As he rode down the steps, away from the citadel, he heard a voice call out his name. Vhette!

He turned on his horse and saw that it was Irwin, his young squire. He stopped, awaiting the anxious youths multitude of questions. They began to flow as soon as Irwin had stopped. What happened, did he accept the treaty, did he grant you the soldiers- Breath, Vhette commanded. His squire did as asked, and waited, nearly jumping in anticipation. Vhette shook his head, allowing his long hair to sweep free. He glanced back at the citadel, at its iron lions, its grey swirls, its towering dome, and the heavy oak door that was now starting its slow return inside. The four pikemen outside stood at rigid attention. Vhette shook his head in disgust. Well, what was that for? He turned his head sharply. He had forgotten the youth, and his affinity for body language. The slaves are not going to be freed. The freemen of the villages will go hungry, and my new host just rode out with me. Vhette was bitter, and his voice betrayed him. Those fat lords sat there, not having lifted a sword or axe, and they think they are better than me. Ill show those pompous... His squires face had lit up. He had never heard Vhette swear. Vhette smiled, and held his tongue. The crestfallen look given to him was proof of his assumtions. Do you call the men at arms yet? I can do that. Vhette leaned off his horse to tousle the squires brown hair. Yes. Its time. But first let us leave this city of ears. It is too late for that, Lord Vhette. He spun and saw five men on horse in front of him. Their leader wore his blue tidings with the grace of a gentleman, but his sword was trembling as he held it out. The others were all in black, with gold stars on thier hearts. Vhette knew the leader well. The man who held the kings favour, Sir Valdemont. He who was counter of numbers and fierce slayer of debt. The others worried Vhette more. The city guard were slaves trained from birth to do battle. These were called the Cold Ones, as they had no expression, and no will, only obedience. He saw no red on their sleeves which gave him hope. They had not seen war. I arrest you for treasonous talk. You should know better than that, my former lord. Vhette bowed on his horse, slipping Maple out as he came up. The other hesitated at the sight of the famed battleaxe. My appologies, Sir Valdemont. There were no men about when I was here. He nearly exploded. I was not three feet from you, my guard behind me! Your insolence will

damn you yet Vhette Winterbringer! Vhette smiled. It was a smile as cold as the title, as the land he came from. Your slaves are no men, they are puppets. And you... Please, I have said enough treason today. The blue knight shook with rage. He swung down his beaver and charged. Vhette calmly waited, and when they came to strikeing range, swung with Maple. Valdemont tried to block with his shield, and barely managed to. The blow was as powerful as Maple herself, and shattered the wood as it would ice. Valdemont tried to strike, but Vhette calmly swatted the mans sword aside. Fool, he said, and Awakened. This was a power of great respect. Very few had it, and those who did were warriors beyond compare. It was focused through a Hue crystal, so named for it changed its colour to reflect the wearer. Vhette's Hue was set into Maple, and was cold and white. It gave to those warriors the might of a dozen men, imbuing shields, arms, and armour with strength unknown. The Awakening made his armour and weapon glow bright white, and his eyes shone a frigid blue, changed from their usual brown. Maple shrieked with glee as blow after blow pummled the blue knight. Valdemont, deprived of his shield, took three cuts, two to the chest, and another on the leg. His eyes were those of a frightened animal. He continued to look to his guard. Valdemont soon saw his mistake. His slave riders needed a command to join battle. Help me! He wailed, as Maples edge bit his sword in half. The black riders soon joined the fray. Vhette laughed as he turned to them. The first to reach him swung for a sweep at Vhettes stomach. Maple calmly swept away the blade, and riposted through his shield and split the man at his armpits. The second and third attacked in tandem, going for a high-low combination. Maple shattered one sword, and Vhettes shield knocked the other to the side. The fools. Attacks made the Awakened stronger, it was yeilding that defeated them. Maple was made of Hraegar steel, and one of the toughest blades in existance. When Vhette had put the stone in the pommel, she became almost a living thing, using Vhette's arm as the fulcrom while she did the fighting. The man whose sword had snapped spun so his shield was towards Vhette. Maple calmly swept under, sweeping the mail that protected his belly as though she swept through water. He made no cry as he fell from his mount. The other had had to swing round, but his final brother, as they called themselves, had come to range, and sent a blow perilously close to Vhette's unprotected head. Vhette swung Maple, and pushed out with his mind. The sweep hit both guards, but Maple never came close. The slashes on their backs were proof enough of his pushed slash. Sending the blade's power through air was a trick few learned to do, and Vhette was unique

amongst the select few. Even before they hit the ground, Vhette was urging his mount to gallop. He swung down and collected Irwin, who swung up behind him, Vhette's courser heading at full speed to the gates. He sheathed his shield, and held his axe in both hands. As the gates appeared he raised Maple. The men there were only foot, and scattered at the thump and thud of the horse's hooves, and it's bright rider. Vhette pushed with all his might, and swung Maple at the gates chains. With a resounding screech of rusty chain, the heavy wood fell fast, smahing across the moat. On the other side men with white and grey tunics over chainmail were assembled. Their device was three black dogs heads, two side by each at the top, one centered below, set on a white background. A black wall painted in the middle completed the arms. Vhette smiled. He had always liked the colour of his house. Winter, his husky stood at the front of the band, beside him Torlin, the captain of his guards. As Vhette cleared the gates, the others spun towards the encroaching forest. And not a moment too soon. The smell of brimstone filled the air, and the arrows fell around him. There were few, as befit a quick escape. Torlin nudged up to him on his right, and Winter took step at his left. They continued towards the forest, Vhette's men-at-arms covering the rear. He had brought five hundred horse, two hundred of which were archers. He had not thought to need more, even at Kings Gate. His entreaties had not gone well. He had come with Lords Aiwen, and Coralyn, both Northern people. Coralyn had left first, after her arguments had failed to sway King Herald and his advisors. She had been a marvelous talker, and possessed some small Awakening. Her ice blue colours had been sorely missed. Aiwen had been imprisoned, after he supposedly tried to kill the king. Lies! His men-at-arms had broken him out, and escaped with him. Vhette had been the North's last hope. Of the other two, Aiwen was older, and had lost his combat edge some years ago. He had a comely face and was not prone to anger. The flame of his youth had been doused by time, and he was known far and wide as the voice of wisdom. Coralyn was of Vhette's age, and both had trained together. She had his dark hair, and high cheekbones, but was much more graceful than he. He sword was named Swift, and was more a duelists weapon than aught else. Vhette was a warrior. His temper was as cold as ice, and when his face became expressionless, and his responses small, it was time for the other with him to worry. He was the most Awakened, and had led several millitary campaigns for his liege. He had recieved his lordship before Coralyn and had seemed their best chance at the table. But they had tired of Coralyns icy charm, and Aiwens grandfatherly manner. Vhette had served to rub them with sandpaper for his blunt manner. And now he and his entourage fled, to prepare for the war that this heralded. It was time to call the North together, and time for the King to taste their blades of ice.

-----------As Vhette made good his escape, King Aralderan and his counsel debated. The king was a large man. He had only known a life of leisure, and had never seen a days honest work in his life. His counsel was much the same, men born to their positions, with no need to use weapons. "What did he think to do? We cannot release the Cold Ones." Baron Van Trap said. His face relayed little emotion, but the barest hint of shock entered his voice. "They are our only defense. And we will need them in the times to come." Baron Hedald agreed. "The Northmen have always been cold. I would wonder what caused their hearts of ice to melt for these ones?" pondered the Kings closest advisor, Duke Harold Leveskion. Leveskion was a thinner man than most in the room, but that was not much improvement. His face showed more expression than the others, but he was just as horrible. Aralderan looked at his advisors. "Are you advocating war?" "No doubt the Northmen plan to help us in that respect," replied Leveskion. "Very well." The king gave out a long sigh. He did not wish to shed the blood of good men. But his advisors had spoken true. "We shall now wait for their declaration of war. In the meanwhile, ready the Cold Ones for combat, and call together all of the houses you can." The other dukes and barons were lifted up by their porters, Cold Ones but these were different from their warrior brethren. They carried no weapons, although their arms and shoulders were thicker than bricks, to hear some tell of it. The only man in the room, not including Cold Ones, for they were not men, to rise on his own power was Leveskion. He walked beside the Kings litter, as they made their way through the meandering halls of the High Tower. "I do not like this," The King confided to his Hand. "The Northmen may be horrible negotiators, but when it comes to blood and steel, they were star forged." "I don't know, Your Grace. The woman was not half bad." The look in his aides eyes showed the king what half he was thinking of. "We need swords. Many swords. How large a host has the North?" "I am not certain, as we have only a few men within their territory. I would hazard around fifteen thousand foot, with another three thousand horse." Ill tidings indeed. The King watched in silence the tapestried walls, using their soft colours to ease his troubled thoughts. Leveskion did not break through his reverie until they had reached the Royal Chambers. Four Cold Ones stood sentinel.

"Sire, I leave you with one last council. Have at least three good men of your house guard you. I don't trust the Cold Ones as do the others." "Your council is always welcome, Harold, and I will ponder on this. But in the meanwhile, I shall show that I have not heard these Northmen cries. I would now council you to do the same." The oak door slammed shut. His porters brought the King to his bed and laid his litter atop gently. He sat thinking. Of his banner men, only fourteen or so were absolutes, and that amounted to only seven thousand soldiers all told. I must discredit the North, he thought. But how? His mind fought to stay awake, but in a short while, he slept, leaving his questions unanswered. -----------Coralyn was upset. To put it mildly. "Where in the name of Titan is he!" She demanded of the smaller, white haired man beside her. "Patience, Cora. Vhette will be here," replied Aiwen. "Perchance he had a better time of it than us." Coralyn snorted. "As if. You know as well as I do he was a last resort. He should have finished with them by now unless-" "Come, come. It takes more than the men at King's Gate to kill the Winter bringer." "Oh, I know that. I just hope he hasn't pitted his soldiers against the Keep without us. They garrison almost three thousand slaves in there." Aiwen smiled knowingly. "You are not as deceptive as you like to think, my dear. Though your hart may be of ice, I think our master of Winter has thawed it a little." Coralyn turned on him, fire in her eyes. "Be careful of where your tongue wags. You're apt to lose it." Aiwen just smiled. Coralyn stormed away from the front of her camp in disgust. Their two forces were arrayed there, the white rabbit on ice blue demoting Coralyn's fighters, and the double headed arctic fox showing those with Aiwen. Coralyn swept towards the dueling ring, not noticing when Rascal, her ferret, had fallen in step. All Awakened are sent out for three days to the wilderness. At the end of that time, they return with a creature, their Fetch. These creatures help to keep the Awakened mortal, as The Awakened must be responsible for their helper. Coralyn still remembered when she and Vhette had left for their own hunt. Vhette had simply started walking. "Where do you go?" she had asked. "Where I am led," he replied, and had found Winter that night. Rascal was so named, because he had not appeared until the last day. She had been so jealous. She shook her head to banish the past. It almost worked. The guard was on at the gate to the training arena, but one look from the Ice Maid and he quickly skipped aside. She entered to find Harlow, a

fairly new arrival. He was only twenty three, and had silver hair. Awakened he was as well, and thus had been allowed to travel with them. His hawk rested on his shoulder, and his ice blue pendant he kept his Hue in hung at his throat. He stood with his side towards the entrance, a mocking smile on his face. "Welcome, Ice Maid. I am here for your pleasure," he said, accompanying his statement with a tall bow. Coralyn took little like to theater, and simply drew her sword. She disliked the insinuation as well. "Very well." His own blade came out. In the North, each awakened tried to choose a different weapon from any other currently living. This was arrogance, they each wanted their unique weapon to be remembered. In the Isles far to the west, all the Awakened carried a pike. Their status symbol. Many other lands had different styles as well. Harlow's blade was thin and curved, coming to a tapered point at the top. It was a scimitar, and he was so proud of his Tryst, that he had added the weapon to his coat of arms. His action snapped her reverie. They both Awakened, with Coralyn's colour becoming brilliant blue, and Harlow's a dull grey. Neither shone as brightly as Vhette, but Coralyn came closer. Swift and Tryst flew together, causing sparks as the first blow fell. Swift left first. Coralyn was not strong as men, and her agility would win this match, not her power. Tryst attempted to slash her head, but her body bent back at the waist, and the scimitar flew above. Swift, strengthened by the maneuver, riposted sharply, causing a cut to Harlow's left arm. "Damn you!" He cried. He dropped Tryst, and slapped his right palm to the wound. "Why didn't you dull her?" "You didn't ask. When you are apt to be cut, make sure that the rules are known to both." Coralyn slipped Swift away, and turned to leave. The sudden Awakening was all that saved her, as Tryst flew towards her, held by a vengeful Harlow. Swift called her hand, and was quickly up to parry the blow. A swift blunt, so as not to kill the man, and she pushed. Vhette had tried to teach her, but she still had not progressed as far nor as fast as he. That was not to say she wasn't powerful, and Harlow flew across the field, landing with a thud. "Next time, Swift's edge will be as sharp as Maple's. And I advise you to not try the same to Vhette, when he arrives. He's far faster than I am." Then the horns sounded and Harlow was forgotten as she ran to the gate. ------------Vhette felt good. The Kings slaves had not chased him after they had fled the gate, and his host had almost reached the rendez-vous. Torlin drew up alongside him. "It is good to be home, My Lord." "Yes, it is. I almost wish we didn't have to soon turn this beautiful white snow red."

"You think those fat fools will risk a war?" "I think they have no choice. We insulted them, and denied their rule." Torlin smiled. He knew well of his master's favoured form of diplomacy. "Sometimes just yelling at them isn't enough," he had heard Aiwen tell Vhette once. "Maybe when you negotiate," his lord had replied. Winter's head shot sharply to the left, and then up as he let out a short bark. Vhette immediately turned towards the disruption. Torlin took his lead, quickly drawing the long spear all calvary carried. Vhette waved a hand at him. "We don't know what it is yet." The men in the brigade swept face the new sound. It was of many men, running through the snow. Vhette snarled. He wished he had Aiwen here. The old man could distinguish all sounds of feet, and would know the best solution. Vhette would simply have to guess. He spent several seconds deciding, then turned to Torlin, who had not lowered his spear. "Send Valin along the left with three dozen men. Carl is to go east with the same. Others are to turn and face, bowmen behind, so they can cover." As Torlin rode to deliver the messages, Vhette called after," and if any shoot before I tell them to, Maple is thirsty!" ---------"Spears to front!" cried Aeron, almost jumping with excitement. "We're going to be the first to ever win against the Winterbringer!" His men all took up the cheer. The young lord had no Cold Ones here, only devout bannermen. He was the advance team, and had but fifty soldiers. Vhette's forces easily had a ten to one advantage. But Aeron knew. He knew how to position his men so that Vhette's calvary would run onto their shields. He knew how to whittle away the main troop's defenses. He had been marching almost a half a day before they had found the hoof prints. Aeron had immediately had all his men follow them. Their luck had paid off. "Sir, shall we send a runner to the main force? They need to know of the Winterbringer's position." This came from one of the more experienced banner men, a man with the beginning of a salt and pepper beard, named Cragen. Cragen had his pike at his side, and the other three veterans were beside him. "Why should we give them the glory? Men, form up!" Aeron was ready. He didn't notice the swift glance Cragen gave another of the Vets. Aeron brought his men to the edge of the tree cover. He looked out, only to see Vhette's force awaiting. He flinched, but they didn't fire. He saw the axe before the man. Vhette was seated atop his horse, near the outside of the formation. His men were arrayed in standard formation, pikes to the outside, and archers in. Aeron's men began to look uneasily at the horses,

but he quieted them with an award winning grin. They fell again into silence. A man rode up to Vhette, and they exchanged brief words. Vhette nodded, and the formation began to march away, with their backs towards Aeron's men. Aeron seized the opportunity. "For Battle!" he cried as he and his men charged from cover. The horses immediately turned, but they would not be in time. Aeron smiled. It vanished when half his force was taken by arrows. He spun to see a force to each side, each almost as strong as his, firing arrows into his men. He tried to call a retreat, but his men were beyond fighting. The half dozen remainder fled to the woodlands, and only one man remained beside him. Aeron began to turn to him, when an arrow caught the man's throat. Aeron watched in terror as the riders chased down his last few soldiers, slicing them to bits. He awaited the arrow that would pierce him, but it never came. "Foolish, foolish boy." The voice came from the main force. He turned to see Vhette before him. The man had his axe unslung, and his shield on his arm. Aeron drew his sword, and turned to face the man. Vhette continued talking. "Fifty on five hundred? You are an idiot. But, for honour I am required not to have you slain as your men. As you are of noble birth, you and I will duel." Aeron charged Vhette, shrieking. He was still shrieking when his sword struck Vhette's shield, and he continued to scream as Vhette cut him down. ---------"Idiot." Vhette looked at the corpse on the ground. It disgusted him to see such arrogance, and even more so when it had such potential. "Sir!" It was one of the scouts sent to ride down the remainder. He and his four soldiers had several captives in tow. One appeared grizzled, with grey hair kept well in order. The others too appeared slightly older in appearance. The grey haired man looked at the corpse with disgust. "What a fool. His arrogance was always his undoing." His attention returned to the Winter Bringer. "These are those who decided common sense was better than a foolhardy death. I had intended to return with a report of our sightings, but your scouts have well hunted. As I can see no other option, I will bend my knee. I know you may dislike me for my seeming disloyalty, but I am old." His hand swept out to the others with him. "None of us has less than forty years. I myself have forty years twenty eight seasons. My knee has become hard, but with this being my sole remaining choice, it bends." He did indeed seem to have trouble kneeling. Vhette took measure of him. He had liked him on sight. Even with his stiff knee, the man seemed plain spoken, and also of experience. He had also kept every advantage he could. "You are a blunt man, and I shall not curb my tongue neither. I cannot

have nameless men in my ranks. You and your companions must give me your names." "My name is Cragen of Old Tower Keep. It's a village along the west side of Harlow's Valley, near the Wolve's Sea. You ought to know well of that." Vhette chuckled. Indeed he did. His men to the west often used their ships to raid the southern coast. They were called wolves, for many among those who raided had as their fetch a wolf. Vhette himself had accompanied a raid when he was only ten and 20 seasons. "Rise Cragen of Old Tower Keep. You have shown a braveness of heart very few possess. You bent not just your knee but your honour as well. It is not many a man who can do this. I would be proud to have you in my ranks. Cragen rose. He held no smile on his lips, and his eyes were cold. He was a man who had seen too many of those noble youngsters who tried valiantly to win honour, and kill themselves in the process.