tinged with blood and sweat and all the sweeter for it.
After allowing himself this moment, he put on his helmet and bellowed for Anasind. There was a march to be organised.
Enair
Early Winter, 209th Year of Askh
I
Though Noonwatch approached, the ground was covered with frost that crackled under the wheels of the abada cart as it trundled along the rutted road. The branches and needles of the surrounding forest were equally rimed with ice. Above the treetops smoke rose in thin columns from a small cluster of buildings.
The village stood on the bank of a narrow river, the water's edge laced with fronds of ice. The single storey cottages were constructed from hewn logs, sealed with muddy mortar, roofed with several layers of branches tightly woven together. The road petered out into a muddy open area where swine and fowl wandered freely under the watch of several children, sitting on a low stone wall beside the river. A brick bridge was the only sign that the Askhans had ever come to this backwater, everything else was unchanged from the way the Enairian tribes had lived for centuries.
This was Ullsaard's home.
He clambered down from the first of three wagons and stomped his feet to get some feeling into his chilled toes. Wrapped in a heavy coat of goatskin lined with fur, boots of the same, his beard unclipped for several weeks, the broad-shouldered general looked like a beast of the forests. His breath came in clouds as he clapped together his gloved hands and grinned at his wives, who sat on the second wagon. 'This place is so much nicer in winter,' Ullsaard declared.
'If you say so,' said Luia, little more than a cold-reddened nose poking out of a thick fur shawl and woollen blankets. 'I think I prefer it in the summer.'
One of the cottage doors opened and an elderly, rotund woman in a plain red dress and high boots emerged. Her generous cheeks were flushed from effort and steam billowed out of the door behind her.
'Lord Ullsaard!' she exclaimed as she trotted across the mud and frost. 'Ain't never expected to see you at this time of year.'
'Hello, Freyna,' the general replied. 'How about some hot drinks?'
Freyna, the local loremother, looked past Ullsaard and saw the three women bundled up on the back of the cart. She scowled at the general.
'Shame on you for bringing your lovely ladies out in this weather,' said Freyna. She hurried over to the wives' cart. 'Come on, dears, let's get you warmed up inside.'
One by one, the Askhan women lowered themselves from the wagon and waddled after Freyna, swathed in their cloaks and blankets. Freyna was chattering away, asking after their health and news of their families. Ullsaard was content to leave them to their gossiping for the moment and wandered over to the river. Behind him the third wagon trundled onwards, carrying four servants and the luggage, heading through the village towards Ullsaard's house a mile further up the road.
Ullsaard took a deep, cold breath and grinned to himself. He remembered a dozen winters here in Stykhaag, chopping trees, fishing through ice holes in the lake a couple of miles to duskwards, hanging the holly wreaths from the trees to keep the frost spirit at bay. There was nothing like it in Askhor, where the ancient, misguided tribal beliefs that had held sway before Askhos had risen to power had been purged by the Brotherhood.
He looked around and saw the telltale signs of the old wards around the village: the crossed nails on the lintels; holly ropes threaded into the branch roofs; the rune charms carved into the logs of the cottages. It didn't matter how many times the Brotherhood came here and chastised the people for their superstitions, the old ways still remained in some fashion.
To coldwards the bald hill known as the Crow Mound loomed out of the forest, the snow and ice covering the burnt earth and charred timbers on its summit. Not in Ullsaard's lifetime had anyone gone up there, but in generations past every equinox and solstice had seen the flames dancing high as the loremothers and the lorefathers had led the people in their rituals of sacrifice to appease the spirits of sky and earth and forest.
Yes, Ullsaard thought, it was misguided nonsense. A life in the legions had taught him that well-placed bronze and a bit of luck had more sway over people's destiny than imaginary spirit folk. But for all his pragmatism, there was something real, something genuine about the old celebrations and ceremonies which Askhan pomp could never capture.
'Here you go.'
Ullsaard found Allenya behind him with a steaming mug in her hand. Ullsaard took it with a smile and sniffed: chicken broth. He took a gulp, enjoying the warmth of the soup as it flowed down into his gut.
'Why did we stop here?' Allenya asked. 'We are only a mile from your mother's house.'
Ullsaard nodded towards the river wall, where there was one less child than before.
'To give my mother some warning,' he said. 'She's a stickler for certain things and she'll be annoyed that I didn't send word that we were coming. This way she can get everything in order before we turn up.'
'You are a considerate man, Ullsaard.'
'Not really. If I was considerate, I would have sent her a letter before we left the camp.'
'Do you think Nemtun really has given up for the winter? He chased us all over Nalanor and through Ersua.'
'He knows that we can't go anywhere else,' replied Ullsaard. 'He has nothing to gain by coming after us in this weather, and everything to lose. He'll be sitting tight in Parmia, I'm sure of it, giggling to himself as he imagines my men deserting in their dozens.' 'Do you think they will? Desert, I mean.'
'Some, perhaps, but not many,' said Ullsaard. He finished the soup and flicked the dregs out of the mug into the river. 'They'll either all go, or none of them. The men know it'll be bad for them if someone deserts their company, so unless they all decide to quit together, they'll keep the troublemakers in order.'
They walked back towards Freyna's house.
'And if they all decide to go?'
'They won't. At the moment, they're aggrieved men. They think they've been cheated out of something and they want it. Don't underestimate a man's stubbornness when greed and justice overlap. They'll stick out the winter for sure, just to see what the spring brings. If it doesn't go well after that, that's when we'll start losing them.'
'I wish we could stay with you,' said Allenya.
'It's better that you stay here, out of the way. Having you around distracts me, and I need to think like a commander, not a husband.'
'We understand.'
'I'm sure you do, and I think Luia will be glad to have more comfort. I don't know about Meliu. She always takes everything in the worst way possible.'
They were at Freyna's door. The smell of cooking wafted out in the steam and smoke and Ullsaard was uncomfortably aware that the soup had whetted his appetite rather than sated it.
'There'll be time enough for chatting,' he called inside. 'Let's get you up to the house while the skies are clear. I smell more snow coming.'
'He's right, my ladies,' Freyna's voice came from a back room. She emerged into the main chamber with a lid-covered pot, which she handed to Meliu. 'You should get up to the house to settle in. Now, dear, just boil that in some water and you'll be fine.'
As they were leaving, Freyna grabbed Ullsaard's sleeve and pulled him into the cottage. She spoke in a stern whisper.
'Urikh arrived here not more than three days ago,' said the loremother. 'Rode straight up to the house
