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I've gotten back into writing. Here, for your enjoyment (or whatever) is the first chapter of my new project. The chapters are deliberately short.

Chapter 1
Ivan

It was cold, very cold out here on the open plains, and the vicious wind hadn’t died down in hours. The sky was a uniform dull, overcast grey that promised heavy snowfall in the near future, or a bad rain at the very least. Frozen grass, roughly the same color as the sky, crunched beneath the horses’ hooves, mingling with the quiet grumbling of the score of rough-looking men—although they might have been speaking in normal voices and were simply muffled by the wind. All in all, fairly normal weather.

Ivan took his hands off the reigns long enough to pull his collar tighter again. The only part of him that was visible was a pair of nearly-black eyes, typical of the natives of the Invincible Vankadi Empire. The rest of him was covered in several layers of thick fur, which served a dual purpose among the people of that region, providing both warmth and protection. The other men riding with Ivan, and their horses as well, were wrapped in much the same fashion. Just looking at them, one never would have known that each man carried a wickedly-sharp saber at his hip.

“My prince!” one of the soldiers called out as he drew level with Ivan, shouting to be heard over the wind. Ivan gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “We are drawing close to Ulenstad, but it feels like there’s about to be a storm. One of the others thinks he spotted a grove of trees to the south where we might be able to make camp for a while. What say you?”

Ivan carefully considered his options. They had been riding for several hours in this weather already, so another hour or so probably wouldn’t make much difference. They were warm, and hadn’t been riding the horses very hard, so if they quickened their pace it would be a simple matter to reach Ulenstad before the storm came, if it was indeed coming. But on the other hand, he was tired and hungry and he knew that his men probably were as well. Finally, though, he shook his head and kicked his horse in the ribs, speeding to a trot. After a moment’s hesitation, the others followed suit.

By the time they entered Ulenstad proper, they were riding at a full gallop. The blizzard had hit behind them, but it was moving in their general direction more quickly than was comfortable, and they wanted to get away as soon as possible. The first stable they came to was good enough for now. They put up their horses for the night and trooped across the street into the considerably warmer—and weather-proofed—tavern whose sign labeled it Ulenstad’s Pride.

The tavern went utterly silent as the twenty of them came striding through the door, the wind howling behind them, and made their way without a word to the far corner, where they gathered in a tight group. There was a technique to taking off all of the furs. Reaching into an inside pocket, Ivan grasped a length of rope, wrapped it around his hand, and pulled as hard as he could, sighing with relief as the considerable weight of the furs dropped from his shoulders and fell to the floor, revealing a thick head of dark hair on a battle-scarred yet strikingly handsome face atop a muscular and agile body garbed in obviously militant attire.

Turning and regarding his men, who had all disrobed in the same fashion, Ivan patted his saber and indicated the room. The largest of the group, an extremely thick man with twice as many scars as Ivan, and easily five times as much hair, gave their surroundings a quick glance and announced, “Disarm,” which they did, gathering their furs into a pile in the corner and stacking their sabers on top.

A man who bore a striking resemblance to Ivan dropped in a chair at a table near the center of the dining area, and the others gathered about him. Ivan remained standing, regarding his soldiers with a critical eye.

“Skillful riding, men,” he stated. It was the first thing he had said since they left Avikstad that morning. One of the soldiers jumped, slightly startled. “Drinks!” Ivan called to the bartender. “Your best.” Grumbling something about obnoxious show-offs, the greasy-looking tavern owner called over one of his serving girls and had her help him fill tankards.

“My prince, how long are we going to stay here?” a grumpy-looking man with short-cropped gray hair and one missing eye inquired, looking disdainfully at the tavern and its other customers.

Ivan laughed loudly and seated himself across a table from the large man and the one that looked like him. “Wulfric, we’ll leave once the storm dies down enough for us to move on without freezing to death.” The others murmured their willingness to go along with this plan. The one named Wulfric shrugged, giving a barmaid a sleazy wink that the poor girl stalwartly ignored.

“Remind me why I had to come with you, Ivan,” the one that looked like Ivan muttered angrily.

“Because you’re the youngest member of the royal family and this is good experience,” Ivan explained as the drinks arrived.

“Good experience,” the younger man repeated. “That’s what you said when Uri made me practice sabers with him and I was nearly killed.”

“Quiet, Pavel,” the huge man boomed, giving him a hefty slap on the back that made him cough and sputter. “I didn’t hurt you that badly…and you healed, anyway. You need this training if you’re to take your brother’s place as head of the knights when Ivan takes the throne.” He guzzled his entire tankard in one and slammed the empty vessel down on the table.

“Whatever you say,” Pavel said noncommittally before taking a long pull from his tankard and settling into a sullen silence.

*****

Ivan found Wulfric and Uri standing out in front of the tavern the following morning, clutching huge mugs of some steaming beverage that smelled as awful as it looked. “What, may I ask, is that swill you have?” Ivan asked, standing back a little.

“No idea,” Uri admitted, taking a swig. “The owner said it would wake us up, though.”

“And is it working?”

“Not yet,” Wulfric grumbled. “I think he was lying.”

“Probably,” agreed Uri.

Standing back a little to avoid the smell, Ivan drew himself up and addressed the two men. “We’re leaving for Volgrad now. Get your furs on, get your horses from the stable, and meet at the edge of town where the others are. They went back inside before he was finished speaking, having heard exactly the same speech, with the name of the village changed, every time they left somewhere. Ivan, not to be disturbed by a lack of an audience, finished his thought before leaving for the stable.

A little while later they were assembled beside an old church building on the outskirts of Ulenstad, the men chatting amongst themselves as they finished adjusting their furs and saddles. Ivan rode back and forth in front of them, urging them to get mounted, and eventually they condescended to follow orders.

The wind picked up quickly after they set out across the barren plains, though it didn’t reach the gale-force they had encountered the previous day. Pavel and another soldier rode some distance ahead of the group, keeping an eye out for danger. All was well for several hours of easy riding, until a shout from ahead snapped the riders fully awake. Pavel, at the top of a hill up ahead, was shouting and frantically waving his saber in the air. The others kicked their horses to a gallop and sped forward to join him.

Below them was a scene that made Ivan struggle to hold down his breakfast. Bodies were scattered across the ground, many of them charred and twisted into disturbing positions. Those that weren’t blackened were no less unsettling, looks of terror frozen on their faces. “These are ours,” Uri noted, having dismounted and checked one of the intact corpses. He held up a broken saber that bore the mark of the regular Vankadi army. “I wonder what could have happened?” he muttered to himself, rifling through the fallen soldier’s pockets and coming up empty-handed. “This one’s been looted.” A quick search of the others revealed that they had all been stripped of their possessions, aside from their uniforms.

Wulfric prodded a burnt carcass with his toe. “Any theories on how they’re all burn to a crisp?” he inquired of the group, but none of them had any idea, or were too afraid to voice their thoughts.

“Maybe it was the Tenzenites,” suggested Pavel quietly.

Ivan snorted derisively. “The revolt ended months ago,” he reminded his brother. “The Tenzenites were crushed and sent back to their homeland with an army to keep them in check. This was not their doing.”

“And even if there were still some of them running loose,” Uri added, “they would never be able to make it this deep into the Empire without somebody noticing.”

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Ivan said, “We will report this once we reach Volgrad. Come,” and they mounted and left.

The Tenzenites, mused Ivan. What if it was? Could they possibly have mounted another revolt so soon, and with an entire army watching over them?

“Volgrad ahead!” shouted the man riding in front.