Dawn of Winter (Chapter 1)

How he longed for the distant beaches of his home! Six years and no word from the Oestriam. He had long ago given up hope that they remembered his mission. How could they even know of it? The High Prelate sent him north in secret. The old man had died within weeks of his departure. Surely he had told no one. Aachem’s usefulness in the north had come to an end three years ago, yet he had not been recalled. He had lived among the Northmen for the entire time, all the while hoping for some word- some sign that his Church had not forgotten. Yet no sign had come.

Word now from the south was of growing tension between the different sects of Oes. There was sure to be tension when two such powerful organizations as the Istrim and the Oestriam competed for the same prize. And rumors said that the new Prelate of the Oestriam, a man Aachem had never met, was ill. Only two years since his Ascendance, and he was dying, or so the gossip claimed.

Aachem rarely put stock in rumors. By the time such news traveled so far north as to reach his ears in northern Iradar, it was usually twisted, exaggerated, or entirely fabricated. But something about the man who told him this news made him think otherwise. The man had arrived at the town gates of Highbridge in the dead of night. He sounded a long, low note on his horn to signify that he came in peace, and was admitted. There was but one inn at Highbridge, and unless a traveler was a guest of the Thane, it was the only place in the town to pass a night.

Aachem had spent many a night in that inn, as he made this annual journey from Rovane to Greywater Deep and back. The locals claimed it may once have had a name painted on its weather-worn sign that hung above the door, but any writing or pictures on it had long since worn away in the rain and wind. They simply referred to it as "The Inn," or for those from elsewhere; "The Highbridge Inn."

The traveler had been given a bed not ten feet from Aachem’s own cot in the dormitory above the common room. There were few other travelers there that night, and the others awoke when he stumbled over some object in the dark.

Aachem had wakened to see this man, dark hair, tanned skin, with dark, round eyes, as he gathered his belongings up from the floor where they had fallen when he had tripped on what he had discovered were someone else’s clothes that lay piled at the foot of his bed. There could be no doubt that this man was a southerner- from far south, possibly even the southern shores. It had been quite some time since Aachem had seen a southerner- a true southerner. In this Oes-forsaken northern province of Iradar, southerner meant anyone not of Northman blood- an Aridisian.

These people had such a narrow view of their world. They understood nothing that was not in front of their eyes. How their ancestors would be ashamed! These descendants of the great Northman explorers and colonists from far away Dÿnmar! Those great adventurers of the past sailed far over the North Sea in search of plunder, timber, and riches! They understood that their small corner was but a part of the greater world. But not these Northmen.

The traveler’s troubles had awoken all the men in the main bedchamber of the Inn, and after a few moments of general confusion and alarm, most went back to sleep. A few, like Aachem, filtered down to the common room to hear any news he might tell.

The common room had been dark at first; the fire had burned low hours ago. But a few pieces of kindling on the smoldering cinders had brought a happy little fire to light a corner of the room.