The Cold Ones: A Tale of the Realm Cycle by A.M. D'Addabbo & J. Krowe

Author:A.M. D'Addabbo & J. Krowe [D'Addabbo, A.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: R&C Publishing
Published: 2019-09-19T06:00:00+00:00

Winter, Year 4221 (F.E.) Hevnkalt, The Cold Ones' Quest

An icy wind howled, ripping through cloth alleyways. Makeshift barracks, pitched by the aspirants, formed a tent-city several miles away from the capital of House Vinganz Province: Hevnkalt. Wet, heavy snow fell without surcease, piling into high mounds, blanketing everything with cold, white misery. The day’s sun hid behind the grey, impregnated clouds, lending to the weary travails of the men who toiled here.

Huddled about sporadically placed fire pits, the surviving Flakes sought what warmth they could garnish. Captain Krell mused how welcomed they must feel among the newly fallen snow. Only five scores — or close enough as to make no difference — aspirants persisted with hopes of attaining the prestigious title of Cold One.

As the Quest continued, impossibly, Captain Krell’s intensity increased along with his expectation. A subtle shift could be felt among the men as if one morn they awoke with brotherly-bonds forged. The men became something more than the individual. As a cohort, they knew without thought, that their existence was dependent on the whole, just as the whole was dependent on them — a lesson few men ever learned.

Krell stalked through the camp, scowl-crowned brow knitted together underneath his sodden cowl. He tugged his winter cloak about him as he thought, Not seamless yet, but a definite improvement.

The storm forced an early halt to the day’s training, which bristled the captain at first. But after a quick jaunt through the tent-city, he killed the emotion. Despite the frigidity, the men joked and regaled one another with tales of past conquests — or more recent ones from within the Quest itself. The lilting of a stringed instrument, accompanied by a trill of off-tune voices, warbled through the wind and into the captain’s ears.

Krell understood for a brotherhood to mature, these seemingly pointless moments with comrades were paramount.

Since fall began, training had leapt to new heights. At long last, the Flakes hardened, melding together to form dangerous shards of ice. Captain Krell segregated the trainees into four teams and began weapons training. With Lord Vandyr Kaide, he labeled them Squads and structured them after a fashion of the fabled Brokaan Battalion — a legendary cohort from before the Fall of the Empire.

The Brute Squad consisted of the most stalwart men, those possessing the physicality to wage war under the burden of bulky armor and massive shields. Together, they formed an impenetrable wall of defense their brothers sheltered behind, allowing them to exploit enemy weaknesses. The phalanx brothers — these Brutes — one and all thickly muscled, each born with the fortitude to withstand a violent assault and refuse to break rank.

The Cav Squad, of course, remained the least manned. Designed as a light cavalry force with the ability for lethal charges into the enemy’s flanks, they fought atop destriers armed with lances, kite shields, and longswords. Before Krell inquired of the candidates which of them could ride a horse, he knew the answer. Only the nobles owned warhorses, let

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