Cold From The North, page 10
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
Rowden walked into the pathway with his chest lifted high, despite Prundan’s cries of protest.
‘Lord Hanrik Vranton has sent us. His niece, Runa, your kin, arrived yesterday.’
‘Runa is alive?’ Rowden said with a smile. Some more heads poked out from the messy shrubbery. The riders accompanying the main knight stiffened as they realised just how many people there were, and their heads spun wildly as they tried to keep track of how many more were emerging with every second. Ogulf also pushed himself out of the ditch, grunting in pain as his ribs burned in agony.
‘Alive, yes, though only just,’ the rider said. ‘She was injured on the road. When we found her outside Luefmort she was barely conscious, but she told us to expect you before she collapsed. The physician said she is stabilising, but she has yet to awaken.’
‘What of her companions?’ Prundan asked.
‘She arrived alone,’ the rider said, his horse trotting impatiently on the path. ‘We must make for Luefmort. We have made space for you and your people to rest.’ He scanned the group again. ‘I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but you’ll be safe from here.’
Ogulf watched his father nod and encourage people to start moving behind the Shingally warriors. Rowden was scanning down the line as they filed behind one another, and his eyes lit up when he saw his son. He waved Ogulf forward with a swing of his arm. As they moved down the road, the track became barely visible, but the three riders didn’t seem to mind; they knew where they were going without its help. Even from Ogulf’s position near the back of the group, he could tell that Prundan was in deep conversation with his father. As the group walked on, Melcun found Ogulf in the swarm.
‘People have been staring at me, Ogulf. People who would smile or wave at me in Keltbran look at me like I am scum.’
‘Of course they do. You just produced fire from your hands, Melcun,’ Ogulf said. ‘If you had lit a small fire or morphed the weather, then perhaps it would be different, but you didn’t. Not only that, but knowing the way stories go, I wouldn’t be surprised if some fresh elements had been added by now – perhaps you morphed into a demon before it happened or drank the blood of one of your enemies to celebrate. No matter what you say or do now, people will look at you like you’re strange. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but we cannot change it. What’s done is done.’
Melcun nodded. ‘You’re right.’ He wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. ‘I just- I’m scared. I never wanted this. Whatever this is.’
Ogulf hadn’t seen Melcun show emotion like this often. He wasn’t a cold or shut off person, but it took a lot to get him to this point. It also distressed Ogulf knowing that his words wounded his best friend, though at a time like this, the truth was the only course to follow.
‘I know, but it will get easier. Things will calm down, and my father will keep everyone at bay,’ Ogulf said.
‘Do you think your father can handle all of this? Without Wildar, I mean?’ Melcun said.
‘We’re going to find out. He seems wounded by it, but there is something in his eyes that is making me think he knows he has to take the reins again. He can do it; he’s done it before. And if he doesn’t do it now, then what?’
‘Then you lead?’
Ogulf laughed nervously at the comment, but the smile died on his lips when he looked over at Melcun and saw that his expression was serious. It wasn’t something he wanted to give much thought to, so he would just have to pray to the gods that his father could cope.
The two friends trudged on with the rest of the people of Keltbran, edging closer, step by step, to some kind of safety in the Kingdom of Shingal. The fields that ran alongside the path were getting more and more colourful. Ogulf saw trees full of life, bushes ripe with berries he had never seen before, and stretches of flowing green fields all lounging in the heat of the afternoon sun. Ogulf wiped a layer of sweat from above his brow, thinking how this place reminded him of the way the plains around Keltbran used to look.
The rider at the front shouted to the group behind him that Luefmort was just up ahead.
The city came into view just as the group came over a small hill. Ogulf was surprised by the layout of the city. Luefmort turned out to be a vast town, almost a citadel. It was constructed on a flat outlay, encased in thick, squared-off battlements that were only slightly taller than the largest buildings inside its walls, and it had a broad, grand building at its centre which in Ogulf’s opinion, was little more than a huge eyesore. Everything about the town was rigid, uniform, and complimentary to its surroundings, until you looked at the curved, flowing architecture of the central palace.
Ogulf didn’t know much about Luefmort; all he had been taught was that it was the gateway to Shingal, and that it had once been a part of Broadheim, before the ancient rulers of Ogulf’s homeland had gifted it the Shingal as part of a peace offering meant to end the war they had caused by trying to invade the western front of the Shingally Empire.
The Shingally’s had ridden out to meet the invading force in the field of battle, bringing with them numbers so vast that the commander of the forces of Broadheim offered an immediate surrender and returned west. There, he ordered a full evacuation of Luefmort, instructing all citizens to meet at the South Hold or to make for the north. The Shingal were offered Luefmort as an apology for the misadventure and they accepted the piece of land without any further retaliation.
Some in Broadheim saw this act as a display of weakness, but the king at the time chose to push through his own stubbornness; pride would not defeat power and there was no need to look for more lands. He believed what they already possessed was more than sufficient and adopted the idea that peace was the only thing that could bring prosperity, so he struck diplomatic and trade relations with the Shingally’s in an effort to further ease the tensions.
It was commonly thought that the reason Luefmort was so sparsely protected was because the Shingally Empire did not see Broadheim as a threat after the surrender.
As they approached the walls of the town, Ogulf noticed that there were men patrolling on the battlements. A group of armour-clad men with smaller versions of the same hawk emblazoned on their breastplates stood near a wide entryway, talking calmly amongst themselves. Their heels clicked shut and their chests puffed out as they came to attention when they noticed the group approaching the gate. Two sizeable wooden doors opened wide for the travellers to enter the city. The rider who had spoken when they first found the travellers dismounted his horse and began to speak with Rowden. Ogulf motioned for Melcun to follow him and they sped up to the front. He didn’t want to miss anything important.
‘Yes, your people will be taken to the temple. There is space there for them to rest and there will be plenty of food and water,’ the rider said.
‘Thank you,’ Rowden said just as Melcun and Ogulf got close to him. Prundan was standing nearby, listening. The rider waved towards some soldiers at the town gates.
‘Take these people to the Northern Temple. Make sure they are looked after,’ he said.
Ogulf saw apprehension creep into the expressions on his peoples’ faces; they wouldn’t want to be separated from their leader at a time like this. If things were different, Ogulf would have volunteered to go with them, but he needed to be with his father now. The next few hours would be crucial.
‘Now, if you would like to follow me, Earl Hanrik awaits you,’ the rider said.
Prundan grabbed his arm. ‘What about Runa?’
‘She is still resting so it would be best for me to take you to see her tomorrow. For now, there are some pressing matters Lord Hanrik must discuss with Earl Harlsbane.’
‘Very well, but my captains will come with me. That includes you now, Melcun, and Cohl... Cohl, with us if you will,’ Rowden said. Ogulf watched the colour drain from Melcun’s already pasty face while a beaming smile crept on to that of the young butcher.
‘Of course. If you would all please come with me,’ the rider said.
He took off his helmet to reveal a complexion of youth. Ogulf couldn’t believe this rider was younger than him. His long, blond hair was well kept, it looked like silk – the kind of hair girls in Broadheim would kill their mothers for. Strands of his hair clung damply to his forehead. Pools of sweat from the heat of the ride gathered above his eyebrows. His face bore no blemishes, marks, or scars, and had a lovely brown hue as if he’d been kissed by the sun. He had the eyes of a knight from the fables; hard, stern, and most of all, trustworthy.
Ogulf was surprised at how quiet the streets of Luefmort were. Of the few people he saw weaving around and between them as they walked, none of them paid much attention to the strangers walking through their streets. He assumed they were used to seeing people they didn’t recognise wandering around; this was a large trading town, so strangers would be common.
As Rowden and his captains made their way through the narrow streets, the rider glanced back occasionally to make sure they were keeping up.
Eventually, the streets opened up to a large square, which was decorated with intricate carvings and marble statues. In the centre of the area was a large, cubic building, which Ogulf assumed was the brutal blemish of a palace that he’d noticed on the approach to the town. He could make out two floors, both with tall windows that were evenly wrapped around the building, and above the marble frame of the main doorway was a small balcony. The building was an intimidating and perfectly placed assembly of perfectly speckled rock and smooth stone with edges, ledges, and corners that looked sharp enough to cut.
Carved into the stone above the main doorway were the words of the Shingal. Ogulf had heard them often, and knew that what they stood for had been a decisive factor in his father’s decision to lead their people south. He read the words quietly to himself as he approached them – With Peace We Shall Stand, With Peace We Shall Prosper. Chiselled above the words, he saw the same hawk with the same crown from the riders’ armour. Ogulf found himself mesmerised by how smooth the wings looked; they were textured to perfection. Even from this distance he could tell, he had never seen craftsmanship like it.
As they walked through the doors, they were met on the other side by a short man. He was athletic in build and wore a thin linen robe with some kind of tunic underneath. With every step, his sandals slapped against the marble floor. His hair was slicked back behind his ears with oil or wax, and a short, neat beard covered the lower half of his face.
‘Earl Harlsbane, it is an honour,’ the man said. ‘I am Lord Hanrik Vranton, and I want to welcome you to Luefmort. I have just come from my guest chamber, where Runa is resting. I expect she should be able to see you all in the morning. For now, please follow me, I have a feast prepared for you.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Rowden said. Though an earl and a lord were much the same rank, a lord in Luefmort was a member of the Assembly, which meant they had personal dealings with the royal family and could actually influence the way the Empire of Shingal was run. This was very different to the meetings in Broadheim, where the earls and chieftains congregated to hear the king or the princes speak at them for hours, which often only served to annoy all those who were in attendance. Rowden motioned for Ogulf and the rest of the captains to follow. ‘We are very grateful for you taking us in like this. The journey wasn’t easy.’
The group walked into a dining hall where a long, sprawling table was filled with bread and fruits. Ogulf felt his stomach rumble as his eyes scanned the baskets of green and purple grapes; succulent-looking red apples; peaches; pears; and what looked like an orange, something he had never tried before. He felt himself salivating but tried his best not to show his hunger.
A candelabra hung from the ceiling, its golden rim encrusted with shimmering gems. Ogulf walked past the table and ran his hands along the complex wood carvings on the guest chairs. He had never been interested in carpentry or woodwork, but the detail and precision in the wares here had certainly caught his attention.
‘Yes, I expect the mountain pass was very treacherous,’ Lord Hanrik said. ‘Did you lose many?’
‘Quite a few at the peak, and even more when we were attacked,’ Rowden said. As Lord Hanrik approached the top chair at the table, he spun round to face Rowden in shock. The lord sat himself down dramatically and quickly crossed his legs before slumping into the padded chair.
‘Attacked?’ Lord Hanrik said. ‘Bandits on the pass – I have never heard of such a thing.’
‘Not bandits, my lord. They were organised forces. I am not sure if you’re aware, but we believe Broadheim is being invaded, and it would seem that those who attacked us on the pass are linked to that army which is swarming the country. I can’t believe they made it that far south that quickly. They must have something otherworldly in their steps.’ Rowden and the rest of the captains took their seats at the table. The only other Shingally present, other than the servers, was the young rider. ‘They’ve taken Jargmire, Tran, the North Hold – ’
‘–Don’t forget the East Hold,’ Prundan Marsk interrupted.
‘Yes, the East Hold also. Last we heard, they were as far south as Port Saker.’
Hanrik shot a glance at his comrade at the other end of the table. ‘Danrin, could this be what our sea scouts noticed?’
The young rider cleared his throat. ‘Yes, father. Two ships anchored in the Blades reported that an army was stationed at Port Saker. We presumed it was just a build-up of Broadheim’s forces.’
‘When did this report come in, again?’ Hanrik said.
‘Two days ago, father. A substantial army there, thousands – maybe tens of thousands – with more gathering by the day. The distance hindered just how much the scouts could see, but there was no mistake, their numbers are vast. Are you certain Jargmire has fallen?’
‘Yes,’ Rowden replied, defeated. ‘Certain. When did you last hear from your diplomats there?’
‘We moved them out when the cold came. Planned to send them back when it passed. So, officially, we have had no word from any of your citadels in almost a year,’ Danrin said.
‘And unofficially?’ Prundan asked.
‘You hear musings. Tavern stories. Rumours,’ Danrin answered. ‘Nothing solid, but all that made its way to my ears suggested it was getting bad up there. If Jargmire has fallen, then this means all of Broadheim will fall, is that right?’
Rowden nodded. ‘I believe you could argue that it already has.’ His lips were pursed as if it pained him to admit this was the case.
Ogulf watched the tint of tan in Lord Hanrik’s face slip away, and be replaced by a mask of shocking white. He was glad his father did not continue, but in a way, he wished he had. If this man was shocked about the fall of Jargmire, Tran, and the rest of Broadheim, he would be even more shocked to know the invaders were leaving no one alive in the places they attacked. Organised barbarians, Ogulf thought. What a terrifying thought.
‘Do we know their motive?’ Hanrik asked. ‘Broadheim has been quiet for the better part of a year because of the cold, but has there been a war with the North? Anything?’
The servers began to bring more food to the table. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Ogulf couldn’t help but stare at the dishes in front of him: pork ribs, chicken, beef, potatoes, and roasted carrots, foods he hadn’t seen prepared in such a vast array in years. Melcun was staring at the food like Ogulf was, Rowden paid it no attention.
Hanrik noticed them staring longingly at the dishes, as steam rose from the serving bowls and wafted the aroma of warm, fresh food all around the room. ‘Please, eat while we talk. We can’t come up with a solution on empty bellies, now, can we?‘
With ferocious politeness, Ogulf and the other captains all reached for the food. Rowden and Hanrik continued to talk while Hanrik sipped on some wine. Danrin looked on in bemusement at the frenzy of strangers taking anything they could reach from the table. Melcun smiled at him. ‘We’re very civilised, just a little hungry,’ he said with a laugh.
‘No motive we can think of, my lord. We had the scholars try to figure out what it could be, and the only two credible options seem to be an invasion from Visser or a horde trying to fulfil an old prophecy,’ Rowden said. Ogulf wished his father wouldn’t call them a horde – they were an army, an organised, mobilised force with a tactical purpose and enough power to overthrow a developed nation. Yes, organised barbarians, Ogulf thought.
‘Or a mixture of both. Yadlin did say this prophecy would return Visser to power, did he not?’ Ogulf asked. ‘The prophecy had something to do with onyx.’
‘I will have my advisors look into this immediately. Danrin, go to Master Amryn and ask him about this. Perhaps fetch Tra- no, Amryn will do,’ Hanrik said. The young man at the opposite end rose and gave a short, curt bow, then he left. ‘The Onyxborn Prophecy,’ Hanrik said aloud to no one in particular before taking a long drink from his wine glass and motioning to a server to refill the cup. ‘Do you think they will make their way further south?’
‘It’s hard to tell, but if they’re lining up on your shores ready and strengthening their numbers, I can only assume the worst,’ Rowden said.
‘They won’t be using the pass anytime soon, though,’ Cohl said as he bit down on a chicken leg. Ogulf and Rowden both shot him a warning glance.
‘What do you mean?’ Hanrik said.
‘Well, my lord,’ Cohl said as he chewed. ‘Our sorcerer destroyed the Eternal Pass. Didn’t you, Melcun?‘
The room looked at Melcun as he glanced up from his plate. Ogulf fought an urge to defend his friend as Melcun was met with so many faces staring at him. He wiped crumbs from his lip and gulped under the strain of all that scrutiny.
‘A mage from Broadheim. My, my, your kind have certainly changed your views,’ Hanrik said with a chuckle.
‘Actually, it was my first ... experience, my lord,’ Melcun said, embarrassed.
‘Well, that is something. They always say a mage is at their best in a time of great need, and happenings like this only add weight to such theories. You should spend some time with my niece while you are here – not Runa, but my other niece. She is a sorceress and is on leave here from her studies at the Tawrawth. She is fascinated by new mages.’
