entrenched in the Northern Aramaelle. In a long war, we will lose, and this war has gone long enough, as it is. We must strike the heart of the Darkness.?

“Shayol Ghul.? A soft melodic voice said.

“Shayol Ghul.? Cathon repeated, and met those liquid green eyes.

“You truly believe you can take it?? She coolly remarked and picked up her needles again, resuming her work.

“That’s what I’m going to find out, Airene Sedai.?

Some of the commanders were visibly uneased. Cathon saw Arcanum struggling to think of something to say, something that would not out right affront Cathon.

“When you are outnumbered, and surrounded,? al’Vader stirred the fire, causing it to flicker and dance, “the only option is to attack.?

“I have faith in the Band. I have faith in the commanders. I have faith in the men. And frankly, we don’t have much choice.?

There was a silence, filled with only the crackle of the fire, as the generals silently contemplated it.

“We’ll need supplies.? Seth Notar broke the silence. Cathon gave a nod. The generals had agreed. Deep down inside, Cathon had wished some would disagree. As a sane man, he didn’t want to die, which the assault on Shayol Ghul would most likely render. But, like him, the commanders all knew the truth and what must be done.

“Eldrene’s Company will be bringing in the sufficient supplies. Anything else?? Cathon glanced at Airene Andalusa. The advisor from Tar Valon met his glance, and remained silent and her emotions unreadable.

“To Shayol Ghul we go.? General Hill placed a hand over the dying fire. The hand seemed to glow red with the radiance of the fire. Cathon reached out, and placed his right hand upon Hill’s hand. Four more hands joined, glowing red in the fire’s range.

“For the Band.?

“The Band of Red Hand.?

The fire flickered and died, its embers glowing for a second before fading into blackness.