Snow is thicker here than in the South, the wind colder than ever before. But behind the breeze, there is nothing. No sound, nor life of any other kind. The trees of the forest sway ever so slightly, their branches rattle and click. The sky is clear and blue, yet the sun is chilling and unforgiving. Steam spews from my mouth with an exhale. A sign that heat is actively leaving my body.

  I emerge from the forest, my crossbow placed on the top of my shield as I hold it at the ready. Other Dogs follow behind, their weapons at the ready or at rest. With every step we take, the snow crunches and groans, making our presence known. That is, if there is anyone else here to notice our march.

  The land is open with only a thick layer of white. On the map, there should be a major road connecting towns, but most importantly, it will lead us to Jagged Mine. I’ll have to assume the road is buried under the snow, which in that case. When we set up camp, my army will find it when they shovel the stuff out of the way.

  If there is one thing I can credit the Cinari for, it is that they took their time to prepare for our attack. The Cinari know a full-scale battle will only spell their doom. So, they try to be sneaky. Hit and run tactics, skirmishes, or not engaging at all and leaving me to the cold. Bold to assume frost and snow will kill the likes of me.

  Night is approaching, and I need to have my soldiers rest. We can set up camp here; this hill can give us an advantage if we see any Cinari approaching us. If they are brave enough to attack me during the night.

  The Dog looks at me in worry as I point at one of them. ‘You there! Tell everyone we are setting up camp in the field.’

  They shake before me, damn fool is now all of a sudden scared. But at least they are doing their job while they head off to tell everyone that we are staying here.

  I place my shield and crossbow down so I can brush the snow off me. Some Dogs struggle with that simple task, as some clumps of snow that form on their fur are as big as their fist in some instances. Some soldiers resort to cutting their fur short to stop it from happening, even if that will mean they will freeze during winter. But that isn’t the worst of it; some soldiers are complaining that they are going blind or that they are struggling to see. At first, I thought they were just making excuses just to get out of work, as the blindness is only temporary, as their vision gets better overnight, but once my best soldiers are complaining that their vision is getting worse. It is apparent that something is wrong. The soldiers are beginning to call it Winter Blindness.

  It has to be the snow; something about it is wrong. It isn’t like the snow in the South; there, it wasn’t a problem. But here the snow is thicker and heavier. Perhaps it is their cursed magic that makes this place hostile. Or some sort of disturbing trick the Cinari did, which actively poisoned their lands.

  A messenger walks up to me, wearing strange wooden goggles with a small slit that provides the wearer with vision, even if it is barely any. Some Dogs a while ago made them because they think it helps with Winter Blindness during the day. A ridiculous device and a waste of resources, but if it makes my soldiers comfortable and believe that it protects their vision, so be it.

  She stutters, keeping her distance from me with letters in hand. ‘I have messages from Midrax and Karl; they want to report on their progress.’

  Good, I’ll read them later tonight. Without a word, I snatch the letters from her hands and gesture for her to leave the area. To hopefully do something else more useful to the cause. For now, I need to figure out how we can take the mine over.

  The mine seems to be constructed in an open field, like this. Though what is strange is the mine is meant to be only a few kilometres away from here, yet I can’t see any semblance of civilization from the top of this hill.

  ‘Jackle!’

  The man takes a step towards me, waiting for my command. What is strange about him is that his fur is becoming less red during our time here. His mane becomes more black as if the snow is washing off the red sand. Perhaps he is a black mane all along. Might explain how he survived the desert in the first place.

  ‘Make sure to bring Vern to my private quarters.’ I order, ‘I need him to formulate a plan to free our people.’

  Before Jackle heads off, he readies his crossbow and aims it. ‘We have a Cinari!’

  I turn to see what he means. Pushing Jackle’s crossbow down to signal that the creature is not a threat. No, they are far more annoying than that.

  ‘It’s the Shaman. He wants to talk.’ I grumble, heading towards the old fool to see what the idiot wants.

  He puts on a frail act, looking old while he holds himself up by his staff. His ridiculous stick is decorated with feathers, trinkets, and whatever he decided to pick up from the ground.

  ‘I never thought to see you here.’ The Shaman says in a croaking voice.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Simple, I want to see if you remember the rules and agreement we have.’

  Of course, he will want to talk about that. All he wants is to know I will not slaughter every last Cinari on this island and to make the war less bloody than it deserves to be. The Shaman is powerful, a user of twisted spells and magic. Even if he saved my life, there is no reason for me to trust this fool.

  ‘I remember, and I do intend to keep that promise.’ I lie.

  ‘But what of the South? Have you killed the elves there?’

  ‘No,’ I growl. ‘They are all slaves. An acceptable compromise for the likes of you.’

  The Shaman nods, indifferent to what I said. ‘Do you remember what I said when we first met? When you took over the Crystal Kingdom?’

  I don’t answer. The idiot can finish his own sentence without me holding his frail hands.

  ‘Marak, I warned you of your arrogance, what will happen if you push north and how you will meet your equal.’

  I scoff, ‘equal? Things are going as planned, witch. I expected your kind to put up a fight and prepare for my eventual arrival. With each day, I push deeper and deeper into their territory. If I meet my equal, this will be a quick fight.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be wise to…’

  ‘To what?’ I interrupt him; he doesn’t deserve an ounce of respect. ‘I am fighting the war, not you. I don’t need or want your advice or input. The Cinari do, how about you walk to them and talk moral and philosophical ratshit to them. They surely like to hear the dribbles and grobbles of an old coward.’

  The Shaman frowns, pausing for a moment to assess my words. Come on, take as long as you want. Make it sink into your thick skull that you are not welcome here. You are only alive because I don’t know how to kill you, but that day will come sooner rather than later.

  ‘In that case, I will not bother you, king. I will only come to you if you are violating our agreement.’

  ‘Don’t care, now piss off.’

  We both part ways, I head back to my army while the Shaman walks off to whatever they came from. Good riddance. The less I see them, the better my life will become.

  As night finally darkens the skies, I stand near my tent, overseeing my great army. My army wastes no time setting up camp, even if they are exhausted after a long march. But even if we are tired and desperate for rest, the Cinari will not give us that luxury; we need to be at the ready.

  I have at least a hundred patrols to keep watch over as we sleep. Only being rotated every hour or so. Some soldiers will stay up till their shift begins and only rest once it ends. While some choose to get what sleep they can get. During the wait, they will sit together, in their own groups, huddled around a small fire, sharing food and exchanging jokes. They are fighting a war, yet they have time to have some sort of laugh.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Jackle walks around between groups, most welcome him and want him to join. He always declines. However, the only thing he seems to be doing is checking in on the soldiers to see if they are okay. He doesn’t talk much, and he doesn’t engage with others. The man is a loner, but I can tell that he cares about them. If they have problems, he hears them out and maybe gives advice to the younger ones.

  Good on him, but if I want to win this war. I’ll need to make a plan to take that mine and replenish our troops. Midrax will want the people to head south and train there. However, I have a feeling we will need them all here. We’ll train them on the march and get them used to our methods of engagement. They will have no other choice.

  Inside my own tent, I only desire a simple layout. A bed, a desk, and lastly an armour stand to place my fear down. All lit up by a single lantern. At the corner, my Vern shifts around in his cage, wearing his uniform. While the Commander I’ve captured at the fort is valuable, I won’t say he is pleasant company.

  Vern glares at me, and he spits on the ground the moment I set foot in the tent. ‘Look what the cunt dragged in. Do you have any more burning questions? A fucking epiphany perhaps?’

  I sit on my chair across from him, retrieving the letters about my lieutenant's progress. While Vern has a mouth, it is at least amusing company to have. Plus, they usually alert me when strangers are entering my tent unannounced. I suppose he doesn’t care, as long as he can genuinely swear at anyone. A false sense of security that I can deprive him of if he crosses the line.

  Upon reading the first letter, it seems Midrax is pushing through and is right on the river’s edge. I’m glad he admits he will take some time to cross the river; he knows not to repeat the same mistakes he made last year. The only issue I see is that he is slowly running low on soldiers. While he claims he found some mines and plantations, he notices that they are not as well-versed in combat as we are. Midrax claims that Dogs up North are more timid.

  I'd like to see that for myself, so far, I doubt they are. They are tools like us, used and abused by demons. They will have our anger, the drive to kill them all! If Midrax can’t utilise or spark that anger, then I’ll need to have a chat with him soon.

  Karl disappoints me. He is being pushed back from the west, from his letter, he describes Cinari soldiers that shoot light from the tips of their spears while wearing full plated silver armour. I’ve killed two like them before, I know what they are capable of. Yet he speaks as if a team of two can easily take on a team of twenty Dogs. That is unacceptable, a waste of resources and manpower! Karl will say he is changing his strategy to deal with this foe, but I doubt that will do anything. It proves the importance of taking Jagged Mine. Without it, we won’t have enough soldiers to continue our fight.

  I’ll also need to push up north more. Karl is struggling, and I will need to assist that fool. But most importantly of all, if there are a lot of those Cinari and their light spears there, it will mean they are protecting something important, something I want.

  ‘Vern. Tell me everything you know about Jagged Mine.’

  The Cinari shrugs with a grin, ‘fuck if I know. I don’t visit often when I should. I heard your mother still misses me.’

  Child! Going for insults and trying to rile me up. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I grab my water bottle and steady it over his head. ‘I can leave you outside in the cold, maybe that’ll make you talk.’

  Vern laughs at me, not taking my threat seriously. ‘You won’t fucking dare, you need me alive.’

  ‘You’re right, I do need you alive. But that doesn’t mean you have to be warm.’

  I pour water onto him, and he thrashes around in his cage like the rabid animal he is. Swearing and cursing my name while soaked in water.

  ‘Now, from the beginning. Tell me everything you know about Jagged Mine.’

  ‘You know, my balls need some tending to. How about you lick them and maybe I’ll talk.’ He shivers in response, yet still holding onto his rebellious smile.

  I might not be able to physically hurt him, but I can draw it out. Make him suffer because of his attitude and for my entertainment.

  I open the tent flaps, the cold breeze rushing in and kissing his wet skin. He shakes, holding onto his wet clothes like they are a blanket. I stand there, watching as his skin slowly changes colour. Vern tries to get my attention; he screams and shouts. But I just stand there, depriving him of what he wants. Conflict. He wants me to bite back, to respond to his venom. He killed his men so he could live, because he thinks he is best suited to lie to me. A lot of Cinari think like that, yet they all break in the end. You just need to ask the right questions, and they will eventually give you the right answer.

  Vern sighs as I close the tent flaps, relieved that the cold wind crashing against his skin is over. ‘Tell me, tell me everything you know about Jagged Mine.’

  ‘You think I fucking know, huh? Do I have an answer that will satisfy you?’ He expects a response from me, but I just blankly stare at him. In defeat, he sighs to himself. ‘I don’t, I know nothing about the place. I don’t know anything about any mine, let alone their defences. So please, don’t fucking expect me to give you anything.’

  Oh, you will tell me everything. ‘Your soldiers out west, they are protecting something. What is it?’

  ‘We are protecting our land from you, fuck-tard! Do you really think we have any other motive besides putting your savage asses where you belong?’

  ‘Regular soldiers protect their land, not the other ones that carry your light spears.’

  ‘The Pretorian Guard, what about them? Let me guess, they are kicking your asses, are they?’ He smirks, realising that I am facing difficulties. But I now know their names at least.

  ‘The opposite, we are pushing them back. I just want to know why they are sending their best against us on that part of the island.’

  ‘You’re such a bullshit artist, you know that.’ Vern chuckles to himself. ‘No wonder your people don’t freely talk to you, it seems your filthy kind knows what a liar looks like.’

  I take a step towards him with a second bottle of water. ‘Answer the question.’

  ‘They are perhaps protecting a church, and it seems our Gods are blessing their finest warriors.’

  ‘Your false Gods don’t care about this conflict, Cinari. They never heard your people’s cries when we took the South. They won’t hear yours when we take the North.’

  The creature frowns in front of me; it seems his faith is a soft spot for him. ‘You don’t get it, Dog! For hundreds of years, we’ve faced threats worse than you. We've killed the Dragons, pushed the dodad hordes back, and soon we will put an end to your childish rebellion. Because in the end, we have the Gods on our side! Yours didn’t even bother to save you when we took your islands.’

  I lean down to be eye level with him. ‘There are no Gods, there is an afterlife. Down South, I converted your churches into brothels, I turned your virtuous nuns into whores, and I even made your priests curse the faith before they die. Your Gods never existed. You made them up to pretend that you are pious. I’m no fool, Cinari. As soon as I hang your Empress with the entrails of your last bishop is the day your faith dies.’

  ‘Cunt!’ Vern cries, ‘your kind never faced the Pretorian Guard, the holiest of warriors! I swear to you that they will slaughter every last one of you.’

  I smile, an act that makes him uneasy. ‘No, they won’t. I’ve killed two of them before; a few dozen more won’t be a problem.’

  To rub it all into him, to make it all sink in. I throw him a thick blanket over his cage, which will keep him dry and warm for the night. If he manages to slip the blanket through the gaps of his bars. He will be forced to strip naked, but I don’t care. He will choose between his dignity and survival, and like that, he chooses life. An expected turn of events.

  But for now, it will be best that I rest. We will march in the morning. I have everything I need from him. Their elite warriors are protecting not just a simple church; they will be protecting something holy for them or perhaps a place where they store their weapons. In the end, Karl had better start taking ground so we can destroy it.