Late into the night, the snow fell and fell. It had been falling for days and Tom Warthall was utterly weary of it. He cursed the winds, who carried the icy sleet onward, and pulled his riding cloak tighter around him. Tall and straight on his black horse, Tom cut an imperious figure, a proud soldier for the king. A wide-brimmed hat adorned his head; the swirling black cape of his cloak billowed behind him like tufts of villainous cloud. His face was covered in a fine layer of hair, lending a rather rugged appearance to his refined features.
The company had halted on the ridge in the forest clearing. The trees shot into the air as silent spears, hacked and splayed by war, now at eternal rest. The dark air curled around the campfire as a group of three or four soldiers huddled around the fire for warmth. There were twelve in all; hand-picked by Tom himself for their courage and devotion.
He coughed idly and his horse shifted. 'Easy, girl,' he uttered instinctively. His eyes never once left the road stretching into the black reaches of the forest.
'Colonel Warthall,' a soldier heralded. 'Lieutenant Ruthridge has returned.'
Tom nodded. 'Very good; I'll see his report in the morning.'
'Right, sir.'
Tom heard a man sniffle; the three days and nights in the cold had touched them all, to some degree, and perhaps Tom himself more than the others. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the overwhelming calm that rolled over him. The black horse stirred.
Suddenly, a piercing cry broke the cold air. Opening his eyes and ignoring the stinging frost that slammed into his unprotected face as he lifted his gaze, he saw Munin, his trusted raven companion. Smiling, he held up his arm and Munin perched on his glove. 'Hello, friend,' Tom greeted. 'What have you for me?'
Munin blinked knowingly and tilted his head, letting out a small cry. Tom sighed. 'No, no; I didn't really think you would. Rest, now.' Munin fluttered off to the Colonel's tent and, ruffling his feathers, took his place on a small twig near the fire.
Tom glowered at the cold evening, not willing to relinquish the search yet. One more day; he would only force them onward one more day. Then, he would return and take the blame, accepting whatever punishment his Majesty saw fit to deal out.
Such was the honor among friends.
===
Elizabeth crouched in the snow, her dress fraying at the edges. She huddled at he base of a tree, hugging her satchel close to ward off the chill. Four days since escaping the king's clutches, she was smart enough to know they were following her. He'd probably sent along his finest warriors. It didn't matter; he'd never get it back.
Her pale cheeks were stained blue in the frost, her breath a fine mist in the chill. Her dark hair billowed around her, offering some comfort. Nevertheless, she muttered a small prayer and a spell for her protection. 'Just'¦one more day, fair Saints,' she pleaded. 'Just one more.'
A raven's call sounded, sending a chill down here frigid spine. There was only one commander who used a raven: Colonel Warthall, the king's most famous mage-commander. The despicable king, taking advantage of her kind left and right; magic was but a toy to him. The men were put in the army and given battalions of other men to command. The women were kept at home as priestesses; it had been the social order for generations, but Phillip IX had overused his power, seeking to dominate all mages in the kingdom for his own gain. But he never would; not now.
Elizabeth hummed a soft song of comfort and, the spell taking effect and forming a small blanket of warm air around her, drifted to sleep beneath the furs of a pine tree.
===
'This way, men,' Tom ordered from atop his horse. The dozen soldiers filed by along the road, clutching their spears in their frosted hands. He rubbed his gloved hands together, succeeding in warming the tips of his fingers slightly, but his face was utterly numb.
The sun had broken through the clouds early that morning, though it did little to warm the tired soldiers. Munin circled high overhead, watchful eye focusing on the forest trail for sign of their quarry.
Lieutenant Ruthridge's report had indicated that a set of tracks went off into the woods a few kilometers from their camp, so Tom had ordered the tents taken down and all supplies loaded up as quickly as possible. She was only one girl, but there was no use in letting her get too far ahead.
'Corporal,' Tom hailed the nearest man, 'take two men off to the right; she may have run off into the forest. Regroup with us if you find anything'
'Sir!'
The soldier dashed off and, selecting two others, led them off into the thicket of bare trees.
The company rode on for at least two more hours before Tom signaled a rest. They obviously weren't getting any closer to the girl, and the men were tired out after the exhaustive search. Tom dismounted and tied his steed to a nearby tree, taking a seat on a log. Munin gently set down beside him. Smiling, Tom ran two fingers down his back. 'Rest easy, little friend,' he uttered softly. Munin blinked in bird-like gratitude. Suddenly, the bird's eyes snapped off to the forest. Tom looked behind him to see the Corporal and his two charges creeping through the grove.
'Colonel,' the soldier whispered hastily. 'We've found her tracks. They're faint. Last night's snows covered them up pretty well, but we found a small group of them, plus some broken branches.'
'Good work,' Tom replied. 'Assemble the men. We'll break off into groups and sweep wide.'
'Yes, Colonel.'
===
She heard them before she saw them. Two royal soldiers came trundling through the growth of bushes, cursing them for the impedance. Elizabeth was hidden under the folds of the evergreen, though, and they had missed her only by pure luck. These men were seasoned, trained trackers and killers. Barely daring to breath, she inched slowly to the other side of the trunk to avoid their sight.
After a while, she heard their crunching steps die away and she allowed herself to exhale the deep breath she'd taken. Peering around the trunk, Elizabeth thanked whatever Saint had just spared her. Making a small devotional gesticulation in the air, she grabbed her satchel and took off into the forest in the opposite direction of the soldiers, muffling her steps as much as possible.
She was feeling might pleased with herself when she saw a new figure appear from behind a thick trunk. Its sword was drawn, its face hidden. She gasped and dropped the satchel. Slowly, the figure advanced until the shadow burned away, leaving a care-worn face with a trim beard underneath a wide-brimmed hat. In his right hand, Colonel Warthall clenched his steel rapier; his left hand was held out and on it perched Munin, his raven companion. Colonel Warthall appeared as noble as she'd ever seen him in the military parades through the city square and at regular church services.
'Well, well, well; Sister Elizabeth, priestess in his Majesty's Holy Church,' Warthall said in a passionless voice.
Elizabeth kept her features iron strong, though her spirit trembled; of all the soldiers sent out to find her, Colonel Warthall was the last she wanted to meet. He was an amiable gentleman and kind enough, but not, she'd heard, when on a mission for the king.
Colonel Warthall said nothing as they stared at each other for several moments. He appeared so serene, so accepting; it was disarming. Finally, she said, 'Are you going to kill me?'
'My orders are to return you and that which you stole.'
'To do so would be to condemn me to death all the same.'
'Perhaps so; it is not my concern.'
Her anger flared. 'We are the same, Colonel! We are mage-folk; they cannot restrain us any longer. You know this!'
Warthall smiled softly; it appeared out of place on his calm demeanor. 'And yet, what can any of us do?' he queried. 'I'm sorry, Sister Elizabeth.' He took a step forward, raising his sword slightly.
'Wait!' The word bound unbidden from her lips. Her pale hand rose to ward off the inevitable. But Warthall stopped, obviously curious. 'You can come with me.'
Warthall laughed aloud. 'They would only increase their search. They could spot me from a mile away. His Majesty's Generals are mage-folk, too, yet they stand all to gain while in his service.'
Now frantic, Elizabeth searched her mind for an excuse. 'Let me go, then,' she said quietly.
'What?'
'You could let me go.'
Warthall's sword tip dipped, but the smile did not leave his face. 'I would be hanged,' he replied.
'No, you wouldn't. They would never hang you.'
'My honor would be stained.'
'No more so than if you let them kill me.'
'That is different.'
'In the end, not so much.'
They paused. Warthall's smile still hovered, and he finally nodded. 'Continue down the forest path. Don't stick to the main road; we'll be patrolling it day and night now. After you break through the trees, run for two kilometers and you'll reach Hasbourg. It's a small town outside the borders of the kingdom. They can help you.'
Amazed, Elizabeth fell to her knees. 'Thank you, Colonel Warthall.'
He sheathed his rapier definitively, eyeing her as she knelt in the dirty snow. 'What are you talking about?' he said. 'You were just too clever for even me to track. Try as I might, I couldn't even pick up the trail,' he said. She looked up at him and understood, warmth flooding through her. She stood and smiled at him.
Graciously, Warthall bowed. Without another word, he left her alone as he mounted the hill.
Not waiting another second, Elizabeth started running, thanking the Saints as she went.
===
It was a few hours into the afternoon when the company regrouped. Tom smiled as the soldiers reconvened in a small clearing by the side of the road. That girl would make it; he had every faith she would make it out alright.
He didn't know what it was she had taken, exactly, or why his Majesty wanted it back so badly. In the end, he didn't care. He had done his soldier's duty: to protect the weak when they couldn't protect themselves.
Shaking these thoughts from his head, he regarded his troops. 'Anyone find anything?' he asked. Scattered grumbles answered him; the search had been a failure.
Nodding, he inhaled deeply. And that was that.
'Alright, men, pack up. We're returning to headquarters. We did our best.'
