Cold from the north, p.23
Cold From The North, page 23
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
Like the rest of the Luefmortian forces, Richel hadn’t been aware that messengers had been sent from the Shingal. Equally, he was unaware that they had not been Shingally messengers at all. Lord Hanrik had wanted to be sure that Ogulf and Melcun made it to Esselonia safely before telling others about the plan, and all involved had agreed.
‘Very good. Thank you, captain,’ Danrin said. He watched as the man lingered, his eyes locked on those of the young Fated Knight. The captain was clearly eager to say something. ‘Is there anything else?’ Captain Richel’s lips pursed slightly as if he was at war with his own want to speak out. Danrin could practically see the bitterness oozing from his pores. ‘Speak freely,’ he finished firmly.
‘Your being back does not mean the men will follow you,’ Richel said, and Danrin wondered if the cocksure captain cared that he was speaking out of turn. ‘A boy cannot lead an army, much less defend a city. Your father will lose Luefmort for the kingdom if he allows you to act as our protector.’
‘I suppose this is a role you would like to be tasked with instead, Richel?’ Danrin said.
‘Perhaps. And perhaps I will have the chance. Being Fated means you’re handy with a blade, and that you know something about the tactics of warfare, but that doesn’t mean anything when you’re actually on the battlefield,’ Richel said.
Danrin couldn’t deny that Richel was a hardened warrior – his efforts had been instrumental in the Coastal Struggles, when bands of marauding sea clans had tried to storm the Southern Shingally shores. His heroics in that campaign helped him get to the rank of captain, but they’d also filled his head with bluster as he began to believe his own myth.
‘Be that as it may, captain, do not forget your place,’ Danrin said, letting out feelings that had harboured inside him for a long time. ‘Giving you the chance to speak freely does not mean you should speak mindlessly. I know you have issues with me – my age, my position, my family ties. The last thing I want to do is question your loyalty to the kingdom, but how can I not, given your stance towards the man you’re supposed to serve under?’
Danrin knew he had struck a nerve as Richel squirmed and his mouth tightened.
More footsteps came, this time from the direction he was expecting. Rowden emerged from the side door of the palace. He gave Danrin a nod, then turned to Captain Richel, who was staring straight at him with a sour look on his face.
‘Thank you, Captain Richel, that will be all,’ Danrin said. The captain gave him a slight bow and turned to leave the gardens, his footsteps thudding disdainfully away into the distance. ‘Please, sit,’ Danrin said, motioning to Rowden. Once he was sure that they were the only ones in the walled green grounds, he smiled at Rowden.
‘Ogulf and Melcun have made it safely to Esselonia,’ Danrin said.
‘I knew they would get there just fine,’ Rowden said, also smiling. ‘Now comes the hard part for them and for me. The other captains are breathing down my neck. Prundan was asking where they were this morning.’
‘When will you tell them?’ Danrin asked.
‘Today. I assume you called me here for more reason than just to tell me of the safety of our travellers, though,’ Rowden said. Danrin admired the way Rowden always seemed to want to get to the point; it was hard to find people like that these days.
‘Yes. I know you’ve been through a lot, but I need your help,’ Danrin said. Rowden cocked his head to the side, listening intently. ‘Luefmort is not a city built to take an attack or a siege. The walls aren’t tall. To be blunt, we are vulnerable, and though we have strength in numbers, we need to reassess how we protect ourselves.’
Rowden nodded.
‘If this army is intending to make it this far south, if their ultimate goal is to fulfil a prophecy and sweep the realm by force, then if we do not prepare, we will lose Luefmort and give them a base to stage further attacks across the Shingal. We will put up a fight, I know that much. However, I can’t see how we can stop them. Ogulf mentioned your prowess, and he suggested you might be willing to help me prepare Luefmort for an attack.’
A silence held in the air for a few seconds longer than Danrin would have liked.
‘What did you have in mind?’ Rowden said.
‘Helping me prepare my men or having some of your fighting men train the younger soldiers in our ranks. A lot of them, and the men who trained them, have never seen battle before. Above all, I think a fresh perspective to combat would be beneficial to them. Not only that, but we need to prepare the lands around Luefmort – I need to turn them into a weapon, and … you can help with this, can’t you?’
Rowden stroked his beard and chewed on his lower lip. His eyes went up to the empty blue skies.
‘Do you think your father will agree to this?’ Rowden asked.
‘Yes, he will,’ Danrin said confidently. ‘Once I convince him that we need to rethink our positioning, he will understand.’
‘Jargmire, Tran, all of Broadheim fell. And the tactics they used are the same ones me and my people know ...’ Rowden said.
Danrin conceded with a slight nod. ‘I accept that, but this time it will be different, because we have more time to prepare. And correct me if I am wrong, Rowden, but aren’t you the only man who managed to get his people to safety?’ He didn’t wait on an answer. ‘I would bet that you can do more to help than you think. In fact, I would wager my world on it.’
Chapter 26
As they traipsed along the Mule Road, the warm sun beat down and baked Ogulf in his armour. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his spine every minute or so before they pooled at the small of his back. When he longed for the heat of the sun on all the cold winter days in Keltbran, he never wanted this type of warmth, the kind that made him feel sticky and uncomfortable, the kind he hadn’t missed in the slightest.
Walking along the ragged road, the two friends spoke about Keltbran and about Broadheim. They had started moving as soon as the sun came up and now they were making good time as it reached its highest point. So far, the journey to Delfmarc had been full of reminders of home, which had both calmed and discomforted Ogulf; the soothing feelings were chased away by the aching reminder that the memories he had and the places he called home would never be the same again.
The road itself was dusty now and the huge potholes and uneven paving slabs were nowhere to be seen. Instead, they had been replaced by a straight, dirt road that went on and on in a bumpy line. A stream ran adjacent to the path for a small time as it weaved through a thicket of trees. Birds chirped from the vast tangle of branches in the trees they sporadically passed.
Ogulf looked at his surroundings often. He seemed to linger most often on the incredible outlines of the colossal mountain range to their left. He took this to be the Grendspire Peaks that Trayvan the Sage had mentioned. The range went on for as far as the eye could see, their sheer enormity making Ogulf stagger slightly as ran his gaze along their length. He turned to Melcun to see that his friend’s eyes were wide, staring at the snow-touched peaks of the mountains.
‘They make the Widows Trail look like a foothill,’ Melcun said. ‘How do you reckon people scale that?’
‘I don’t think they do,’ Ogulf said. ‘I should have asked, is Crindasa’s book helpful?’ Melcun’s cheeks turned bright red and Ogulf couldn’t help but smile.
‘Yes, it’s definitely useful,’ Melcun said. ‘She left other notes in pages I should focus on. She said I should treat this time as an opportunity to understand more about the fundamentals of sorcery, so that when we return to Luefmort, I can work with her on the practical elements to gain more experience. I think I’ve learned a new ability – well, in theory, at least.’ Ogulf watched as Melcun’s eyes dropped to his feet as he kicked dirt on the path. ‘Ogulf, do you think I could go to the Tawrawth one day?’
‘The mage school?’ Ogulf responded. Melcun nodded. ‘Perhaps one day. I mean, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.’
Melcun smiled. ‘There are drawings of it in here. It looks incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
The road bent in a harsh corner not far from where they were, and what lay beyond the turn was hidden by the remnants of an old wall which ran down either side of the Mule Road. One part had a large chunk of bricks missing.
Ogulf heard the creaking and scraping of a wagon’s wheels. He grabbed a hold of Melcun and pulled him behind a part of the wall to their left. Both men ducked, mostly hidden by the wall and shadow it was casting.
The wheels trundled closer. From the scuffing in the dirt, Ogulf could tell that there was a cart of sorts being pulled by one horse coming towards them. He slowly raised his head over the beaten barrier to get a look.
Rumbling down the path at a steady pace was a single horse pulling a large cart. In the front seat was a man with an obnoxiously large smile on his face. He gently shook the reins to will his steed forward. The horse cantered along further and Ogulf saw a second man sitting on the back of the cart. His legs dangled down to a foot from the ground, and in his hands, he carried a crossbow. Both men wore ragged, light leather armour.
The main body of the cart was more like a cage. Light shone into small circular holes which were dotted all over the squared body of the hold. Thanks to the angle of the sun, Ogulf could see into it. He could just about make out the shape of someone inside and there was a large iron padlock affixed to the outside door.
Ogulf cowered down again as the cart got closer and gestured to Melcun to stay low. The wall was high enough to keep them concealed as the wagon screeched towards them.
‘How much you reckon we will get for this one, Sindred?’ the voice closest to them said. It sounded gruff. ‘I’m going to say we barter for at least five hundred gold.’
‘Heh, is that all? For a man like this, I reckon a thousand gold would be about right. These Southerners have the coin so we should take them for all we can.’ The man on the back of the cart said. His voice was boyish. The horse’s canter continued until the cart was only a few paces from where Ogulf and Melcun hid.
‘If he really is one of Feda’s wretches then we will make sure we get all we can. One thousand would be nice. It would get us lots of ale, lots of weapons. Means we might be able to take Vargholme before the king’s forces come north,’ the man said, shouting over his shoulder to his companion at the back of the cart.
‘Think of the favour we’d have with the king if we presented him with the port when he finally gets here. You’ll be made a knight, Dronal,’ the younger man said. His eyes were fixed on his crossbow, which he was struggling to reload as they spoke.
As the pair passed, Ogulf managed to catch a proper glimpse of the riders. The man at the front was wearing light grey armour, the front of which was splashed with blood. His hands were covered in thick metal gauntlets, their neutral steel colouring washed with a light coating of crimson. The man’s face was a collection of scars. One particular disfigurement was an inch across at its widest and ran from his jawline to just above his ear in a clean, chunky line.
The man on the back was younger than Ogulf, and he was so small in frame that his armour sagged on him. He wore no gauntlets and there was no blood to be seen on his clothing. His hair stuck up in uneven tufts, leaving his remarkably fresh face looking out of sorts with the rest of him. If it were not for the dark shadows drooping from his eyes, Ogulf would have thought this man a boy. With a loud click, the small man managed to pull the crossbow wire all the way back, then slotted a bolt into it.
The only person Ogulf couldn’t see was the person inside the cage. It was too dark in the hold of the cart for Ogulf to see anything other than an occasional outline. The cart gently bumped down the road and towards the enclosed forest that Ogulf and Melcun had just come through.
‘Melcun, follow me,’ Ogulf said as he darted away from the road. He cast a glance at the younger man on the back of the cart, but his attention was still focused on his now-loaded crossbow. Keeping low to the ground, and with Melcun behind him, Ogulf made a looping motion to reach the cover of a small ridge.
Ogulf had decided he was going to stop the cart. Without ample protection, it would be easy enough for him and Melcun to overpower the driver and his companion, especially if they kept the element of surprise. And if in doing so they made contact with someone loyal to Feda, that could undoubtedly be advantageous. Ogulf instructed Melcun to stop the cart, making sure to let his friend know he could do so by any means necessary; at this stage, his powers could be another element that could sway the outcome in their favour.
Both men dumped their packs at the ridge and Ogulf watched as Melcun made his way into the dark of the forest.
Ogulf edged in towards the rear of the cart, moving through the forest at a controlled pace and using the cover of the large trees to conceal himself. He thought he would be out of practice, he was naturally light on his feet and that meant he was able to move between the trees with more stealth than he had anticipated. The cart was still rolling along and now the rider at the back was scanning his surroundings with his loaded crossbow on his lap.
Ogulf sucked his stomach in and pulled his arms and shoulders tight as he leant on the nearest tree. Even the keenest eye wouldn’t see him in this light-starved wood.
All of a sudden, a light entered the darkened forest. Ogulf peered out to see that Melcun had blocked the road with fire, just as Ogulf thought he would. The horse reared up and kicked violently, and Ogulf watched as the driver’s mouth flapped in soundless movement, words muted by the screeching whinny of the horse.
In an agile flash, the young boy at the back of the cart was standing on the rear seat and now looking forward at the blocked road using the cage as cover, his crossbow trained on the flames as if it were a physical enemy.
Ogulf seized his opportunity as the panicked noises became a whirlpool of confusion that had consumed his target. He darted through the trees, which got thinner the closer he got to the road. He slid Wildar’s axe from its sheath on his back. He’d meant to take his own, but it was too late now. The axe was so much lighter, it felt like it wasn’t even there.
Ogulf watched as the flames licked higher and created a perfect wall of oranges and yellows in front of the horse, completely preventing the cart from moving forward unless it attempted the swampy mess on either side of the road. The younger man’s crossbow was still aimed forward as he carefully scanned the fire, searching in vain for its source. The horse calmed slightly, its hooves flicking anxiously in the dust, and it backed a few paces away from Melcun’s blockade.
The cart jutted back violently, causing the man on the rear to lose his balance. Seeing this, Ogulf made his final sprint for the main part of the road from his position among the trees. Ogulf skirted the rear of the cart as it manoeuvred backwards in an ugly fashion. Without force, he traced the blade of the axe along the backs of the knees of the man with the crossbow, just above where his leather boots stopped.
Though he had done this before – it was a good way to eliminate an enemy without killing them – the blade had never gone through the flesh and muscle as smoothly as it did this time. The skyward sound of the crossbow being fired, and the shrieking groans of the man, were enough to tell Ogulf that he had immobilised him for now as he made for the cover of the trees on the other side of the cart.
The man at the front of the cart must have realised his companion was injured because he abandoned the driver’s seat to go and investigate. As he stepped down, he pulled a greatsword from the seat underneath him. His abandoning of the reins caused the horse to panic as it tried to free itself from the harness of the cart. The man with the crossbow had been crouched on the rear seat, wincing as he held on to his gushing wounds. As the horse thrashed wildly to break away, it threw the smaller man from the cart and he landed with a thud on the dirt of the road, still groaning as blood poured from his calves.
The horse escaped from its bindings, and in doing so, it flipped the cart onto its side. Narrowly missing the prone form of the bleeding man on the ground, it galloped fiercely into the forest, its mane was getting tangled in low hanging branches as it passed.
The driver was calmly scanning the forest with his greatsword in his hand, using the wall of fire to cover his rear. Ogulf was waiting by the side of the road, peering through the bush he was using to conceal his body.
‘Show yourselves, you shit eating bastards!’ the cart driver shouted. Though his words were bold, his movements were still calm. The groans from his ally had faded.
A dull crack sounded, and the man fell to one knee, a rock the size of an apple landing heavily beside him. The man’s eyes filled with wrath and a light trickling of blood ran down his cheek. Clearly stunned, he wobbled and used his sword to push himself to his feet and turned in the direction of where the rock had come from.
The driver had his back to Ogulf as he sprang from the bush. Normally, he would throw his axe in a situation like this, but Wildar’s was lighter and he didn’t want to miss or overthrow. Relying on his light footing, he sprinted towards the dazed man, who swivelled to face him just as Ogulf got close.
Ogulf was mid-swing with his axe when the man turned and clumsily blocked Ogulf’s strike at his lower half. As if recharged, the man went on the offensive, swinging strong, controlled strikes that Ogulf parried or dodged.
Ogulf wondered where Melcun was; he could use his help right now. The two men were moving around the cart in a dance of blades, the cart driver’s relentless swings at Ogulf did not seem to tire him. The blade cut through the air with a menacing whistle when suddenly the man stumbled and looked at his foot.
Protruding from one of the holes of the tipped cage carriage was the arm of the prisoner. It was clinging tightly to the driver’s ankle, causing him to stop for a brief moment. The driver swung down gracelessly and managed to nick the prisoner’s hand with his blade, causing it to retract inside the carriage.
