Exerpt from Chapter 1

   The training grounds were draped in snow, the sky above pregnant with clouds promising more as night wore on. It was quiet in the early evening, as still and dead as the hearths and barracks. Gone were the roar of fires and drunken soldiers, the marches, the formations.

   The training ground of the Argent Legion, pride of the Kantor truly was dead.

   A lone figure stood near the ruined gates, obscured and protected from the cold by a dark heavy cloak his keen green eyes gazed at the broken statues, crumbling walls and ruined heraldry. Stepping into the interior of the grounds ruined the silence as he booted feet crunched through the untouched snow. It seemed as if nothing resided here, not even animals.

   As dead as the Legion, the cloaked figure thought.

   Making his way around a ruined barracks he noticed the roof had caved in with the weight of multiple seasons of harsh weather. He reached out with his hand, and ran it along the edge of the ruined building, remembering years of living with the other soldiers of the Legion. It had been four years since he had entered this compound, not since he left his brothers, and now it was a dead as the men and women he served with.

Gone was Attalus with his drills in the morning, gone was Bracus with his weapons training, thrashing his students with wooden swords. Gone was Circe the stable master and the horses the Legion rode into battle on. Gone was General Essex, the man who brought them all together to be the greatest force on the Durogian Peninsula.

   All gone, the lone figure mused.

   Footprints followed the man as he made his way towards the main mess and commons building. Out of all the stucco and brick buildings it was the one who hold up the best over the last several years of neglect. The door sat on rotting leather hinges and easily opened, giving way to a cold barren room that at one time held tables for an entire company of men. The hearth sat in one corner, cold and empty the ashes from the last time logs were lay inside were long since washed away by rain or snow.

   With purpose the man walked toward the back hearth, nestled against its stone footings raising up into the large and high slate ceiling and checked to be sure it was dry. Satisfied after sweeping away some cold and wet wood fragments the man stood and headed outside to the old storage shed. He returned several minutes later with several pieces of wood. The figure had been fortunate, the ceiling of the log house was slate, just as the mess hall itself and the wood barely had any snow accumulated on its surface and was easily brushed away.

   The figure patiently and with diligence laid a fire out in the hearth before he pulled out a box of tinder from under the folds of his cloak. Quickly using a flint he ignited the tinder and used his breath which showed as a white fog to quickly breathe the flickering flame to life. Within a few minutes the fire had reached a comfortable blaze and the figure took a deep breath before warming his hands. It would take a few minutes for the flames to warm the stones and warm the nearby area, and he wanted to be sure his fingers were not going to freeze before then.

   When he was sufficiently warm the man pulled his hood back revealing a handsome, dark haired man with a scruffy beard and bright green eyes. His cheeks were flushed red from the cold and his nose was numb, but the fire was quickly starting to warm up the surrounding area.

   The figure looked about the room with a sad look on his face, his brow furrowed at lost dreams and glories. The ruined building symbolized much to the man, and his eyes drank it all in. The tired warn our walls, the broken furniture, the fire blackened hearth itself.

   Gaise, recently from the city of Verlesh, sword for hire and strategos had come home.

   “My friends, what happened?” Gaise spoke in a quiet whisper.

   The silence was palpable in its response and equally as damning. It was almost as the men and women who died here silently called out to the Gaise.

   “I know, I should be here with you my fellow Legionnaires.” Frowned the warrior as he threw a twig into the snapping flames. “Four years since I left you all to die.”