Cold From The North, page 21
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
‘All we need to do is work out how to get to Delfmarc. I want to ask Aylan. Perhaps I could say we had a map, but we lost it,’ Ogulf said. Saying it out loud made him feel stupid; he knew it wouldn’t work for the simple reason that Aylan would wonder why they wouldn’t be paying coin to be taken to Delfmarc by cart.
It surprised Ogulf even more that the captain of The Gwentar had not asked why there were no accompanying soldiers or protectors with the two messengers, but Aylan knew more than he let on and asked no questions, just as he was supposed to, so dwelling on that now was not necessary.
Worse still, if they went around the port in Esselonia asking how to get to Delfmarc like a pair of babbling wanderers, then the suspicions of the locals were likely to be raised. No one would want to answer the questions of strangers, especially not during a war.
After a short while, the boat began its journey, pulling out of the choppy waters in the dock near Luefmort. The shouts and bustle of the task grew loud for a few minutes as Aylan, his ship mates, and the cabin boys all called out instructions, then the noise stopped, and was replaced by the calm whistle of the wind. Melcun was lying in his hammock while Ogulf was perched on one of the smaller crates beside his own swinging bunk. Both men were busy; Ogulf was going through his pack while Melcun was engrossed in the book Crindasa had given him. Melcun was mouthing something over and over and then he looked at his hands. He was pinching his forefinger close to his thumb and holding a tiny ball of what looked like water. Drops from the ceiling fell and latched onto the perfect liquid circle as Melcun looked on at it, smiling. Ogulf observed his friend, suddenly feeling a sense of pride as he watched him learning.
‘Well, at least now if you set something on fire you can put it out,’ Ogulf said. Melcun didn’t look away from the slowly growing orb but he smiled and shook his head at the joke.
The creaking of the stairs from above pulled Ogulf away from the magic in front of him and caused Melcun to lose control of his ball of water. He let out a sigh as it dripped to the floor beneath him.
Ogulf looked up to see the descending frame of a thin man, with matted grey hair. His muscles were taut with years of use and malnourishment. His scraggly beard and moustache were so long they hid where Ogulf assumed his mouth would be. A baggy overshirt with ripped sleeves was draped on his near skeletal figure. His rough, battered feet looked like leather, and he had no need for shoes.
‘Ah, Shingally messengers,’ the man said. ‘Aylan sent me down with this.’ He placed a circular tray on the large crate between the two hammocks in a very ungainly manner. On the tray, there were four mugs and a bowl. ‘Two waters, two ales, bowl of olives and bread,’ the man said. ‘Should you be needing anything else I would prefer you didn’t ask as we don’t have anything.’
Ogulf tried not to laugh but Melcun couldn’t hold back his cackle. The noises coming from the lean man were appearing from behind the thick wall of hair on his face which made the exchange all the more comical.
‘Something funny?’ the man said.
‘No. Apologies, my friend,’ Ogulf said as Melcun stifled his laugh. ‘We have had one too many ales with your captain before leaving Luefmort. That and the sea air must have gone to our heads.’
‘Ah yes, fond of that stuff whenever he hits land is our captain. We don’t get none of that on the ships and barely get time these days to make trips to a good tavern when we’re in port,’ the man said.
‘Sit with us if you would like. I’ve had my fill of ale, so you are welcome to mine,’ Ogulf said, gesturing to the man. Melcun looked on, perplexed.
‘Don’t suppose anyone will miss me much up there,’ the man said, sitting down on the other crate between the two men. ‘They get on at me a fair bit for being slow. Can’t help it now, can I? Time takes us all. It’s just taking me a bit slower than I would like,’ the man said morbidly. He took the mug of ale from the tray and drank deep from it, gulping.
‘What’s your name, friend?’ Ogulf asked.
‘I’m Greth,’ he said, pausing only to answer and then taking another greedy drink from the large mug.
‘I am Ogulf and this is Melcun.’
Greth looked at both men and gave a slight nod. The moisture from the ale had soaked into his moustache; tiny droplets dangled from the longer hairs until his tongue appeared through the barrier of hair to lick them away.
‘Do you know much about Esselonia?’ Ogulf asked. Greth seemed like the perfect person to ask about how to get to Delfmarc, and Ogulf was sure the ale would help loosen his lips. ‘The war won’t stop us trying some of the fine delicacies and fermented treats this place has to offer.’
Greth looked as if he was pondering as he sat there with both hands clasped around the mug of ale, protecting it like it was a precious gem, then he took another mouthful.
‘Depends. South Esselonia is where you’ll go if you have expensive tastes. That applies to everything you could spend your gold on, like wines, meats, and women. But if you want to experience the real Esselonian spirit, you can’t go wrong with the taverns in Fenrach. It’s on the other coast of the island,’ Greth said, squinting his eyes as if trying to make sense of his own statement. When he did this, his eyes disappeared behind wiry eyebrows and lank hair to make his whole face look like a mask of grey, straw-like locks. Ogulf stifled a laugh once more.
‘How might we get to Fenrach? Is it close to Delfmarc?’ Ogulf asked. Melcun turned slightly, leaning in closer to hear their conversation.
‘Not close as such, but if you follow the Mule Road all the way north from Delfmarc, you’ll find yourself in Fenrach.’
‘The Mule Road,’ Ogulf said, repeating this to himself to take note of it and to make sure Melcun heard him. He wanted to keep the conversation light, so he decided not to pry his source too heavily. ‘We shall look for it once our business is done.’
‘Oh, you won’t need to look. The road runs from Vargholme all the way up to the Far Spire. It can be treacherous, make no mistakes about it, those long stretches between towns are bandit country – bushes full of thieves and forests packed with evil – so make sure whatever cart driver you use has some men to protect you.’
‘Duly noted,’ Ogulf said. ‘Though I was under the impression that Esselonia was a peaceful place, idyllic even.’
‘Heh, and which goat pissing fool told you that?’ Greth said. With another swallow, he drained the mug and thudded it down on the large crate in a routine manner.
Ogulf didn’t want to say it was Wildar; it wouldn’t make a difference to the conversation. He took a sip of the water Greth had brought and then held the mug in his hands.
‘A friend,’ Ogulf said instead. ‘It must have changed since he was last there.’
‘Aye, that it has. It used to be the liveliest place in all the seas. A good place – pure, hardy, exciting, and what have you. It had its rough edges even then, but overall, it was a wonderful place. Since all these disputes came around, it’s just like anywhere else. Hope you don’t mind me saying but it will be like that in Shingal before you know it.’
Ogulf wasn’t offended by the statement; the Empire of Shingal was not his homeland. More to the point, he knew what Greth meant; peace couldn’t last forever, and whether it was the invasion or something else, there would always be someone who opposed the current norm. He thought about Broadheim and how the people left there would be fairing now. Will there be a resistance yet? he wondered.
Likely, though, this wouldn’t be the case. Most people had flocked to the citadels when the cold came, so the chance of an uprising or counterattack from the villages of the plains was slim at best, and all information suggested that the invading army left no one alive.
‘Here’s hoping the peace in Shingal stays intact,’ Ogulf said, looking Greth in the eyes and giving him a thoughtful smile.
‘Aye, agreed. That will keep me on the seas, which is all I ask of the gods these days. Aylan fancies that port. Him and his chiselled jaw say we’ve never had it better. Your masters give us heavy bags of coin, we do their bidding. Occasionally, we have to transport a few of your types across the sea and keep quiet about it,’ Greth said, throwing a look in either direction as if realising that he wasn’t exactly keeping quiet. ‘So, the longer peace in the Shingal stays, the better.’ The hairy man toasted the air with his empty mug of ale.
‘Feel free to use mine,’ Melcun said. ‘No use toasting without a mouthful of ale.’
Greth’s face contorted into what Ogulf thought was a smile, but it was hidden by the mask of hair again. The old man smiled over his shoulder at Melcun and nodded. He took the other mug, choosing to sip this drink rather than guzzle it down like the last one.
‘When was the last time you had a Shingally on board going to Esselonia?’ Ogulf said. He glanced at Melcun, meeting his eyes to make sure he was paying attention. Melcun raised his eyebrows at Ogulf from behind Greth. Ogulf let the question linger as he watched the shipmate thinking. His eyes were fixed on the roof of the deck, making them properly visible for the first time, and his tongue crept out and hung to the left side of his mouth as he continued to think. ‘It would be good to know if some of our colleagues are still over there,’ Ogulf continued.
Greth was still staring at the underside of the top deck. His fingers opened from his fist as he counted in an odd fashion – thumb, then pinky, and then ring. The way the hairs on his face danced suggested he mouthed the numbers as he counted.
‘Last one was a Tongueless,’ Greth said quietly, almost to himself. ‘Before that, there were two traders from Shingal proper, but we brought them back. Then, before that, there was that old, fat whore keeper looking for new girls, but we brought all of them back. Heh.’
Greth was still talking. He took another savouring swig of ale after a couple of words, then spoke, then drank again.
‘We haven’t taken any that we didn’t bring back, so by my count, you two will be the only Shingally’s on the island that I know of,’ Greth said.
‘You said something else, a … Tongueless?’ Ogulf asked.
‘Aye, one of them silent messenger types,’ Greth said. ‘Only a couple of days back, we took him from Luefmort to Vargholme. He paid double, said nothing, ate nothing, drank nothing, and caused us no troubles other than making our pockets a bit heavier.’
Ogulf had no idea what Greth was talking about. Ogulf had never heard of a Tongueless, and given the profile of the other passengers, Ogulf could only assume that this silent traveller was not a desirable type. Ogulf smiled as he realised this was now the company that they kept as well – he and Melcun were just as questionable as the rest with their false messenger personas.
A shout came from the main deck of the ship and called out to Greth by name. His stunning green eyes widened at the sound, and for a moment, they brought a bit of colour to his otherwise grey face. Greedily, he guzzled down the ale, causing some of it to spill out of the sides and down his cheeks, and then hurried up the stairs.
‘Thank you, my friends,’ Greth said as he climbed the steps two at a time disappearing into the dark of night on the ship’s deck.
‘Is it me, or are people getting more and more strange the further south we go?’ Melcun said. He shimmied down and got comfortable in his hammock, opening Crindasa’s book again.
‘This coming from a sorcerer,’ Ogulf said, smiling at his friend. Melcun rolled his eyes. ‘There is some truth in it though, and the next few days are going to make it even more strange.’ Melcun’s expression changed to one of concern. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘Supposing the Order of Maledict is trying to fulfil this prophecy, the one about the Onyxborn, how do you think we stop it?’
‘I have no idea. Wildar obviously did, so I can only hope that our meeting with Feda sheds a bit more light on all of this. What else did Crindasa say about the prophecy?’
‘She said that it was the only thing that would motivate an army like that to come south the way they did,’ Melcun said. ‘Their initial goal will be to take some of the Peaks of Influence to weaken the mages protecting Gelenea and then to get the Onyxborn to Esselonia to perform some kind of ritual under the Stone of The Night at the altar of Loken.’ Melcun looked up at Ogulf. ‘If they fulfil that, if the Onyxborn can latch onto Loken’s power, then there will be no going back. If they make it to the altar, then all that is good in the world will be lost.’
‘If this was any other time, I would be laughing at you. This magic and prophecies and the promise of dark times, they come from our stories, not our real world,’ Ogulf said. ‘But after seeing Broadheim fall the way it did, nothing seems impossible anymore.’
‘When we meet Feda, do you think she will laugh at us when we mention the prophecy?’
‘Gods, I hope not. Being branded a fool would be more than I could take. I just wish Wildar was here,’ Ogulf said. ‘Leaving us with a riddle like this is torture, and if he was here, he would know exactly what we need to do.’
‘Well, he’s not,’ Melcun said. ‘And we do know exactly what to do.’
‘I suppose you’re right. One day at a time, I suppose.’
‘One day at a time,’ Melcun said
Ogulf got into his hammock in a slow, controlled manner to make sure it didn’t falter underneath him. When he finally got comfortable, he shut his eyes and tried to drift off. He wasn’t confident he would get a wink of sleep, but before long, the light sloshing of the waves put his mind to rest and he slipped away to a peaceful slumber.
Chapter 24
The bobbing of the ship woke Ogulf gently. Next to him, Melcun was slumbering in his hammock. It swung softly as it cradled the young mage while he snored peacefully with the book from Crindasa lying open against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around it. Light crept to the corner of the deck they slept in and the caw of gulls pushed their way through the thick wooden planks to his ears.
Though the hammock was not as comfortable as the palatial guest room in Luefmort had been, it had provided Ogulf with a peaceful enough sleep for a few hours. As long as he was rested enough to make it through the day ahead, it didn’t really matter to him where he laid his head.
As he made his way up the damp, rotted steps to the main deck of the ship, he screwed up his eyes against the bright sunlight. The noises coming from the softened wood underfoot were squelchy and unpleasant; he was surprised the stairs still remained intact. There was warmth in the air which was dulled slightly by the breeze of the sea. He still wasn’t used to having the weight of two axes on his back. Wildar’s blade was far superior to his own, but it was only half as heavy. From the gilded hilt to the long, curved blade with the wicked edge, it was simple and beautiful at the same time, and made his old axe look primitive or ordinary at best.
He moved towards the side of the ship and looked up admiringly at its huge sail. He had never seen anything like it in all his years. Most of the boats he had seen were powered by rowing men, and the ones that did have sails were much smaller than this one. The sail was bright red and it was pulled into a long arc as it filled with the air that propelled the vessel forwards.
Around him, Ogulf noticed a few deckhands milling around. He recognised Aylan’s son, the boy from the cart; he was perched in the crow’s nest at the top of the ship. He had a long-glass and was scanning around the seas. The waves, just like the mood on the boat, were calm.
‘Morning, friend, did you sleep well?’ Aylan asked. Ogulf turned to face the hulking man with a smile. Steam trickled up from a mug he was holding and Ogulf watched it rise longingly.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Ogulf said. ‘How long until we make landfall?’
‘Not long. Two hours at most. I’ve asked one of the lads to fetch you some mutton. We can’t have you leaving The Gwentar with an empty belly,’ Aylan said.
Ogulf wanted to protest; the thought of mutton made him feel nauseous, but he was keen not to offend.
‘Thank you. When we get to port, will it be as simple as us walking out from the ship and being on our way?’ Ogulf asked, ‘silly question perhaps, but given the Esselonians are at war, I thought it best to ask. I wouldn’t want to cause you any issues.’
‘I appreciate that.’ Aylan said sincerely. ‘That answer depends, though. So, if you don’t mind remaining on the ship until I fetch you, that would be best. I’ll go ashore and see if there are any... problems, so to speak,’ Aylan said before loudly slurping from his mug.
‘What does it depend on?’
‘Well, actually, nothing, if I’m honest, but it would be wise to be cautious. That’s the problem with civil wars, it’s so hard to work out who to trust. One trip it might be this or that group, the next, they might be dead or changed sides. Very complex situations,’ Aylan said, his tone suddenly stern. He placed his mug down in the same manner Greth had done the night before and whipped an apple from his pocket before cutting thin slices from it with a rusty blade. ‘Esselonia is getting more unstable every time we visit, so I need to make sure I don’t piss off the wrong people. I don’t envy your position much, though – wading through this mess isn’t going to be easy. And I don’t mean to speak out of turn here, but it won’t do any good, regardless of what that message you carry says,’ Aylan said before biting a slice of apple straight off the edge of the dark grey blade.
Ogulf waited for a second to think of the best way to respond. He tapped his finger on the side of the ship, and before he could find the words, Aylan had continued. ‘All I mean is, what do you think you can achieve, realistically?’ he said. ‘Do you think the Shingal can bring peace to a blood feud, a family at war?’
His point struck home with Ogulf, but only in relation to the role he was playing as a Shingally messenger. His main focus for now was trying to find out what Wildar meant about Feda and the axe and to understand more about his ties to Esselonia.
‘I wish I knew what we were capable of, Aylan,’ Ogulf said. ‘This does seem like a risky endeavour, but what else can we do?’ He was getting tired of pretending, but this, at least, was the truth in terms of his actual purpose.
