It was cold, but Camerak was always cold. Mordechai mon Kerach clutched the fur cloak tighter around himself. His eyes were locked on the structure in front of him. A gigantic gate, larger than any he had ever seen, was in front of him. Not even the palace in Tarabash had such a great gate. It was doubtful whether a similar structure would ever be built on Camerak again.

“Field Marshal the troops are in formation, when do you want them to move?” General Yifat mon Tarabash asked, saluting stiffly. “How soon are the mages ready?” General Yifat shrugged. “Who can ever tell with mages, they told me the ritual is complicated. Nobody has attempted this for centuries.” She sounded a bit irritated, probably because she hadn’t been informed what exactly was being attempted. Mordechai nodded. “The troops can wait. As can we. There is still time.” His eyes turned distant, a ripple going through the black pools. Seeing her commander’s dismissal for what it was Yifat saluted and marched away, leaving a gorge in the snow.

When Yifat returned the other generals crowded around her. “What are the field marshal’s orders?” General Jader mon Kachek asked, small golden flecks dancing through his otherwise pitch-black eyes. Yifat shrugged. “He told us to wait until the mages are done. The troops ought to stay in line, while we prepare camp.” Zealously Jader nodded and with a dramatic twirl of his cloak stormed off to order his engineers around. She didn’t like that one, it wasn’t the mission he believed in, just the man.

She repressed the urge to look over her shoulder, the other generals would see it as a sign of weakness. General Benroy mon Tarabash sighed. “He marches us all the way to the end of the world to sit around in the snow? How did the queen ever put that madman in charge?” She didn’t like Benroy either, he believed in nothing, save his own greatness. Lastly, she turned her gaze towards one-eyed General Lazar mon Kerach. He she liked. Quiet, intelligent, the commander’s uncle, a brilliant tactician, Lazar was an example for their profession.

“General Benroy, you are out of line.” Yifat said, anger rising in her voice, red flecks growing in her tar-black eyes. “Field marshal Mordechai is still your ranking officer, any more lip service and there will be consequences.” Benroy smirked, the pale almost see through white skin around his skull tightening, a black vein pulsating beneath it. “Are you going to challenge me to a duel Yifat? The field marshal won’t stand for it, he specifically asked me for this campaign, if it can even be called that.” Yifat’s smiled a pointy toothed smile at the other general. “Everyone can be replaced, general.” She said menacingly.

“Peace generals.” Lazar’s quiet voice interrupted. “This is neither the time, nor the place for an honour duel. Let us all retreat to our tents and reconvene in hour, when tempers have settled. I’m sure our commander will share with us the details of this operation then.” Yifat huffed, one of these days she was going to put a sword through Benroy’s gut and nobody was going to stop her. Benroy sneered, gave a stern nod towards Lazar, which the older general returned, and marched off.

The half blind general and his younger colleague watched Benroy’s retreating back for a minute, one with disinterest the other with hatred. “You shouldn’t let General Benroy provoke you. Contrary to his general demeanour he’s a very intelligent man. More than a few of his rivals have met unfortunate ends, which never have been traced back to him.” Yifat studied Lazar’s face as the man spoke. He was old, older than the commander by at least thirty years. His face was withered, hard lines frozen into his face. The bone protrusions emerging from the back of his head told the story of many harsh marches through the bitter cold. Yifat resisted the urge to touch her own protrusions, which she had had carved in the latest court fashion.

“Benroy is a disgrace, I don’t understand why the commander suffers his presence. All the man has done so far is challenge every decision the commander has made.” She said bitterly. “Benroy serves an important function. The general is the only one who questions the commander’s orders and strategies. He keeps the commander on his toes and the commander knows it.” Yifat was about to protest, when Lazar gave her a stern look, clearly suffering no interruption.

“General Jader would rather burn himself alive than question an order given by the commander. Personally, I would never challenge Mordechai in public, not given our shared family history. If General Benroy wasn’t there it would just leave you, the most junior general on this campaign. Your opinion would be dust on the wind. Balance is a very precarious thing; my nephew is aware of this.” As the older general fell silent, turning his head to look at the looming structure in the distance. His lips curled into a smile. “General Benroy’s aerial division is, of course, also a welcome addition to this endeavour.”

A cold breeze made a shiver run down Yifat’s spine. “What exactly is this endeavour, the mages didn’t presume to inform me.” They had been marching for months now and so far she hadn’t been able to pry even a single detail out of the commander, his uncle or Special Brigadier General Ofira regarding the operation. Lazar’s smile disappeared. “It will all be revealed, in due time. Now then, General Yifat, could I interest you in some of the finest cuts of fish this campaign has to offer?” He laid a hand on her shoulder and steered her towards the camp. As they walked past the rows upon rows of living armours, they discussed paltry matters, unaware that from upon his hill Field Marshal Mordechai was tracking their movements.

His cold eyes surveyed the frozen landscape around him. Very little lived in this part of the world. Then again very little lived in every part of the world, which got colder every year. Beneath him he could see almost his entire army standing in perfect motionless rows, banners depicting a single sword flapping in the wind. In the distance a wyvern shrieked, the sound irritated him, but the benefits of having the best trained aerial division in the empire at his side lessened his irritation.

During the civil war the massive winged beasts had brought down destruction on his lands and instilled terror in the hearts of his people. They were part of the reason he had been forced to kneel before the Tarabashian throne, even when he had drowned the county itself in blood. That had however been fifty years ago, in what seemed almost as another lifetime. A new queen now sat on the frozen throne, one who believed in the urgency of the problem he had gone to war over.

Camerak, the entire planet, was freezing shut. The forests he had played in as a young boy had all but disappeared. The rivers that had once provided a bounty of fish for his people during the summer were now frozen the entire year-round. The great whales, which his family had hunted for centuries, were going extinct, their breeding places too cold for anything to survive. He had raised the issue with the old queen countless times, but she had always waved it away. She had only wanted a single thing, to extend her domain over all Visius. The people of Camerak remembered her as the Great Conqueror, celebrated in death as she had been in life.

He held nothing but loathing in his heart for the old crone. What good would it do to have conquered the whole world when nothing could live in that world? Sometimes he wondered whether the old bitch had known that an entire kingdom had been swallowed by the snows. The kingdom of Koveig had been in decline for years, that was true, but when the traders stopped coming had she even noticed? He thought not. Towards the end she had been very sick, both in mind as well as in body. The only reason he had been spared an ugly death for his revolt was because the old bat died before he reached the palace. Instead of the mother he had faced the daughter and she he had been willing to serve.

Queen Yeshara saw the world from a different perspective. She hadn’t been born with a sword in her hand, like her mother. No, Yeshara wasn’t a warlord, but a true queen, who saw the problems in her sizeable kingdom and knew what to do about them. From the corner of his eyes he saw purple light flash. It was starting. He watched as the purple light was joined by a torrent of green fire. He frowned, they better no burn the gate, it was their best hope. He watched for a minute more, but the ritual would take days and he was getting cold. Slowly he started his descend towards the camp, which was illuminated by ghostly blue mage lights.

Lazar and Yifat were engaged in a game of Parset when Mordechai entered Lazar’s yurt. Inside it was a comfortable two degrees and the two generals had made themselves comfortable. Their armour and cloaks were lying on cloths prepared for such a purpose and bowls of raw fish were standing on the table. The two were so engrossed in their game that they didn’t even notice their commander entering. Lazar softly tapped one bony finger against the table as he surveyed the battlefield in front of him. Yifat’s army had taken a few hits taking an advantageous position, but going by the abacus on the right side of the board her supply lines were strong.

As Mordechai looked at his uncle’s deep frown he considered the possibility that General Yifat might win. The small curl of his lips however indicated differently. He quietly watched as his two generals started exchanging pieces. Eventually Lazar won by destroying Yifat’s commanders with a large-scale ritual. Mordechai strode forwards and for the first time the two generals noticed him. Yifat jumped up and saluted, his uncle remained seated, but signalled deference and respect in Kerach’s sign language. “A good game, but General Yifat you remain too focused on the armies your opponent is fielding against you, subterfuge is just as much a part of war as battles and supply lines. I will arrange a game with Special Brigadier General Ofira, she will be able to teach you just that.”

General Yifat nodded respectfully. “As you wish Field Marshal.” Mordechai nodded stiffly. “Forgive me General Yifat, but could I speak with my uncle privately?” For a second Yifat considered protesting. She hadn’t been outright dismissed and doing so now would be a severe breach of etiquette. The second passed and she dropped the childish notion. “Of course, commander. General Lazar, it was a pleasure to play with you.” The one-eyed general nodded. “The pleasure was all mine General Yifat. If you wish to be obliterated in Parset again, my tent is always open.”

Lazar’s lips curled into a sadistic smile as the other general left. “She’s far too serious for her age.” He said as his nephew took Yifat’s place and began resetting the board. “She’s just right for this campaign.” Mordechai said as he reset the pieces. “You both need to lighten up a little. You’re acting like people twice your age.” His uncle remarked. “It is important to enjoy light moments like these. They will make the truly dark decisions you will have to make easier. Trust me, I know what I speak off.” Mordechai studied his uncle open eye, through which ghostly blue flecks danced. “It will be alright uncle; I’ve got it all in hand. Now, let us play, I’ve been refining a new opening gambit.” The conversation fell silent as uncle and nephew started moving pieces around the board.

Ɏ

It took the mages two days to make the ritual work. When it did it however it was a sight to behold. Mordechai and his general staff stared as energies flowed into the gate, the frozen ground in front of it drenched in blood. Twelve mages had died of sheer exhaustion, the others looked to be close. Special Brigadier General Ofira, although tired, had a triumphant smile on her face. She had painted her needle like teeth red with blood and her robes were equally drenched.

Mordechai’s nose wrinkled as the stench of death and magic wafted off her. She saluted and he gave her permission to speak. “Field Marshal, Generals, you are about to stand witness to a practice of sorcery that hasn’t been seen on Camerak in millennia. Behold, the opening of the gate between worlds.” She bowed dramatically as behind her the gigantic gate started to hum.

A single note, becoming louder with every heartbeat. The wind picked up, grabbing the cloaks of the men and women in front of the gate, trying to tear them off. The general staff didn’t bow before it, they were better than that. The blood that drenched the ground slowly started flowing in the direction of the portal. Ofira let out a manic laugh, revealing a little of the madness all mages carried with them inside. The living armours, awaiting their masters’ commands stood quietly, equally unmoved by the violence of the ritual. Beneath the calm posterior Mordechai’s heart beat wildly.

An entire civil war and thirty years of research had led to this. If the ritual failed the only choice left to him would be a quick death. A thin screen of blood filled the entire gate, rippled and then turned white. Mordechai looked at the Special Brigadier General, who nodded, crazed smile still in place.

Slowly he turned towards his generals, whose eyes all reflected amazement. “My lady, my lords, you have inquired multiple times as to where this campaign was headed. Especially you, General Benroy have questioned the purpose of this endeavour, and rightfully so. Now is the time to reveal what our queen has tasked us to do. Beyond that gate generals lies an entire world. A world free of the troubles ours suffers from.” His lips curled into a hungry smile. “A world which will be a most fitting gift to our great queen.”

Golden flecks of glory filled the eyes of the generals present. “Let us march, we have a world to conquer.” As Mordechai marched towards the gate the sound of a million living armours moving in perfect unison filled the air. The Great Conqueror they had called the old queen, he would make sure that her deeds were dust compared to her successor. He might have lost the civil war, but that old failure would become dust upon the wind when he was finished.

Slowly he walked towards the gate, unaware of the activity behind him. The pale light greeted him as he reached out and touched it. His hand went straight through, feeling the warmth on the other side. Without hesitation he stepped through, into the unknown. He didn’t know it, but his arrival marked an ending and a beginning. As the armies of the Tarabashian empire flowed into Yord kings, queens, merchants and priests slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of the threat to the north.