The Soldier in the Snow

The sting of winter was relentless, as it always was in the Northern Islands. The rest of the world only ever had three months of bitter winter, but the people of these islands had to endure a frozen wasteland for more than ten, painful months. Even in the last remaining couple of months there was still knee-deep snow.

Halen stood at his post, like always, never moving but constantly freezing. The young soldier was rubbing his hands together by the small burning torch next to him. Even with his thick soldier’s uniform there was still a fear of frostbite’s deadly touch. Halen sighed, his warm breath forming a cloud of steam in the air. His job was quiet and boring, not the role he had wanted when he signed up for the Empresses’ royal legions. He expected to see faraway lands, enchanted forests that had to be seen to be believed, different food and drink to taste, and women of different shapes, sizes, and species. Instead, he was drafted to Lord Calamer’s forces, tasked with guarding the gold and coal mines.

Halen looked up, hoping to see the position of the sun. He wondered what time it was, hoping it was almost time for a guard change so he could grab himself a hot meal back at the camp. He sighed again, as all he could see were heavy snow clouds covering the sky. ‘I hate snow,’ he muttered to himself. His older brother, Christopher, had been sent to Madracane, land of golden sun. He scoffed with jealousy at the unfairness.

He decided to get his blood pumping. He picked up his rifle, slung it over his shoulder and started to walk down the snow-covered ridge to the shore. On his way he passed a farmer and his son, taking some cattle to market. ‘Legionnaire.’ The farmer nodded. Halen nodded back. ‘I think the weather’s getting better,’ he awkwardly joked. The two of them shared a laugh as they passed. Halen had only been in the northern lands for a few months, and he was yet to learn any of the locals names.

As Halen reached the bottom of the ridge, he noticed a group of soldiers huddled around a small fire. ‘Captain Highnhow!’ He called out, slowly making his way through the snow to reach them.

The Captain and his men all turned to look at the young soldier. ‘Young Halen, how fairs the watch?’ Highnhow asked, standing up. He was an old, grizzled man, with a long, greying beard. The scars on his face were his badges of honour.

Halen awkwardly smiled. ‘Good, I suppose,’ he answered. ‘I’m still not sure why so many soldiers are stationed in this wasteland.’ Halen looked around at the land he was meant to protect. There was nothing here, just snow, trees, and small little communities that attended the farms and mines. As he looked back towards his commanding officer, he couldn’t help but think he was meant for so much more.

The Captain sighed. ‘Boy, it is not our place to question the Empress, you should have learned by now.’ Highnhow started to make his way over to the boy, trudging through the snow. ‘We protect the mines, and in these current times, the Black Legion could attack anywhere to harm the Empire,’ he explained. He smiled at the boy under his command, taking pity as he noticed he was shivering. ‘Here, my boy, take this.’ He reached into his long coat and removed a silver flask. ‘Whisky from the Capital, this should warm your bones.’ He continued to smile as he handed the boy the flask.

Halen was freezing, so anything that could warm him up was a blessing. ‘I need to return to my route, goodbye, Captain.’ He quickly dismissed himself, but not before taking a large gulp from the flask.

‘Aye boy, back to it, I’ll have Andrews take over in an hour or so.’ The Captain quickly re-joined the fires, warming his old bones.

Halen continued on his way to the shore, thinking about what his Captain had just told him. The Black Legion was the Empire’s sworn enemy, the Black King that had given himself and his people to dark and ancient gods. He and his people were no longer human, warped and twisted by dark magic. All he could do was wonder why they would ever come to this place. He sighed before taking another swig of whisky.

The weather was getting worse, the snow heavier, and the winds faster and harsher. Halen tightened the jacket around his neck as he continued down to the shore. A blizzard may be approaching, and he hoped he wasn’t stuck outside when it happened. As he reached to shore all he saw was more of the same, snow and rock, even the waters were filled with ice.

Halen stood there for a time, looking out to the sea, dreaming of some place warm. He felt his heart beat faster as something sudden, something different, caught his eye. Out on the horizon came a ship, just a single ship, but large, unlike any ship he had seen before. As he peered out through the snow, he couldn’t quite make out any features of the ship. The unrelenting force of the snow was making it near impossible to see. ‘Who is it?’ He whispered to himself, still trying to see through the white abyss.

His eyes widened at the realisation of what he was looking at, as he finally made out the detail of the ship. Black wood and black sails with the skeletal head of a dragon as the figurehead. ‘No,’ he muttered, his face dropping. He had learned about this in basic training. The entire reason for the war, the plague that threatened the Empire and the world. A galleon of the Black Legion. ‘No, no, no!’ Halen scrambled to wards the cliffs. Underneath was a warning flare cannon, placed there to warn of any oncoming attack. No one on the islands, including Halen, ever thought they would actually use one. As Halen reached it, he turned the cannon’s mechanism as hard as he could, layers of frost and ice making it more difficult. ‘Come on, you motherf-‘ The ice cracked and shattered from the force of the turning mechanism. Quickly, the cannon turned upwards, firing into the sky.

The cannon round flew straight before exploding, ripples of red and orange flashes illuminating through the snow. Halen’s breaths were heavy. He looked back at the ship. Even with the light-show, the ship showed no signs of slowing down. Halen knew that this shore would be the battlefield. He raced up back to the ridge, placing himself on a rock and taking aim with his rifle. Soon Lord Calamer and the rest of the legion would be here. The war had come to even the most unlikely of places and now even Halen would be forced to fight back the tide of darkness.

Halen quickly counted his bullets and gun powder, he only had enough for ten or more shots. He had to make them count, he thought. He had learnt from Captain Highnhow that the best way to take down a Black Legion soldier was through the head or the heart. Luckily, he had been an impressive shot since the start of his training. He kept his eye on the ship as he held his guard, not taking his eye or rifle away from the sea. As he lay waiting, he could hear the sound of horns and hundreds of footsteps approaching from the rear.

‘Halen, what in the Empresses’ name is going on?!’ Highnhow screamed. He and his men came racing down from their camp. ‘That thing is not a to- dear god!’ He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw the ship. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

‘Yes sir!’ Halen replied. ‘Black Legion troop galleon!’ He still had his rifle aimed at the ship, ready to fire as soon as it got closer.

Highnhow and his men took up positions next to Halen, each one with their own rifle.

‘Statues report!’ Screamed a man from behind. Lord Calamer came, galloping on his horse, in full armour and fur.

‘Single ship, coming from the horizon!’

Behind Lord Calamer was the rest of the legion, rifles in hands and swords strapped to waists. The well-trained soldiers wasted no time in organizing themselves in gun-lines, positioning themselves on the ridge so that no enemy could make their way up.

Calamer was a noble man of noble heritage, his face and blond hair both neatly trimmed. He paced on his horse, looking straight at the ship that was approaching the coast at rapid speeds. ‘Who fired this warning!?’ He asked.

‘T-that was me, my Lord,’ Halen nervously answered, still looking down his rifle.

Calamer nodded. ‘You’ve just earned yourself a promotion, soldier, well done!’

Halen couldn’t help but smile, even as the snow gathered on his back and head.

There was a quiet before the storm. A nerve stretching, endless silence as the Empresses’ legion waited for the upcoming battle. They watched on as the black ship got closer with each passing second. Then it happened, the galleon crashed on the shore with a thunderous boom. Each soldier at their heart in their throats as they waited.

Suddenly, the sides of the ship burst open and the Black legion warriors came pouring out. Ugly and hateful creatures that clicked and growled with every movement. Their weapons were just as evil as them, twisted black metal swords and rifles.

On top of the ship came a single warrior, taller than an average man. His armour was completely black, harsh shards of metal sticking out from all over his body. In his hand was a giant, metal pistol. He laughed as he saw the forces awaiting his arrival. ‘Butcher the humans!’ He screamed. The rest of the twisted soldiers screamed inhuman screams.

Halen couldn’t believe what he was seeing, such evil creatures of a hateful design.

Lord Calamer removed his sword from his sheath, lifting the perfect steel into the air. ‘In the name of the true god, in the name of the Empress, show no mercy, fire!’

The battle for the Northern Islands was about to commence.