A Bitter Chill

This morning was cold and hard. Despite the warmth of spring beating back the frosts all across the south, white, crystalline flakes continued to float to the earth about the walls of Northwatch. There was many a place atop the bastions of stone where glossy ice still clung to the rock and mortar.

Edric liked to walk along the walls at the beginning of the day. He paced down the row of battlements in the old, withering walls, past a handful of sentries on duty, while his boots crunched in the thin, crisp layer of white along the parapet. The whole way, Ghost stuck to his heels, his paws padding silently over the freshly fallen snow.

It always surprised Edric how quiet Ghost could be, especially given his size. After all, Ghost was, near as made no difference, as long, snout to tail, as Edric was tall. For that size, he seemed to walk with a sort of pride, sticking his narrow paws into the snow like hairy needles.

Edric stopped along the north wall to gaze out at the mountains. The whole world was white... The Earth was ever covered in a layer of impenetrable white, and where the snow failed to cover there was only the cold, grey stone of the mountains. As ever, the wind was howling in the distance, rushing like a gigantic whistle through mountain passes. Those were the same harsh winds that buffeted the walls and palisades of Northwatch almost daily. Edric's only savior from this was the thick, black cloak draped over his shoulders, and the hood upon his head. He even had a black scarf pulled tightly around his mouth and nose like a face mask.

The young man flexed his right hand, an action that was becoming a reflex for him. Scarred flesh seemed to stretch over his fingers, but he had managed to keep his hand strong. He had lost some of the dexterity in his fingers, but, as Sir Mallister had reminded him only yesterday, healing is a process that takes time.

Edric reached up with his left hand and rubbed his right shoulder, where he had taken a bruise from sword practice the previous day. He felt stiff and ached all over. Both parties were about evenly matched in that particular duel, though Edric felt he had given the other man something to think about, to be sure, not to mention a few good bruises of his own.

There would be no practicing today, however. Edric had a job to do. He had already pushed Lord Mallister to allow him to go into the mountains looking for his uncle, Emrys Snow, who had been lost several weeks before.

The young man took one last look from the top of the wall before turning down the rock staircase leading back down to ground level. As always, Ghost followed close behind. A passing sentry armed with a short spear and broadsword shifted a foot or so to the side as he moved nearer to the wolf. This was an odd behavior indeed. Most of the Brothers had gotten used to Edric's wolf by now, but some still had a tendency to get nervous. Walking back to the great hall, Edric smiled inwardly beneath his black scarf in agreement with the passing thought that he could not blame those men for fearing Ghost. He was, after all, quite a large animal. Of course, those red eyes could not possibly help.

After crossing the practice yard, which was, as always, blanketed in white, Edric approached the doors to the great hall, into which he was welcomed by a more senior Brother with a long, grey beard and wearing a steel nasal helm and a shirt of brigandine under his black cloak.

The great hall itself was a fairly sized chamber constructed of grey stone with large, vaulted ceilings. Within were large tables of oak, as well as a gigantic hearth whose fires were blazing warm as ever now. Several Brothers were seated now, breaking their fast with hot stew, mutton, and bread dripped with honey. Edric sat down at one table with a leg of mutton and a flagon of mead, taking both down eagerly. He left the table with another leg of mutton for Ghost and made for the door once he had stripped the bone clean of any meat and chewed the calcined stick down to the marrow. He had not yet reached the door when the Brothers stood and toasted his name.

"Hail, Edric! May the Gods watch over you until you return!"

Edric turned back for a moment to gather rations of food for his trip. Given the cold, he could actually carry more food than would be practical in a hot part of the world in summer. Even so, he could only carry so much, and would have to forage most of his food.

Making for the door again, he faced the Black-clad men in the hall and saluted them, and they [gladly drank] in his honor once more. Pushing through the door, now, he was faced by the same bearded brother, who gave him a curt nod to see him off. As ever, Ghost trailed him in silence, scanning the world before him with prying eyes, open ears, and a keen nose.

Edric's boots crunched through the snow again, carrying him closer and closer to the western gate by which he was to set off. The two men guarding this gate heaved the heavy oak bar from across it and dragged the cedar doors open, allowing Edric to walk out into the open world beyond Northwatch's walls.

Edric flexed his hand again, perhaps in nervous anticipation of what lay ahead.

Above all else, the cold was Edric's worst enemy. Indeed, he had experienced worse during the expedition Sir Mallister led some time ago to fight back those forces bringing icy terror down upon Northern Hyrule, but, of course, then there were 25 other Black Brothers with whom Edric could share his torment, and with whom he could find sympathy and support. Here, though, he was a solitary man. He was alone with himself, his thoughts, and the wind. He had Ghost, which, he realized upon consideration was perhaps a start, though the animal rarely had many interesting thoughts to bring forward in conversation.

The higher he climbed, the thicker the snow seemed to get. Occasionally, Edric would pass under an evergreen packed with fresh, crisp snow, some of which would come tumbling down upon receiving news that a human was passing underneath. All the while, Ghost bounded through the snow, sometimes seeming as if he was having fun. For long periods, Ghost would run off in pursuit of some small, delicious-looking animal he might have seen. With the snow, the wolf was near invisible. Of course, Edric was never concerned. Ghost had done this since he was a pup. He was never far.

Now, Edric's main concern was following the path the Watchmen had taken those weeks past. Of course, finding foot prints was a futile venture. Snow had presumably covered any tracks hours after they were made. This first leg of the journey would have to be made on memory alone.

As Edric soldiered on through growing winds and sheets of snow falling in a sort of silent crescendo, he began to climb into the first of several passes in the Snowhead Mountains near the Northwatch. As night fell, the sun quickly sank behind the towering, stone peaks. In the shadow of the mountains, Edric had a significantly reduced length of day light under which to trek, but such was the misfortune of the moment. He decided to make camp as the moon started to appear brightly in the eastern sky, illuminated by the sun still retreating over the mountains to the west.

The night became silent, save for the constant howling of the winds in the higher mountains, the swelling gusts echoing for miles. As the darkness grew, the snow fall intensified. It seemed by pure luck that Edric was able to find a small overhang in the rocks along the side of the pass in which he could light a fire and take shelter for the night, protected from the snows and harsh winds. He gathered a pile of branches in a shallow, conical shape, with twigs and what dry leaves he could find to be used for kindling underneath. He struck a piece of flint against the flat side of his dagger and let the orange sparks land upon the leaves and twigs, setting them alight. As the first, miniscule tongues of flame started to dance, shedding small, thin wisps of smoke into the air, Edric cupped his hands beside the flames and blew gently along the ground pushing air to flow through and around the smoldering leaves. The dull, orange glow and small flames grew, and the now bright orange and yellow light spread to the twigs and adjacent leaves.

Edric struck flint to the other side of the fire, at which point he aired the flame similarly and let the heat consume the kindling from both sides. Before long, the flames grew taller and warmer, and within seconds, Edric had a proper fire going. He quickly framed the conical structure with a circle of sticks and branches stacked around the already living flames, and lay some more fuel across the top of this frame.

He left his new creation to grow and prosper while he stepped out from under the overhang and out into the now (and temporarily) light snow fall. Off in the distance, Edric could see the lights of the fires lit all around the Northwatch. The castle, battered as it was, felt as familiar to Edric now as his father's residence had been years ago. For a fleeting moment, Edric wished he was back under the vaulted ceiling of the keep, kept warm by crackling fires and eating heartily with his sworn Brothers. Almost immediately, however, a pop from the fire behind him yanked him back to the present. There could be no going back. His uncle was not dead...

He can't be dead. Not now. Not after everything he's done...

Edric remembered Sir Emrys' broad smile behind a thick, nut brown beard. He heard his hearty laugh in the back of his mind, and returned to the task at hand.

He took one last look at the Northwatch, burning like a small candle in the distance, then went back to sit beside the fire, wrapped in his thick, wool cloak. He leaned his head back against the rock wall behind him, lulled by the whistling of the frigid winds. He sat up a moment and unstrapped his sword, resting it on the ground beside him. Sitting back against the wall, Edric began to doze. At one moment, he was disturbed by a light breathing several feet away, only to see a pair of familiar, red eyes locked on him from the edge of the fire's light. Ghost sauntered over to him, licking the last of what might have been some animal's blood from his chops, and curled up next to his master, half of his body, including his head, rested on Edric's lap. The wolf settled immediately, and Edric sank back into the world of sleep.

Morning came early for Edric. The sun was barely creeping over the eastern horizon, casting a pinkish-red hue over the sky and the clouds. As always, the wind was howling over the trees below the pass, and snow cascaded to earth in great, white sheets.

The fire Edric had assembled the previous night had been reduced to a black frame, whose heart was nothing but crumbled, black forms now brittle and dead. The middle of the fire had an orange glow to it, as the last embers burned into the new dawn. The charred twigs hissed and shot up thin wisps of grey smoke, but yielded no great flame as before.

Edric woke with a shiver, his cloak and beard speckled with white flakes of snow. While he fallen asleep leaning against the rock wall of the overhang, he woke now slumped over the warm fur of Ghost's head and back. Edric pulled his cloak tighter about his body, trying to build up some warmth before rising to rekindle the fire.

Slowly, Edric approached what had previously been a crackling fire. He picked up some kindling and pieces of firewood he had stashed in the driest corner of the overhang he could find. As luck would most certainly have it, this corner did not stay as dry as Edric had wished. Even so, he threw some kindling on the smoldering coals, at first in small amounts so he could blow fresh air over the fire and let the soft, orange glow peak with fresh oxygen. Surely, the bits of dry leaves, dead grass, and twigs caught, and Edric gradually added more and more small bits of kindling until he had remade a stable flame. He thew together yet another frame of sticks and branches and let the fire return to its previous glory.

Almost immediately, Edric felt the warmth flood the niche in the side of the mountain. Sitting back against the wall, he slept once again, though only briefly. He was still cold, and somewhat hungry. Stirring once more, he broke his fast with some bits of waybread and honey, and a piece of cold mutton taken from the great hall at Northwatch. He washed it down with a pull of water from a leather skin topped with a brass nozzle and sealed with a beeswax cork. He offered Ghost a bit of mutton as well, but the wolf only sniffed the cold meat and turned his nose up. Shrugging, Edric took the offering for his own self and prepared to move out. He snuffed out his fire by throwing snow on its glowing embers and strapped Longclaw to his back.

The day was still young, only barely into its first hour of sunlight, as the eastern sky was still painted that ruddy, orange-pink hue.

"Red sky in the morning..." Edric knew the rest of that saying, as would anyone. Below the pink clouds lay the same, familiar scene of Northwatch glowing like a brazier upon the pitch dark backdrop of the rest of the world. Edric thought back on how the Black Brothers often called Northwatch and oasis in the north. Perhaps this was untrue. Now though, it was time for the young swordsman to venture deeper into this desert of biting wind and ice.

Edric turned westward. In contrast to his previous view, the mountains now before him were deep, complete black. Several bright stars still hung in the dark blue sky. The moon was even dimly visible in the sky. The first step into the abyss was always the hardest, he found. However, as his boot crunched in the snow, he simply put one foot in front of the other. As he began to march once again, still shivering slightly, Ghost scouted on ahead.

This mountain pass was still relatively low, and as Edric continued along its path, he dropped below the treeline once again. At this temperature and altitude, the evergreens only thinly populated the area, but they provided some character to the otherwise frozen, stoic landscape. The wind here was a little gentler, being worst higher in the passes and above the trees, but such was a welcome relief for Edric. Soon, however, the snow flurries began to grow once again. The thicker snow fall began to hinder Edric, but he forced himself onward.

Suddenly, he saw the silhouette of his great, white wolf freeze midstep. Ghost's ears perked up, his head on a swivel. He stared ahead, to Edric's right. In the fading darkness, and through the veil of icy flakes, Edric could see shapes moving between the trees, maybe 100 meters out. Could they be wolfos? No... No, these were too tall. They looked upright. He walked closer, the wind gusting now as much as ever.

There was, for a moment, a lull in the clouds of snow blowing past his face, and at that time, Edric could see the shapes more clearly... but, in the dark, they were anything but clear. They looked to be human, but, perhaps, more jagged. They had corners to them, such that people lack. The shapes seemed to shimmer when they moved, almost like a well-polished mirror, much like a frozen lake at night. Edric loosened Longclaw in its scabbard, but did not draw, as the shapes seemed to recede as the sun crept higher and higher in the sky.

Even Ghost seemed to calm as the dawn progressed. However, on the slopes of a mountain near a mile away, Edric could begin to make out a number of small, brownish specs moving in a column formation. One must have remembered, as well... the Watch had few friends in this land.

Sailors take warning.

As the sun crept higher into the sky, the darkness that hampered Edric on his way was replaced by a seemingly impenetrable white wall of snow. Not only was Edric's beard and cloak crusted with snow, but howling, biting winds buffeted in his face. By the sun's third hour, it seemed as though the young swordsman would never climb the whole of the mountain pass.

Even worse, he was forced to navigate by what had become nothing more than amorphous, obscured silhouettes behind the screen of falling, white flakes. He had not even seen Ghost for some time, although the wolf may well have been within a meter and he would have been hard-pressed to spot him.

Before long, Edric came upon a small, rocky hill, and elected to halt and take shelter behind a small boulder. Wrapping himself up in his cloak, he hunkered down and tried to stay shielded from the frigid gale. Despite all of his efforts, Edric would not start a fire of any significance, though, as he was delighted to find, the winds began to die down within the next couple of hours. While snow continued to fall, visibility was much improved, and so it would be much easier to make progress.

Edric emerged then and looked about. Luckily, he did recognize this particular area of the mountains, and knew that he was only slightly off course. The snow about his ankles was somewhat deeper, but at least he was able to move forward.

The sky was naught but grey overcast. The scattered evergreens swayed in the blistering winds, shedding layers of snow from resilient needles. As Edric continued on, the winds and snow started to pick up once again, but never to the extreme experienced previously; Edric was still able to advance.

He figured that the sun must have been almost perfectly overhead, but it was near impossible to tell the correct time of day. The clouds in the sky were so thick, the sunlight was scattered and shining dully from a large area of cloud. Edric was alone in the world, aside form the occasional bird that would pass overhead. Ghost was still nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, a howl broke through the sounds of the wind. Then, there came another. A chorus of howls, dissonant and haunting, broke out over a nearby crest in the terrain.

That isn't Ghost...

Edric stopped in his tracks and listened to the sounds of hurrying feet tear through the freshly-fallen snow. He started flexing his fingers again, feeling his joints ache from the cold. The sound was moving closer and closer, though, it was hardly a single entity.

Edric failed to notice, as he waited for the sounds to come upon him, that the swirling snows had once again thickened. He could now see shapes moving swiftly behind the veil, but could not make out exactly what they were. They seemed to dart about, moving low to the ground in circles around Edric.

He slowly raised his right hand, wrapping his scarred fingers around Longclaw's hilt. He pulled the blade free slowly, the polished, sharpened steel running along wood and leather, singing as it came free of its scabbard. Edric took a moment to heft the sword in his right hand, testing its familiar balance and surprising light weight. The shapes milling about him began to growl. There could be no mistaking at whom such was aimed.

A snarl from his left put Edric on his toes. A wolfos with white fur pounced toward him from the swirling, white veil of snow, claws ready to tear through flesh. Edric box stepped the attack, letting the monster overshoot and land in the snow on his other side. The wolfos wheeled around and stood on its hind legs, lunging to attack with lethal claws. The blade of Edric's sword came up to counter, the edge biting into the wolfo's soft flesh above the paw.

Howling, the beast recoiled, its right front foot nearly hacked off. Warm, red blood spilled into the snow, as Edric came forward to bring his sword down on the wounded creature. However, the rest of the wolfos pack would have none of it. One of their number fallen, the remaining four beasts circled their prey, spiraling in to close Edric in a smaller and smaller ring.

The wolves circled closer and closer, tracing a threatening spiral around the cornered swordsman. The once white snow at Edric's feet had been painted red by the blood of the first dead beast, whose crimson blood also ran along Longclaw's razor edge. Edric held his sword ready, recognizing that any one of those wolves could strike at any time, and any direction he faced addressed only one out of four wolfos. He tried to rotate against the flow of the four monsters surrounding him, as if that might help him counter any attacks from behind... Even he scarcely believed that would work.

For once, Edric began to forget the biting frost and chilling winds. His blood was running warm now, forced through his veins by a rapidly beating heart. His only solace was the fine steel held in his grasp, and the coat of densely-woven steel rings draped over his shoulders. Still, though, his fingertips ached from the cold, and his toes stung. For all his thick clothing, the icy frosts had him chilled to the bone, however focused he was on the more immediate threat.

He flexed his fingers about Longclaw's hilt as the sounds of the first assault reached his ears. He spun to face a wolfos begin to charge at him, baring razor sharp teeth. Edric poised himself, dodging almost clumsily as the large mass of fur and muscle leapt through the air at him. His sword rang as his parried a pair of sharp claws and let the beast soar past him.

Edric made to charge in response, hoping to cut the beast down as it recovered from it lunge, but was interrupted by a snarl from his right. He wanted to turn and face the threat, but suddenly found that he had been thrown off of his feet by a crushing force. As he toppled over into the snow, Edric felt a sharp pain in his flank, as a pair of jaws and rows of sharp teeth were halted by his mail haubergeon.

Edric and the wolfos landed in a rolling jumble of white fur and black wool cloak. The wolfos scrambled to its feet, tearing the fringe of Edric's cloak in the process. Snow tried to stagger to his feet, clearing the snow form his face, but found his hands were empty, as his sword had been knocked to the ground. He tried to run for the weapon, but the wolfos was much faster, and brought Edric down once again. The pouncing wolfos growled tried to snap its jaws for Edric's face and neck.

Suddenly, the other wolfos raised their heads to growl, but only briefly before a much louder snarling overtook them.

The scent tickled his nose more than ever now. He raised his face into the wind and breathed deep, taking in all the flavors of the world invisible to the eyes. There was one particular flavor that irked him, though. It was the scent of wolves.

He blinked some flakes of snow away from his eyelids and stopped walking. His eyes darted around, scanning the world ahead for any signs of danger.

Ever since he had caught the scent of a rabbit, he had kept a sense of danger about him. Now, though his hunger was somewhat satisfied, he was not yet content. Where was the Master? He started forward again, licking the last bits of blood from his chops, his paws slicing effortlessly through the snow.

There... Another gust of wind carried the Master's scent his way. It also carried the sounds of the others. He continued forward, his snout constantly scanning the flowing winds, constantly noting the smells in the air. Oddly, the Master's scent was closing with the scent of the wolves. His paws continued to tear through the white blankets of snow until his ears perked up at sounds of howling, as well as the Master's voice through the barrier of the wind.

He bolted over the crest of the hill and saw shapes moving and tearing at each other behind the wall of white. The sounds grew louder as he rushed faster and faster...

.........

There was a dull thud, and in an instant, the weight of the wolfos was removed from his torso, but before the grey-white skies and the backdrop of the white-blanketed mountains of cold, grey stone, and sheets of falling snow (also very white), Edric could not see much of what had become of the wolfos.

Edric turned over to see the wolfos cast into the snow by another, albeit much larger canine beast. Given his chance to recover, he scrambled to his feet, for a moment dangerously vulnerable as he rushed up from on all fours, and dove to grasp at Longclaw's hilt. Chilled fingers latched around the leather-wrapped handle and hefted the blade out from under the snow. Raising his sword, Edric shifted his grip some, feeling the balance of the steel in his palm.

He whirled around briefly, scanning the three wolfos that had not yet been committed to the fight. The fourth still writhed on the ground as Ghost tore at it with powerful jaws and sharp, pointed teeth. The wolfos fought to regain its feet, which it did only after suffering deep wounds. The monster's fur, once pale white, was stained deep, crimson red, with blood gathering thick in the fur around the monster's wounds. Ghost, meanwhile, suffered only a minor gash along the flank from the wolfos' wildly flailing claws.

Ghost faced the wolfos again and pounced as the beast tried to regain its footing. The wolfos was bowled over once more as Ghost's superior mass crashed into him. In a thrashing ball of white fur and snow, Ghost's powerful jaws thrust sharp teeth into soft flesh, biting and ripping fur, skin, and muscle. The wolfos howled as more of its own blood gushed forth and covered its once white fur. Ghost pulled his bloody snout away only as the wolfos stopped flailing and thrashing.

Edric caught a flash of white in the corner of his eye, just behind to his right. A wolfos, one of the remaining three, lunged forward to pounce on the young swordsman, but Longclaw, itself, it seemed, would have none of it. Steel flashed angrily, cutting through fur, flesh, muscle, and bone. Whining, the wolfos tumbled back into the snow, defeated. With its once-white fur stained deep, crimson red, the monster struggled to stand. Before it could rise, Edric planted the tip of his sword through the monster's heart.

Warm blood spilled onto the snow as Edric slid the blade free and brought the sword back up into a neutral, middle guard stance. Looking left, he saw Ghost tangling with a second wolfos, leaving one for him to face. This last monster kept his distance for a moment. Edric watched the wolfos sitting in place, ready to pounce, shrouded in a grey-white veil of snow. Suddenly, making a noise half bark and half howl, the wolfos rushed forward. The young swordsman stayed light on his feet and box-stepped back and left, letting the creature overshoot, its claws tearing harmlessly at Edric's mail coat.

Edric raised his guard again and firmed his stance as the wolfos doubled back to strike. Claws came down from on high, so Edric brought Longclaw up to meet the blow. His sword, up in a hanging guard, caught the blow, drawing some blood from the wolfos' forearm. Having stopped the attack, Edric withdrew his sword, holding it at a center stance, the hilt against his chest. Blade aimed forward, both hands thrust the bastard sword forward, forcing it straight through the wolfos' ribcage.

The blade came free with little trouble, coated in deep, red blood. Edric looked around, as the sounds of fighting had ceased, and Ghost merely stood over the corpse of his vanquished opponent. Now, only the sound of the howling wind endured as clouds of pure, white snow swirled to the earth. Edric relaxed and laid the flat of his blade against some white fur on his freshly killed enemy, using it to wipe away some of the blood on his sword. Raising the sword again, he cleaned the last of the blood with a cloth. Its deed done, Longclaw slid back into its scabbard with the dull yet somehow sonorous ring of steel scraping against wood and leather.

Edric reached out his hand and silently summoned Ghost to his side. The wolf obeyed immediately, sauntering to sniff at his master's hand. Edric reached his fingers to the back of Ghost's head and gave a little scratch under thick layers of white fur.

"Good work, boy..."

Ghost sat down on his gigantic haunches, his red eyes watching Edric as the swordsman began walking forward into the snow. The tops of the icy peaks loomed in the distance, turning the horizon into an intimidating, jagged silhouette.

"We've got some way to go yet. Best keep moving."

Snow crunched beneath Edric's leather boots as he continued his journey higher into the mountain passes of the north. Minutes stretched into hours, which became days before Edric could count them. Three days since Edric departed from the Northwatch, and the mountains still denied him any hints to the whereabouts of his uncle. High on the mountains, trees were scarce. What few trees there were were short, small things, offering neither shelter nor firewood in any sufficient capacity. Ghost was, by now characteristically, not often seen, as he would simply dart off into the veil of swirling, white flakes in pursuit of some imaginary prey. Occasionally, he would return to Edric's side for a brief visit, taking off soon thereafter.

Edric was forced to find a small rock outcropping under which to take shelter for the night. Despite having only some somewhat damp wood and kindling, he was able to spark up a small fire to keep from freezing overnight. The fire, however, wasn't really enough to cook any of his leftover meats, so dinner on the third day was some cold mutton and some waybread, washed down with a drink of wine from a leather water skin that Edric kept at his side. The next morning, he woke. The first thing he did was try to coax some life back into his fire, which had mostly died down and been drowned out by falling snow blowing under the rock overhang. He managed to get some tongues rising from the pile of wood, but that was all. Shivering, he broke his fast on the leftovers of mutton and waybread from the previous day and killed his meager fire.

This day's trip would take Edric back down to a lower mountain pass via a winding path on the icy northern face of the mountain. Ghost decided to rejoin with his master, just as the young swordsman started on the road down. Today, the wind had obviously decided to be merciful. While the falling snow was thick, it was not unbearable. Most importantly, it was not paired with a biting, chilling wind buffeting against Edric's black cloak. Still, it was quite frigid. Edric's joints ached from the cold as he descended the mountain pass.

When he heard howling in the distance, he stopped for a moment, listening for sometime to make sure he was not once again being assaulted. He flexed his right hand, opening and closing his fingers. This time, however, no wolves rushed into view. Edric relaxed some, continuing down into the pass below. Hours passed by. The pure, white blanket covering the ground became spotted with more and more trees. Small shrubs gave way to short trees, which eventually became clusters of taller trees. Eventually, Edric was once again walking among the evergreens. Edric continued to follow the path he could remember from the expedition weeks ago, continuing on to the next shelf "road" on a mountain some miles away.

For hours, Edric battled his way through wind and snow as he made his way along the shelf pass. Thick, white snow was piled up to his knees, and wind carried more crystalline flakes his way to bombard his face with a biting cold. With his scarf pulled tight about his face, his hood up over his head, and his body wrapped up in the folds of his cloak, Edric endured, determined that this mountain should not defeat him. Ghost took the liberty of scouting ahead for his master, bounding vigorously through the heavy snows.

Occasionally, Edric would see a pair of red eyes staring at him from the white veil ahead, as Ghost would peek behind him to see if the human was progressing safely. Edric followed as quickly and efficiently as he could, but Ghost could always dart ahead as he wished, leaving Edric behind to catch up.

Finally, after many hours of travel along this high, mountain shelf, Edric once again descended the slopes of the mountain and found himself on a wide pass overlooking a small valley between peaks. To the north, the pass led to a high road passing through the junction of three peaks, where to the southwest, the pass ran along the slopes of the mountains to descend into the valley below. It was difficult to make out low shapes due to the slow being blown about by the fierce winds, but the shape of the ominous mountains, and those lowlands gouged from the lands in between, was easy to spot.

Suddenly, Ghost stopped walking and turned to the north. He lowered his head and gazed off into the white haze, his nose twitching. He ears perked up and swept back and forth, scanning for sounds carried on the wind. Edric stepped up from behind, facing north next to his great wolf. Indeed, there was something moving up ahead. Edric could not make out what it was, only a sort of grey, amorphous shape approaching through the icy veil. He walked forward several paces, while Ghost stood his ground, peering ahead. Edric tried to shield his eyes from the blowing snow, but still could not get a clear image of what was ahead.

"Ghost, what is this? Can you see?"

The wolf made no reply. Instead, a low growl bubbled up from his throat.

"Aye. I don't like it either."

The two made no moves as they watched the shape ahead become two, then three shapes. After some time, the shapes came closer, and it was apparent that these shapes were those of fully grown men. The three came closer, and Ghost only growled more and bared his sharp teeth. Edric firmed his stance and flexed his right hand, opening and closing his scarred fingers. He could see the men more clearly, now. All three were clad in tanned animal hide and wrapped in cloaks of thick fur. Their boots were also made of thick animal hides. Two of the three wore no armor. One carried an ax with a head of sharpened stone and a flint dagger with a bone hilt, and the other carried a spear tipped with sharpened bone and a shield of roughly assembled pieces of wood, over which was stretched a piece of tanned animal hide.

Only the man standing in the middle of the group wore any armor, or had any equipment crafted of metal. His chest was protected by a rectangular, bronze breast plate sewn onto a vest of leather with animal sinews, fastened to his body by leather straps. Hanging on his left hip was a leather scabbard, in which was a steel arming-sword whose leather-wrapped handle showed years of use, and whose pommel and cross-guard were dented and worn. Also hanging from his hip was a bronze dagger with a hilt of bone. Atop his head sat an old, dented, iron helm spotted with rust, whose inside was lined with leather. Probably as an honor, the helm was crowned with pieces of the antlers of a stag, which were held by a circle of leather braid. His neck was protected, albeit not very well, by a beat up collar of iron mail, flaked with rust, and which was full of broken rings and open holes. As the man approached Edric, the two at his flanks went wide and halted, one a good distance out to Edric's right, and one to his left. The young man held his ground.

"Ghost, stay... Stay right there."

The wolf acknowledged with what, from a human, would have been a grunt. Edric kept his gaze fixed on the man decked out in furs and bronze.

"What business have you with me?" Edric demanded.

The man grinned a smug grin and spat, "What's your business on my road, boy?"

"This road is not the land of some brigand chief. Does the brigand claim this pass for the lack of a road on the plains, where the king would have your head?"

The man roared back, "I do not fear the king of Hyrule! He has no power in these mountains."

"There would be those who could make you fear the king's justice, even here," Edric retorted, drawing Longclaw from the scabbard on his back.

"We of the north have no fear of the king's sworn men."

"I am no man of the king, brigand."

"Nor am I. I am a man free from any liege," the man grinned through his light brown beard, showing a mouth of rough, yellow teeth.

"A free man, indeed. I trust these two servants of yours are also free men."

"Aye, boy, they are!" The man shot back in disgust, "We of the north ride with who we will. We are all free men. These men ride with me of their own free will, because I am a strong leader."

Edric smirked, "Aye, and no doubt you ride saddled upon the backs of noble asses. Where, then, is your empire, great lord of beggar-kings?"

"There," he pointed north, toward one of the three nearby peaks and the passes upon its slopes, "That is my mountain, and this here pass is my road. I am the king of these mountains, and of that vale below." The man indicated the valley to the south.

"Yes, you are indeed a king among kings." Edric grew tired of this prattling.

"I am the king of this mountain, and I'm sick of your disrespect, little man! This sword is the finest to our clan," he declared, freeing his sword from its scabbard.

Edric showed a hint of mercy, "Put your sword away and go back to your palace on its desolate, icy slopes. If you have come to collect a toll on your road, you will see not a single rupee from me."

"From you, boy, I will take your toll in blood!"

We will see.

Edric brought Longclaw to the ready.

"Then I should say, my name is Edric Snow. May your men remember it well, so they can recount to your people the tale of your ruin!"

"I feel you've spoken quite long enough, young Lord Snow."

Edric immediately poised himself, holding a middle guard stance as the man lunged forward. His sword flashed in an angry, falling arc. The younger swordsman parried left as the blow came diagonally down, glancing off of the flat of his long-sword. Edric responded with his own attack, sliding his blade forward to make a quick thrust, which the man held off with the side of his own blade. Both men circled each other, closing and breaking off, exchanging blows and parries. Edric noted, however, that the brigand lacked any sense of balance. He came on very fiercely and with immense energy, but seemed entirely reliant on brutality. Any of the elegance of appreciable swordsmanship seemed lost to him. It was this point on which Edric would feed.

The two of them continued their fight. For several minutes, steel sang and cried out and blades flashed through the air in broad, sweeping arcs. This fearsome dance of blood and iron went on and on, Edric delivering blows high and low, left and right, and parrying just as many. Then, the highwayman swung with two hands from high to Edric's left. He caught the strike with a hanging left parry. Suddenly, though, the man released his left grip and took the bronze dagger from his belt, turned the blade down, and planted a quick thrust into Edric's midsection. The young man felt a sharp pain in his gut, but no more. The soft, bronze blade met the rings of his mail coat and was stopped almost immediately. Growling with discomfort, Edric reached his left hand for his opponent's grip. At the same time, he pushed with his own sword against his enemy's blade, pulling at the grip. Moving the man's weapon to the left, Edric lunged forward, forcing his pommel into the man's face. Clashing against the helmet, the hilt struck a devastating blow.

Edric's foe staggered back, dropping his dagger into the snow and clutching his head. The young swordsman gave the man not a moment's respite. He lunged at high guard stance and struck a high cut. The highwayman rushed to raise a high parry, but Edric reversed his cut at the last moment, turning the blade back to an arc that eventually came up under the man's guard. Longclaw's edge rose unchallenged, biting up into the highwayman's left arm. Steel drew blood as it cut through flesh and muscle, striking and cracking the bones in his arm. The brigand chieftain howled in agony, recoiling his bloody arm and holding it close to his body.

Growling, he lashed out in furious retribution. With one good arm, he raised his sword above his left shoulder and swung it down at an angle. Edric was far from concerned. The blow was energetic, but was easily neutralized with another hanging parry, this one a right-side guard. He slid Longclaw from under his opponent's sword, taking it up and around to strike from above. Edric cut down from slightly to the brigand's right, opening him from his right shoulder all the way down to the middle of his gut.

The man looked down at his gaping wound and staggered back, shuddering. The sword slid from his fingers and fell into the white snow. He tried to cover his wound with both hands, but there was simply far too much wound to cover. The brigand, once haughty, fell to his knees. Warm blood poured out, spilling over the snow and covering his arms, hands, and legs in deep crimson red, staining the snow at his feet. The brigand clutched his chest and slumped over onto the snow.

The two men watched as Edric cut their chief down. Both of them traded glances, then charged forward.

"Blood for blood!"

From Edric's left, the bandit spearman ran toward him, and from the right, the other man brandished his ax.

"Ghost!"

The wolf barked, lunging forward toward the spearman's exposed right side. The man had only a moment to react as Ghost leapt through the air, opening his terrible jaws. The spearman cried out as Ghost's sharp teeth bit through his flesh. The man toppled over as the wolf knocked into him. The bones in his right arm cracked under Ghost's powerful jaws.

Edric spun right to face the man wildly rushing toward him. With little effort, he knocked away the attacker's ax and thrust Longclaw through the man's gut. He kicked the wild man off the end of his sword and turned back to Ghost, who was at that point standing triumphantly over the corpse of a man whose throat he had ripped clean out.

Edric looked over the bodies of the three men, finding a purse on the body of the chieftain, in which he found 50 rupees. Nothing aside from that, save some scraps of passable rations, was of interest, so Edric wiped the blood from Longclaw's blade and replaced it in the scabbard slung over his back. He would have turned north, but he elected to avoid any further dealings with what the late chieftain had referred to as his "clan." So, he decided to follow the pass southwest into the mountain vale below.

As he started down the pass, something of peculiar color caught Edric's eye. Poking out of the snow, off to the side of the pass, was a piece of heavy, black fabric. He walked over to investigate, noting that his cloak was also black fabric. He dug up what seemed to be a piece of the fabric out of fabric from the cloak of one of his sworn brothers. He pulled the fabric out and found that several items were wrapped in the cloak. The most notable was a fine, steel dagger which Edric could immediately identify as that of his uncle, Emrys Snow.

After five days of hard trekking, he had finally located his first clue.

Edric removed the piece of black fabric from the snow, and laid it out on the ground. Within was the dagger, still polished. He drew the dagger from its leather sheath and inspected its fine, steel blade. The dagger was double-edged, with a hilt like the head of a bear, the blade protruding from the bear's gaping maw. The bottom of the blade, near the hilt, was marked on each flat by an engraving of Emrys' seal.

Edric was satisfied with the evidence. This was, indeed, a dagger belonging to his lost uncle. He took in his left hand the short scabbard made from leather and detailed with silver, and slid the knife back in its place. He strapped the dagger to his belt, next to his own dagger, which already hung from his hip.

He then turned his attention to the rest of the items wrapped in this shred of Emrys' cloak. Beneath its folds, Edric found a collection of arrowheads crafted from sharpened obsidian, as well as spearheads. As well, there were three daggers wrapped in the fabric. One had a hilt fashioned of bone, the other two had wooden hilts. Edric knew not what to make of this, so he wrapped the weapons back in the cloth and stowed the whole thing in his satchel.

He left a piece of black fabric in the snow to mark the place under which he uncovered these items. Satisfied, Edric started down the southwest pass down into the snowy vale below. The descent, in contrast with the rest of Eric's journey, proved to be rather pleasant. The view over the valley was made all the better by the fact that Nayru had seen fit to let the skies clear for the time being. Edric, therefore, had a couple of hours to view the land several hundred feet below without any haze of swirling, falling snow.

After some time, the snow began to pick up again. As always, the wind began to scream in the passes overhead. Farther down, he continued. Toward the bottom of the pass, Eric spotted what could only be the flicker of a campfire. Fearing another party of haughty brigands, Edric elected to take caution as he made his descent. More time passed, but the fire never moved or ceased to glow. On the way down, Snow kept his eyes peeled for shapes moving in the vegetation below, but he could spot none. There were no barbaric men dressed in heavy furs. There was only the glow of the fire, with a single man sitting nearby.

On the approach, Ghost was the first to get in close. As Edric came around the trees, he drew Longclaw from its scabbard, and emerged to find Ghost faced by a man wearing a long, black cloak, with short, black hair and a thin face. The man wore a coat-of-plates for protection, on top of layers of wool and leather. The shoulders of his cloak were draped with a lambskin for added warmth. He wore a steel sword on his hip, and a wooden heater shield slung over his shoulder. As the wolf leapt out from the shadows, the man rose and drew his sword, but then, he stopped. As Edric rounded the tree, the man turned to him, aghast.

"Snow!? Is it you?"

The man at the fire was one Edward Lancaster, one of the two Watchmen gone missing when Mallister's expedition returned from the mountains. He was not Edric's uncle, but he would do just fine. As Edric quickly noticed, he looked easily five years older than when they last met, maybe even ten, though he was still not yet four and twenty. Something had driven him to the edge of fatigue.

"Thank the gods for you, Snow!"

"By Nayru, Lancaster, you're still alive! How?"

Edward filled him on on how, for the past several weeks, he had eluded the brigands and "clans" who called the mountains home, and managed to survive on some hunted meat, as well as some scraps of food stolen from abandoned bandit camps.

"What of my uncle? Do you know where he is?"

Edward lowered his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Snow, I haven't seen him for many a fortnight. By now, I'd bet he's been taken by the wolves."

His harsh pessimism made Edric think.

There is something amiss. He is not himself. I cannot say why... but perhaps it is best I keep the obsidian relics to myself for now. Mallister can see them when we get back.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Edward. My uncle has always been a hardy fighter."

Edward looked into space for a moment, then said, "I do not doubt that, Edric Snow. Your uncle was always one of the finest among our Sworn Brothers. I do not think his valor failed him. I fear that he may have fallen to the darkness which dwells in these mountains. You know. You have seen it. We all fought against it. We would think it has perished, but it lives on. I would have followed him to the end, Edric. You know that."

Why didn't you? What do you know, Lancaster? What aren't you telling me?

There was something shifty about Edward's character that put Edric on edge. He could not tell exactly what was wrong, but Edward was far from himself.

"There is something nearby that I must show you, little Snow. If it please you, it may lead you closer to finding your uncle, if you still have hope."

Edric nodded, but remained wary within.

Indeed, I still have. Ganon take him, Uncle Emrys yet lives! I know it! I can feel it!