Soldiers of Winter

by Stephen L. Nowland

  “Of course,” Aiden answered, his expression darkening for a moment. “I know everyone thinks it was all in my head, but if you'd seen what I'd seen...”

  “Right,” Pacian muttered. “You know, we've been friends for nearly ten years, but nothing’s been the same since you fell into that bloody cave.”

  “I didn't ask for this,” Aiden answered in exasperation. “But I can't let it go, I just can't. I saw something in there that I can't explain, and nobody else believes me, so here I am, figuring it out for myself.” A long silence fell as they considered the implications of this information, broken only when Pacian grew too uncomfortable.

  “Have an apple,” he said, tossing a piece of fruit to his friend who caught it in one hand.

  “I wish our family had enough money to send me to the University of the Arcane in the capital,” Aiden continued, polishing the apple on the front of his tunic. “I probably would have figured all of this out by now.”

  “Bah, you're better off here,” Pacian retorted. “If you're smart enough to figure out how to read this stuff, you can do anything.”

  “Thanks mate, I appreciate it,” Aiden replied gratefully before taking a bite of his apple.

  “What's with your dad?” Pacian asked a moment later, to which Aiden rolled his eyes and gestured his apple-holding hand at the books around him.

  “Another discussion on the merits of craftsmanship over scholarly pursuits,” he answered. “I'm sort of the black sheep of the family, the only one without any sort of skill with tools. Building and fixing wagons and wains just isn't my area of expertise.”

  “He probably just wants some help now and then is all,” Pacian suggested.

  “I help out in the workshop when I can, but I've no talent for it,” Aiden grumbled. “It doesn't help that today would have been Brogan's twenty third birthday,” he added sadly.

  “Oh right, your oldest brother,” Pacian sighed. “I'm sorry mate, you're having a worse day than I am.”

  “It happens twice a year — once for Brogan, once for Kieran,” Aiden continued sadly. “It was bad enough with them leaving home to become caravan guards, but to lose them to bloody highwaymen before they'd even been working for a year? Dad's never really recovered from it. It's heartbreaking being out there in the shop. It used to be full of noise when all three of them were working, but now it's just him. I can't replace my brothers, and he gets frustrated when I can't figure out what he wants from me. It's better to just stay away, you know?”

  “You know I know,” Pacian answered with a half-grin. “Why do you think I hang around here half the time?”

  “For my Mum's cooking,” Aiden suggested.

  “Well, that too,” Pacian conceded, getting back on his feet. “This place is too cramped and it smells like you're living inside one of these books. Come one, let's get some fresh air.”

  2

  Aiden

  Although the sky had been clear and blue in the morning, clouds were rapidly moving in as the wind picked up, adding an extra chill to the air. Pacian and his friend left the house with the intention of heading up the main street, but this took them past the workshop where Aiden's father was busily repairing a wagon.

  Seeing him there, working alone, was enough to make Aiden pause and watch, his expression somber and reflective as Mister Wainwright attempted to lift a large wooden wheel back onto the axle of a wagon held aloft by chains descending from the ceiling. Pacian stifled a groan as he realized Aiden was probably going to attempt to patch things up between them

  “Leave him be,” he quietly counseled, which Aiden promptly ignored as he sauntered awkwardly into the workshop.

  “Let me give you a hand,” he offered, moving to grasp one side of the wheel to help guide it onto the end of the axle. His father accepted the assistance without comment, and together they managed to fit the wheel into its proper place. “I may be terrible with a hammer, but I can always just help you lift things,” Aiden said as he dusted dirt from his hands.

  “Are you sure you can spare time from your busy schedule?” Mister Wainwright asked while fitting an iron pin to hold the wheel in place. His eyes never left his work and his voice was overly-calm, which wasn't uncommon for the stoic man, yet there seemed to be an edge to it now.

  “I don't want to get into another argument,” Aiden sighed, evidently seeing their previous “discussion” about to pick up where it left off. To Pacian's surprise, Mister Wainwright actually stopped working and turned to look at Aiden directly. It was surprising because their relationship had been rocky for years.

  “Look, son, you earn your keep around here,” he began, “and while I'd appreciate the help, I can get by without you. It's not about that — it's this obsession you have with those damn books. Don't get me wrong, education is important and I'm glad you've got a sharp mind, but you've got to know where to draw the line.”

  “When I get the answers I'm looking for,” Aiden responded with a measured voice, “I'm happy to get rid of them and become a full-time apprentice with you. But until then, I have to know what happened to me.”

  “You've made that clear,” Mister Wainwright conceded. “My real concern is what you're reading. All that stuff about magic, I just don't trust it. They have proper places for that sort of thing in the city, and yes, I know you'd love to go but we just can't swing it at the moment. I'm worried you're going to stumble across something you shouldn't, something that consumes you more than this already has.”

  “It's not magic, it's the history of magic,” Aiden explained. “There's nothing in those books that's going to explode or change me into a frog. We couldn't even afford those sorts of books, Dad, as much as I'd love to read them.” Mister Wainwright appeared unconvinced.

  “As I said, you've a sharp mind Aiden,” he said after a moment's consideration. “You're going to have to figure out for yourself if you've gone too far with it.”

  “I know,” Aiden answered somberly, leading to a prolonged silence between them. “Do you need me to stay and help out?” he eventually asked as his father went back to work.

  “I think I've got this under control for now,” Mister Wainwright replied, “but Mister Freeman's wain needs some work and I could use an extra pair of hands. Don't worry, I won't make you pick up a hammer.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Aiden said, then turned and walked out of the workshop.

  “Good morning, Pace,” Mister Wainwright said with a slight nod when he noticed Pacian had watched the entire conversation. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Always, sir,” Pacian replied, ignoring the raised eyebrow Aiden's father directed at him.

  “Well, that seemed to go okay,” Pacian remarked as the two boys walked up the street, passing locals going about their daily affairs. “I even thought you might hug, or something.”

  “That'd be a first,” Aiden scoffed. “Yeah, that was promising, but we've had chats like that before and still ended up shouting at each other the next day. Maybe this time will be different, but he is who he is, and I'm not giving up searching for answers. Mum and Dad will never really understand. Every time I try and tell them what I saw in the cave that day, they just dismiss it as making up an excuse for why we were out in the forest when we shouldn't have been. That was your fault, in case you'd forgotten.”

  “How was I supposed to know the place is full of holes?” Pacian protested.

  “Practically everyone warned us several times a year not to go into the Cairnwood,” Aiden reminded him.

  “I don't recall anything of the sort,” Pacian answered with a shrug. Aiden gave him a level stare for what seemed like a very long time until he finally confessed. “Fine, I didn't care, and the forest looked interesting, okay?” Deep down, he felt guilty about the whole thing, but saying sorry over and over wasn't going to fix it.

  “And don't you forget it,” Aiden said. Further discussion was interrupted as three local girls passed by in a group, smiling and giggling to each other as Pacian gave them a bro
ad smile. Unfortunately, Aiden didn't share his enthusiasm.

  “What, you don't like it when girls smile at you?” Pacian asked.

  “You're probably too full of yourself to notice, but they were looking at you the whole time,” Aiden grumbled. “I'm practically invisible around here.”

  “Huh, I suppose they were entirely focused on me,” Pacian conceded. “Maybe you'd have better luck if I wasn't walking next to you.”

  “I suspect my reputation precedes me,” Aiden suggested dourly.

  “Ah, well you might be on to something there. You're so serious these days, mate — no wonder the girls aren't interested. They're just looking to have some fun, you know?”

  “Then how come you've dated half the girls in town and none of them want anything to do with you afterward?” Aiden asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Well, I have to spread the fun around,” Pacian answered without a hint of shame. “Some of them don't agree with that philosophy.” He was about to give Aiden a crash course in the art of women when they crested a rise and saw that just ahead, on the main road, a merchant wagon was set up with its owner plying his wares.

  “Oh, it's Mister Holbrook,” Aiden said as he suddenly hurried ahead.

  “Who?” Pacian protested as he moved to catch up.

  “He's the merchant who brings in books about magic and history for me,” Aiden explained. “I'm hoping he's got a few more today.”

  “And the mystery of your trouble with women is solved,” Pacian remarked, though Aiden seemed to ignore him. There were four wagons set up outside the Sleeping Bear Inn, the town's only place for visitors to find a room for the night. Two of those wagons were surrounded by local workers helping to offload goods such as sacks of flour, bolts of cloth and other assorted goods the town needed.

  One of Holbrook's wagons was different to the others, with a large hatch on one side opened up into a small shop front from which the man hawked his wide selection of wares. Pots, pans, bottles of wine and books were evidently his stock in trade, and he was doing brisk business with the locals looking to buy supplies for the coming winter. Several caravan guards dressed in a mixture of chain and leather armor stood watch over the crowd, and their hands rarely strayed far from the clubs and knives on their belts.

  Pacian and his friend had to wait a few minutes before they could get through to the front, which is when Holbrook noticed Aiden trying to get his attention. The merchant was a tall man with short dark hair turning gray around the edges, the hint of a gray beard on his dark skin and old clothes that must have been expensive when new, but had faded in color with age.

  “Master Wainwright, it's good to see you again,” he said, breaking out in a large smile.

  “Likewise, Mister Holbrook,” Aiden answered with a similar smile. “How are the roads these days?”

  “Smoother in the south where I spend most of the year, but much rougher here in the north. It's all the rain you get around these parts, turns the passage into a quagmire after a heavy fall. But you haven't come to see me to talk about the weather, have you?”

  “I'm after whatever you've found on relics,” Aiden confirmed.

  “As always,” Holbrook answered with a grin that quickly faded as he took a weighty wooden box from inside the wagon and handed it to the previous customer. “Unfortunately, I'm afraid I've let you down this time Master Wainwright. Books of that nature are scarce, and my good fortune over the past few years has evidently run dry.”

  “So, no leads or clues as to where I could buy more?” Aiden asked, his disappointment obvious.

  “They're not the sort of thing you find in any common store, sir,” the merchant explained. “Wizards and sages tend to hold on to knowledge, and the books I've sold you in the past came from people looking to offload old works inherited when a relative has passed away. If you're keen to read more — and I can tell for your expression you are — then I suggest you search the shire for someone who has such books in their library, and is willing to part with them.”

  “Well, that sounds like the end of the road to me,” Pacian chimed in, attempting to nudge Aiden into giving up on the whole thing. “You've had a good run though, mate. Maybe it's time to move—”

  “I'll ask around and see what I can turn up,” Aiden said, ignoring Pacian completely.

  “You know, I have plenty of other items here that might pique your interest,” Holbrook suggested, but Aiden appeared to have other ideas.

  “I'm after something very specific, Mister Holbrook,” he replied. “Thanks for all you've managed to find over the years, sir, but I'll take it from here.”

  “Well, best of luck to you then, Master Wainwright,” the merchant responded, turning to deal with other more promising customers. Aiden gestured for Pacian to follow him to the inn, and after making their way through the crowd, they entered the front door to the Sleeping Bear and headed for the common room. It was crowded with a mixture of locals and merchants, and a few caravan guards who were off duty for the moment.

  “You're persistent, I'll give you that,” Pacian said to Aiden in a voice loud enough to be heard in the clamor within the room.

  “There's got to be an explanation of what I saw in one of these damn books,” Aiden answered. “It might be time to consider a little expedition through the shire.”

  “To where?” Pacian asked with a shrug. “Are you just going to wander around and hope a wizard pops out of thin air right in front of you with a pile of old books?”

  “As Mister Holbrook suggested, I'll ask around,” Aiden replied, gesturing to the room half-full of travelers.

  “And I'll get us something to eat,” Pacian added, lacking any real enthusiasm for Aiden's personal quest. He sauntered up to the counter where food was being served and bought a couple of slices of honeyed toast, using four of the six copper jacks had had left in his coin pouch. This was far more troubling to him than anything Aiden was going on about, and after he handed over one of the pieces of toast to his friend, Pacian sat at a table and gazed at his two remaining coins, pondering when he'd find another opportunity for making money.

  After about ten minutes Pacian, growing more restless by the minute, glanced around to see what Aiden was up to and saw him heading to join him at the table. Curiously, Pacian also noticed a few caravan guards sitting nearby, talking in increasingly louder voices as the pitcher of ale before them headed towards empty. One of the guards was a short fellow with a robust frame, who picked up the almost-empty pitcher and waved to one of his comrades at the counter.

  “Beddoe! Get us some more of this, would you?” he called to a tall, heavy-set man with a scarred face and somber expression.

  “You know it's still before noon, right Creese?” Beddoe called back. “If Holbrook finds out you're drunk off your arse at this time of the day, you'll be looking for new employment.”

  “Fine, fine,” Creese grumbled as Beddoe lumbered back over to join them at the table. “I don't always have a tipple first thing, you know, but I hear talk that the king's army is looking for more recruits and I figure I'd best enjoy meself before we gets conscripted.”

  “Army? What army?” Beddoe asked, suddenly alert. Pacian's ears pricked up as well, and leaned forward on his table to hear better while Aiden sat across from him, also listening in.

  “You didn't hear? Some of these fine gentlemen came south along the highway from Culdeny and spoke of thousands of armed men marching north, along with cavalry and wagons as far as the eye could see. Thousands marching off to war, if me guess is right.”

  “We're at war?” Beddoe asked in surprise. “When did this happen?”

  “Aye we're at war, ya daft bugger,” Creese explained, “with our good friends to the west, the bloody Kingdom of Tulsone.”

  “What idiot starts a war on the cusp of winter?” Beddoe asked nobody in particular. Pacian noticed that Aiden was paying particular attention to Creese, and the expression on his friend's face seemed suspicious.

  “I've
heard a bunch o' reasons why,” Creese answered, so far oblivious to the scrutiny, “but if you ask me mate, I reckon it's something about old slights needin' to be settled. The mountains in the northwest are right on the border between us and them, and they've been contested territory for more than a hundred years. Too many riches in there to just let 'em go.”

  “It's always a hot spot,” another guard mentioned as he passed by. “There's good money guarding prospectors and miners if you don't mind the risk.”

  “Maybe King Seamus just figured we're bigger than they are, so why not just take 'em?” Creese added, finally noticing that Aiden was glaring at him. “Hey, what are you starin' at?” he growled. Aiden just shook his head and looked away, but Creese wasn't giving up. “Oy, I'm talkin' to you! You got a problem with me?”

  “Nope,” Aiden mumbled, suddenly the center of attention to the whole room. Beddoe stared at the two boys and joined the conversation.

  “Looks to me like we've got a couple of likely conscripts right here, mate,” he said. “Maybe we should drag you along to the garrison and get you right into it!”

  “I don't know about these two,” Creese grunted, “Theys look a bit scrawny to me. Might tarnish the reputation of our fine military if they show up lookin' like that. Here, let me help you out.” Without further warning, Creese suddenly tossed the contents of his mug at Aiden, who gasped in surprise as he was splashed with ale.

  All of the caravan guards and a few of the locals burst out in laughter, including Pacian, whose amusement was cut short when he too was on the receiving end of a mug of ale. He glared balefully back at the crowd of half-wits and fought his instincts to get into a brawl over the humiliation. He took in the number of guards and their assortment of weapons — knives, clubs, and more than one sword — and knew he couldn't handle them alone.

  Judging by the laughter from the locals, he couldn't count on anyone except Aiden to assist, and didn't feel like being beaten up today. Besides, he made a sort-of promise to Mister Wainwright to stay out of trouble.