Cold From The North, page 18
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
Ogulf thought about the other Keltbran who had died on the pass. He didn’t see their deaths when he closed his eyes, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t mourn for them. If anything, the number of them only fuelled his want for retribution. Vengeance was not a feeling he was familiar with and it wasn’t one that sat well with him. It felt like an uncomfortable rock in the depths of his stomach, one that wouldn’t move for anything, the kind that decided to shake slightly whenever it sensed your happiness just to remind you that you still had something to take care of. Ogulf had accepted that that revenge, which he hoped would someday chip away at this boulder of discomfort, would not be achievable for some time to come.
Another feeling that he couldn’t quite shake was an overwhelming sense of guilt. This guilt was stemming from his reluctance to leave his father and his people; it didn’t seem like the right thing for him to do as a Captain of Keltbran, one that could potentially lead their people one day. But he was the son of their founder, a tested fighter in battle, and determined to do the best for his people, so he chose to accept the guilt for now.
He even considered not going to Esselonia at all, instead wondering if it would be best to remain and help his father. Thankfully, that thought had all but disappeared since he’d spoken to Rowden and received his blessing – plus, if he didn’t seek out Feda, then he might not have people to return to at all. The invaders were expected to journey further south, but they had yet to make a move from their camp in Port Saker. Shingally scouts on the Sea of Blades had informed Lord Hanrik and his generals that the army in Port Saker was getting larger by the day, and from what they could tell, they were mounting men and arms before preparing to move towards the Kingdom of Shingal. Just like his mind, Ogulf’s reality was also a war.
He let his strides shorten and his steps slow as he wandered through the square in Luefmort. It was bustling with life, which offered Ogulf a welcome distraction from the disruption in his head.
Positioned on the parameters of the square were carts large and small. Next to some of them were the horses that had pulled them, while others appeared to be hand drawn. There didn’t appear to be a theme to this market, each stall had different wares – Ogulf could see a wine merchant; a jeweller; some kind of armourer dealing in ornate knives; and a man with a grand selection of colourful fruits amongst many others. Ogulf had next to no coin but he was excited to browse what was for sale; he hadn’t seen a real market in a long time and this one had sounds, smells, sights, and other new and exciting things which could distract him from himself for a while.
The people of Luefmort were all polite and smiled at him as he made his way from stall to stall. Something was bothering Ogulf as he looked at them, their smiles were missing the true light of a smile, as if their toothy grins were coated in fear. He assumed this meant that word had trickled down from Lord Hanrik’s announcement the night before and had worked its way into the fearful guts of its citizens. Despite the masked politeness, the smiles and the nods, there was a distinctly different mood in the air now – pressure from all sides like the walls were closing in, inch by inch, and minute by minute, as the invaders readied their attack just across the Sea of Blades.
He stopped himself from bargaining with the merchant at the stall with the ornate knives; he didn’t have the coin or enough understanding of the haggling system here to get a deal, so he moved onto the next booth. It was surrounded by people.
As he tried to tiptoe to see what the stall was selling, he heard a harsh thud come from the canopied counter. He still couldn’t see, so he slowly waded through the gathered crowd and was surprised to see a very short, muscular man. He had tightly cropped hair and Ogulf immediately noticed he only had one eye. His hands moved fast as they cut pieces from a hunk of marbled red meat in front of him. He did this with a grace similar to that of a noble dance.
In sharp, whipping motions, he slung small slices of meat into the hands of those in front of him. Ogulf watched as the ravenous band of customers bit into the succulent chunks of meat with pleasure painted on their faces.
‘Full steaks available now. Best beef in all of the Shingal – better yet, best in all the world. Have it salted, have it charred, have it raw, have it your way. Five gold a round. Ten gold a loin,’ the small man said. Ogulf noticed the people around him had their coins ready in their outstretched hands, some still chewing on their samples. ‘See my men.’
The one-eyed man gave a gesture to the waiting crowd and they all flocked to the other side of the tent in an ordered frenzy, shouldering towards the front of the queue to exchange their coins with the two young boys on the other side of the stall. The boys waited eagerly with wrapped packs of meat in hand, swiftly dealing their wares to their keen customers. Ogulf didn’t join the melee and was quickly the only person on his side of the stall.
‘A people watcher?’ the one-eyed man said.
‘Not usually. I’m not from around here – don’t get markets like this where I came from these days.’
‘Ah, a wanderer like me. Where might you be from, my friend?’ the man asked.
‘Broadheim,’ Ogulf said with a smile. ‘Keltbran, to be exact.’
‘Ah, Keltbran, I know it, I know it,’ the small man said. He was still cutting meat, though not in as dramatic a fashion as he had been before. ‘Used to stop at an inn there on my way to the big Jargmire festivals back when I had a boat. Long time ago that was, before the cold wrapped you lot up in that long winter. That’s why you left then, searching for eternal summer like the rest of us?’ He gestured up towards the striking blue skies with his hands.
‘Not quite,’ Ogulf said with a slightly awkward smile. ‘Well, in a way yes. More of a forced search, though.’
‘Ah, got too cold then?’ the man said, holding out a sliver of meat towards Ogulf.
Ogulf smiled and accepted the gift. He hadn’t eaten raw beef by choice before, but he was curious to try it like this given how much pleasure it had given the others. The cart owner joined him in eating a chunk himself. It must be good if he’s eating his own stock, Ogulf thought. As he brought it to his lips, he felt the faint smell of blood coming from the smooth, cold meat. His teeth cut through it effortlessly and the succulent meat felt like it was melting in his mouth. It was delicious.
‘You could say that. We waited it out as long as we could, but no use waiting for it to get any worse, is there? Where do you call home?’ Ogulf asked, choosing not to bring up the invasion of Broadheim for now.
‘Prath. I haven’t been there in years, though. Went to see my mother after six years of trekking and found the place a wasteland, nothing like it used to be – it was coming back to prominence when I was a boy, you see. It might have looked something like this by now if it had.’ The small man gestured around at the surrounding square. ‘But it wasn’t. It was dark. Desolate. Lots of shady folk going about their business, and the people there were just shells of what they used to be.’
Ogulf watched as the man gulped and looked skyward. Clouds filled his one remaining eye.
‘My mother died while I was trekking, so I missed saying goodbye to her by three years. Hard stuff that,’ the man said. ‘She used to always say ‘Sansul, you best come back to see me every harvest,’ and how I wish I had or at least learned to write so I could have sent her a letter every now and then. I left Prath the next morning, got on a boat to the Shingal, and started working for an old butcher in the upper citadel in the capital. Used to serve slabs of marbled meat to the king himself before he died.’
Ogulf smiled as the man’s demeanour brightened and his tone changed. His eye was back to normal and his words came out with a chipper lull that attached itself to his accent.
‘You could say my home is the road,’ Sansul said. ‘Now at least, anyways. Me and my two lads–’ He gestured at the two younger men still dealing out meat to anyone with coins. Ogulf noticed they were both head and shoulders taller than Sansul. ‘–We might settle down. Might head back to Prath one day, show them their roots and hope to the gods it’s changed.’
Ogulf felt his smile crack slightly and hoped the meat vendor hadn’t noticed. He couldn’t and wouldn’t mention the invaders to this man. Trayvan had said they could be from the vendor’s homeland – maybe they were the types of shady characters Sansul had been referring to.
Just as Ogulf saw Sansul notice his change of expression, he heard a call come from behind him. The voice was familiar but new: Danrin’s.
‘Ogulf, come with me, I have news.’ Danrin seemed composed and walked to Ogulf’s side without looking at Sansul or the stall. The young knight smiled at Ogulf as he got closer. A gasp cut through the air and Ogulf turned to see the small man with his jaw dangling in shock, his working eye was wide and fixed on Danrin.
‘My lord… My lord,’ Sansul said. ‘You’re one of the Fated Few?’ He pointed at the hilt of Danrin’s sword. ‘I mean, it’s not a question, I always read a man by the hilt of his blade and I know that one well.’
Danrin smiled at the man, though Ogulf could tell that the lord’s son was unsure of Sansul. The cart owner pushed his sons aside with ease and fetched a wrap of meat before returning and reaching over with an outstretched arm to hand the package to Danrin.
‘A gift, my lord,’ Sansul said. ‘In thanks for all you and the Fated do for Shingal. The gods know I feel protected knowing we have your kind here. Gods fate it no one is stupid enough to test your skills.’
With a bow of his head, Danrin accepted the gift. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Ogulf and Danrin walked back towards the palace. Ogulf looked over his shoulder as they did seeing Sansul staring on with admiration at the back of Danrin’s head.
Just as they got near the palace doors, Danrin motioned for Ogulf to follow him through a gate to their left, which led to a different area on the outer wall of the palace grounds. The gate swung open to reveal an incredible garden filled with vines. Vibrant coloured petals were everywhere, and the perimeter was wrapped in a tall hedge that sprouted almost as high as the walls. In the middle of the garden was a circular marble fountain. Water coursed through it, creating an aquatic display of art.
Both men sat on a stone bench near the fountain and Ogulf watched as Danrin scanned the small garden. Ogulf couldn’t quite understand why the Fated Knight did this; if there was anyone else in the garden, surely they would be clearly visible, but he did it anyway.
‘My father has agreed to the plan,’ Danrin said.
‘Good, we’ll be ready,’ Ogulf said. ‘I have something I need to share with you, but I need you to assure me it won’t go any further for now.’ Ogulf looked Danrin in the eyes and tried to be as stern as he could, and he intentionally paused after the statement to draw a response from Danrin.
‘Of course. You have my word.’
‘It came as a bit of a shock,’ Ogulf said, taking a deep breath. ‘But we recently found out that our chieftain, Wildar, could have been related to Feda.’
‘Interesting, and definitely unexpected.’ Danrin said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought Esselonian royalty would have third cousins scattered around the plains of Broadheim, but I suppose my very own cousin is effectively one of your own.’
‘If the records in the book Runa read are right, Wildar was not a distant relative. Nor was he a third removed cousin. Wildar and Feda were of the same blood, he was a member of the Esselonian royal family, and he was Princess Feda’s uncle.’
‘You can’t be serious?’ Danrin said, his head craning forwards.
‘It’s a stretch, but given all that we know, and considering he has always been so eager to go there, I can’t think of any other explanation. The book said he was presumed dead for over twenty years.’
‘You might want to ask Trayvan about this,’ Danrin said. ‘If anyone knows more about that sort of thing, it will be the Sage.’
‘There’s no time. We need to press forward and get to Esselonia.’
‘Very well, I will ask him if I can catch him at a moment of sense,’ Danrin said. ‘On the subject of your journey, my father requests one small favour of you – think of it as a payment of sorts for our agreement to help you reach Esselonia. Should you be granted an audience with Feda, please give her this.’ Danrin handed Ogulf a wax sealed envelope. The emblem on the wax was the Shingally crest, the hawk holding the crown. ‘To keep you from the temptation of opening it,’ Danrin said with a playful smile. ‘I will tell you what it says.’
Ogulf smiled at Danrin. He was now a little worried about accepting the man’s word so easily, but a secret almost always bought another secret, which by Ogulf’s count, made the two men even again.
‘My father and some of the other lords in Western Shingal will pledge support for Feda’s cause. For now, it will mainly be financial aid, but in the coming weeks, they expect the Crown Prince to offer his support officially, which may mean we can provide supplies, weapons, and who knows what else. They are hoping the coin will help strengthen her claim and perhaps purchase the help of some of the mercenaries to tide her over, but before we even get to that, we must wait on the formalities of The Wealth of the Empire to free up the funds.’
‘Coins don’t win wars, Danrin. You would be better off not giving her anything.’ Ogulf took the note and chewed on the inside of his lip in an effort to stop himself from speaking. ‘Why wouldn’t Shingal support her with men to fight for her?’
‘Haven’t you learned anything about those in power here, Ogulf?’ Danrin said. ‘They don’t want to fight, they never do. Centuries have gone by and not a single force has challenged us, so we have gotten used to being intimidating without even having to take to a field and fight. And now they may have an army of invaders regrouping on their doorstep, so of course they don’t want to spare a single sword for someone else’s cause when it looks like a war is coming for us. If the prince was the king, then perhaps we would send over droves of men to support Feda’s cause, but he is not; he has a whole court of people who influence his decisions, and in order to protect his own kingdom, he has to work with them whether he likes it or not. This is the best we can get for now, and my father means to let Feda know that help is coming through this letter, so at this stage, it is all we have, and it is better than not helping at all.’
‘I understand. I just wish I could say I understood any other parts of this mess,’ Ogulf said. ‘Getting an audience with a princess in the middle of a civil war is going to be difficult enough for starters. Then we have to give her a letter from a lord in a country we’re not from. Then you consider we don’t even know if she’s still in control, let alone alive. And to top it off, we then have to tell her a now deceased family member of hers, whom she already thought was dead, told us she was the only person who could save us from a prophecy that will ravage our world. Oh, and also, she apparently needs this–’ He pointed to Wildar’s axe on his hip. ‘–To succeed in her efforts.’
Ogulf breathed quickly as the final few words flew from his mouth. It was everything that had been building up inside of him for days now, and as it all came out, he felt like a weight had dropped off his shoulders. He’d known all along that the task at hand was monumental but saying this out loud made him realise just how difficult it was going to be to achieve. He looked on as Danrin gave him a pitying smile.
Ogulf looked at the composure of the young Fated Knight. No doubt his thoughts were just as plagued by problems, but most likely thanks to his years of training, not a single crack showed in Danrin; he was solid and determined.
‘I better get this inside before it spoils,’ Danrin said, gesturing towards the wrapped beef. ‘Come on.’
Just as they got up from the marble bench and made their first steps towards the side entrance to the palace, a near deafening crash echoed out from inside the building. Ogulf covered his ears. The sound had forced him to one knee, and he had to try and to stabilise himself while the sound rattled through his skull. He looked at Danrin, whose scrunched face suggested he was in pain, in less than a second, he had his Fated blade unsheathed and was scanning the gardens for signs of the source. What felt like small rocks hit the crown of Ogulf’s head and he looked up to see pieces of glass raining down on them from a shattered window above. He exchanged a concerned look with Danrin and together, they ran inside to investigate as the glass continued to fall all around them.
Chapter 21
Luefmort was enveloped in alarm. A loud blast like that would have been heard across most of the city, and as Ogulf made his way through the palatial corridors trying to find the origins of the explosion, repetitive thudding of hurried feet echoing through the close walls of the passageways suggested that many others were on the lookout for the same thing.
Ogulf did his best to keep up with Danrin, but the man knew these corridors and moved through them effortlessly, cutting every corner and letting his hips snake past obstacles that were waist high while Ogulf’s feet floundered. Eventually, after much weaving and some momentary confusion in the meeting points of the corridors, Danrin was at the front and up the stairs with Ogulf a few paces behind him, with the distant shuffle and clinking of armour from the corridor below them suggesting that some Shingally guards were jogging not far behind them.
‘It’s all right.’ Ogulf heard the voice coming from within the doorway at the top of the stairs, and was relieved to find that he recognised it. ‘It was an accident.’
Realising it was Crindasa, Ogulf began to push harder to take the remaining steps two at a time, keen to lay eyes on Melcun, as this was where he was supposed to be. Calm came over Ogulf as he caught a glimpse of his friend. Melcun was using a large painting to waft a dark haze of smoke out of a disfigured opening in the wall in front of him. Evidently, there had been a window there before, but now the hole was empty and the perfectly laid stones around it were misshapen. Melcun seemed unscathed but Ogulf could tell his friend was flustered.
