Rivers That Lead Nowhere

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Aegon remembered well the time when the biggest threat for travelers along these roads were muddy patches that could twist a horse’s leg, or the snowstorms that were known to block passages for months.

The times had certainly changed, and he found himself longing for those days of peace and calm.

As a younger man, he would have relished the thought of having a chance to go against a mythical beast, or to make a name for himself charging against the blood-thirsty orc horde, but the decades of wars and violence had dulled such instincts. The only thing he truly desired was to be back at his little farm, to work the fields in the morning and spend the rest of the day surrounded by his family.

The old warrior swore to his wife never to pick up a sword again. ‘There are many more, younger, and more eager lads to wage battles. You have done your duty, several times over, you owe nothing to the realm. If anything, the realm owes you,’ she would say, and he would agree.

But when the prince himself came to his home to ask that he serve his brother, the king, one last time, he couldn’t say no. Mostly because he felt that the refusal was not on the table.

Aegon watched the long column of the troops under his command rhythmically trudge along the frozen ground. Their faces were beleaguered by the long march and sporadic skirmishes with their elusive enemy.

Far in the distance, a faint shape of a wyvern was blending with the leaden clouds anchored at the snowy peaks of the mountainous massives that rose on either side of the narrow valley. The serpentine features of the flying beast made it seem like a winged sea snake, writhing in and out of view.

Aegon saw it, but the dragon was too far away to pose any threat.

Good, he thought, because his soldiers were in no shape for a fight like that.

He was trotting alongside his company on his massive warhorse. His thighs and bottom ached and chafed from long days spent in the saddle. The heavy plate armor weighed heavily on his shoulders and the exhaustion crept on him much earlier than he expected. He was getting too old for it all, but he could not let it be shown. He needed to be the leader his men needed and believed him to be, even if he didn’t believe it himself anymore.

Without even realizing, the thought made his spine stiffen up and he straightened up in his seat. His broad shoulders pulled back and pushed his chest forward, exposing a large eagle crest. The metallic counterpart to the white eagles swaying on maroon banners along the line of his marching company.

“Damn orcs.” A man to Aegon’s right muttered under his breath while surveying the thick evergreen forest that enveloped the narrow valley down which the company was treading its route.

“See something, Titus?” Aegon asked.

“No. And that’s what bothers me. That orc party followed us for two days, hiding in the forest, peeking behind the trees like some nosy brats. But now they’re gone, or at least it looks like it. Haven’t seen a single ugly snout since this morning.”

“They’re gone. Probably rejoined the main group. It’s clear where we are going by now. No need to keep an eye on us any longer.” Said Aegon, pulling his long, thick cape closer as the icy, winter wind started blowing harder, cutting through thick layers of cloth and fur down to the bones, exacerbating the aches he was already feeling.

But he never showed it.

“Don’t you find it all odd, Titus?” Aegon continued.

“Which part? The orcs following, or the orcs disappearing?”

Aegon did not reply right away. Instead, he shifted slightly in his saddle and looked around at the weary faces of the foot soldiers marching alongside the mounted knights.

A riddle was pecking at his mind. Some inner instinct kept hinting at him that something is out of place, that once again things are not exactly as they seem.

Aegon had spent most of his years serving in the Royal Guard, ever present at court, where intrigues and machinations were as common as the rising of the sun. He got too familiar with the inner workings of that machinery and as much as he hated braving the winds of that storm of lies and deception, it helped him keen a sense for picking up on all those barely perceptible clues that often could pose a difference between life and death.

He had learned long time ago that if things appeared simple and straight forward, they were most definitely not.

“Not here. Later.” Aegon responded in a voice that was more hushed than usual.

His eyes wandered about the long, narrow valley. He was familiar with it. It was the only traversable passage into the realm from the north. The area was barren and flat, aside from the long-dried riverbed that meandered across it, laying in stark contrast to the thick evergreen forests rising on each side of it. As such it offered no protection from the icy winds whipping through it, which seemed to never stop, only lose intensity at times.

“You said it’d be cold, but I never imagined it this cold.” Titus shared. As the second in charge, his garments were alike to Aegon’s. A mesh of warm woolen cloth under the protective iron plates, lined with fur along the seams and around the neck, combined with a maroon cape, long enough to cover the hind parts of his horse. They provided significant protection from the cold, but nothing was enough against the western wind rushing down from the towering peaks of the Cloud Mountains.

“We’re almost there. Look.” Said Aegon.

Their shelter loomed in front of them. The White Stone. Once an imposing structure that defended the northern border of the realm, the fort was now a ghastly skeleton of its former self. Like broken teeth of some ancient giant, it was crowning the lone, barren hillock at the narrow end of the basin.

In its heyday, The White Stone stationed between 500 and 800 souls, mostly soldiers, that could hold off thousands of invaders. Its massive walls protected it from three sides, while the southern part used the dry riverbed as the deep and treacherous moat, especially when covered by snow.

The moat’s drawbridge was now gone, and the ballista towers that sowed fear and destruction were but a rubble, unidentifiable and half covered in snow drifts.

The only habitable part of the old fort was alongside the remains of the western wall where the old kitchen, stables, and the blacksmith’s workshop still stood. The main hall remained almost intact as well, while all the other rooms adjacent to it, as well as the top floors, either toppled down or got consumed by raging fires.

Upon seeing the old rubble of white stone that gave the name to it, Aegon felt his emotions rise from the parts of himself that he thought forgotten. Unexpectedly, he was overcome with sadness that took turns with memories of joy and pangs of nostalgia. The White Stone held many ghosts of his past, some he was glad to encounter again, and others he was doing his best to forget.

He had spent two years stationed there. As all young men he was sent there to hone not just his fighting ability but build up the resilience to the elements, and as environments go, the Narrow Valley was as harsh as they come. If the perennial cold and constant threat of incursions weren’t enough, the surrounding woods posed just as much threat with packs of hungry white wolves, waiting for any opportunity to sink their teeth into warm flesh.

It was a place that broke down, molded, and hardened many a young men who would later on travel back south to join the ranks of the elite Eagle Guard. Many, many more had failed to make it to the end. Most either quit or were sent home by the fort’s commanders, while those less fortunate fell victim to the vicious weather or the starving predators that lurked in the shadows.

As they were approaching the ruins, Aegon couldn’t shake off a memory from his mind. A face of a boy in his hands, barely 17 summers old, and the way life and vigor in his eyes was slowly fading away with the day’s light. Broken by the trials of their training, the boy’s body had gotten seized by uncontrollable bouts of shivers and burning fever just two days prior, and Aegon found himself eye to eye with death for the first time, watching his best friend slowly pass away. It was the feeling of powerlessness that he had never felt before, and the event was but a first of many reminders of the severity of their station.

Aegon was snapped out of his thoughts by his second-in-command, just as the troops were moving closer to the abandoned fort.

“Commander. Shall I order scouts to investigate the ruins before we enter?” Titus asked while scrutinizing what remained of the old buildings, looking for any glint of danger.

“Go ahead. But they won’t find anything there. There is nothing left but a veil of death and nothingness.” Aegon replied.