Cold From The North, page 22
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
Aylan gave Ogulf a sympathetic smile and made his way below deck.
Ogulf watched the horizon as the waves caused the boat to bounce up and down. The waters were choppier than before, but not so much that it made the sail unpleasant, and the wind continued to aid them on their course.
Ogulf had never been on the seas. Not like this, anyway. This journey reminded him of his first experience of the open water, when he and his father made their way to The Paleways, a small island territory off the coast of the mainland of Broadheim. They travelled there in a small rowing boat with the intention of striking up a new supply route for the grain produced in Keltbran.
The seas were not kind that day and the boat sloshed from side to side, sometimes violently, and without a sail to carry them, the wind became a villain. Ogulf remembered cowering into his father for what felt like the whole journey. He dreaded that trip, but his father wouldn’t entertain the idea of him not going. He’d said it would help shape and strengthen him, and between the waves and the freezing cold nights of camping before they got to shore, it had certainly had an effect on Ogulf.
It was on that trip that Rowden met Wildar for the first time. Wildar was a captain of the Paleways clan who ruled the islands and was keen to develop relationships with people from the mainland, especially those with valuable goods to trade like the Keltbran. Rowden and Wildar struck up an immediate bond, they had a lot in common, so Rowden invited his new acquaintance to Keltbran at his earliest convenience to show him the town and the offerings of the mainland properly.
Half a year passed and then Wildar appeared. He was welcomed with open arms, though he’d only planned to stay a few days, those days soon turned into a week, and that week into a month. Then he sent a letter home to Paleways to say he would be remaining in Keltbran. Soon he became one of their people, and everyone took to him.
Reminiscing made Ogulf shudder; he could still feel a tinge of the queasiness he felt in that rowboat that day. Ogulf thought this journey on the seas would terrify him given the previous experience, but if anything, this was the most peace he had felt in days. Staring at the waves seemed to cleanse his mind and wash away some of the feelings of guilt, grief, and distress that had clung to him since the events on the Trail. He thought it was something about being in between destinations – the waves weren’t like a road or a path, they felt freer. The air was different too. Ogulf breathed deep and often, savouring the feeling of the sea air as it rushed his lungs.
As he stared out at the waves, he noticed something different on the horizon now. They were approaching land, and lots of it at that.
***
Ogulf found his patience wearing thin as he and Melcun waited aboard The Gwentar for the signal to disembark.
Ogulf wasn’t as nervous as he’d expected to be at the prospect of setting out on the next leg of his journey. Trust didn’t come easily to him, but he had thrust himself into the hands of others to get this far, and soon he would be in control again – or, at least, whatever was guiding him would be.
Aylan had asked Ogulf and Melcun to remain below deck, but Melcun politely protested and Aylan conceded. Ogulf hadn’t tried to stop Melcun from his effort; he was just as eager as his friend to get off the ship and find the Mule Road.
Ogulf had spent most of his time waiting scanning the buildings that lined the road which connected to the dock where the ship was moored. The row of red bricked establishments looked like they might have been inns or taverns, and the streets in front of them were teaming with people making their way through Vargholme.
The docks were busy as well – cargo large and small was being moved around by men, women, and children of all shapes, sizes, and creeds. A lot of them were calling out in accents Ogulf had never heard, while some made wild but calculated hand gestures. At first, Ogulf thought those people were mad, but upon closer inspection, he saw they were using the signals as some kind of communication which was being reciprocated by another on the dock. Like most ports, this one reeked of fish. It was jarring when compared to the pleasant scents of the open sea.
One thing that surprised Ogulf was the lack of soldiers in the port. Since arriving here, he had spent a significant amount of his waning patience searching the crowd for a helmet, armour, a weapon, or any other sign of authority, but there was none. All of the warnings from the last few days didn’t seem to have been about the place they were in – this port in Vargholme certainly didn’t seem like it was situated on the coast of a country at war.
Five minutes passed. This quickly turned to ten, and then dragged on to fifteen. Ogulf kept his eyes trained on the boardwalk that led to the ship. Aylan would have to come back that way to reach the boat and he would stand out by a mile compared to those around him.
Eventually he returned, wading his way in careful haste, showing a nimbleness that defied his size as he sidestepped through the crowd. He stood at the foot of the ship’s gangplank, looking around, and Ogulf saw caution in the captain’s eyes as he finally relented and summoned his two passengers down with a wave.
‘I just checked in with my man at the inn there.’ He pointed to the one in the centre of the row of buildings in front of the dock. The sign above the door read, The Baron’s Boots. ‘He tells me there isn’t much to report here. Some of the cart drivers in town have made their way to Delfmarc already, but there are a few still available, and if you like, he can arrange passage for you. You’ll have to pay a hefty coin, but he’ll make sure you get there safe.’
Ogulf had no intention of taking a cart as passage to Delfmarc. Despite this, he took in Aylan’s every word and nodded along.
‘One thing of note. There’s usually heaps of soldiers patrolling here. I’ve only seen a few since we docked. The innkeeper said something about a calling of banners, telling all fighting men to head to Delfmarc. Sounds to me like Feda is expecting a battle,’ Aylan said. He turned back to the busy streets and tiptoed to look around as if searching for any sign of a soldier or town watch. The act in itself was ridiculous, given that Aylan was already a whole head and shoulders taller than most of the people moving around him.
‘A mass change of guard maybe?’ Melcun said.
‘Not something that would happen during a war,’ Ogulf said. ‘But I am sure it will be fine all the same. We will make contact with the cart driver and then make our way to meet the North Esselonian delegation in Delfmarc. I am not sure when we will be making the return journey, but we will wait in one of the inns until you come back.’
‘Very well. I’ll be sure to let Danrin know of your safe arrival, and if the supplies keep moving the way they are in Luefmort, then we will be in and out of port here every three days or so,’ Aylan said. ‘If you’re going to stay in an inn, I would opt for The Baron’s Boots – you won’t find a better lamb roast in all of the world. I’m sure Blinda will throw in a free one with the stay if you tell her I sent you and if you tell her that her hair looks pretty.’
‘Perfect. Thanks again, Aylan,’ Melcun said. The large man gave them another smile, a slight dip of the head, and then walked back up the gangplank onto the boat. The rope-bound planks bent like a bow under his weight as he made his way onto the ship.
Ogulf turned into the dock and looked towards what appeared to be the rest of the town. Everyone around them was caught up in their own tasks, so Ogulf decided they should do the same. Together, they began to walk towards the row of red brick inns.
‘I say we get on that road as soon as possible,’ Melcun said. He clutched onto the strap of his supply bag as it draped over his shoulder. ‘We can make good ground if we press on today.’
‘Agreed, plenty of daylight left and it gives us time to work out how in the name of the gods we are going to get an audience with a princess. I have a few ideas, none are simple. Do you think we can just wander into Delfmarc and ask to see Feda?’ Ogulf said. He was half joking and hoped Melcun would notice.
‘I think that is our only option,’ Melcun said.
‘So do I. Don’t you think it sounds too simple and yet far too risky, though?’ Ogulf said. ‘One thing troubling me is that I’m not sure Wildar’s name alone will be enough to get us an audience.’
‘I know we said we would drop the facade, but do you think we should keep up the messenger act in case it gets us further with less questions?’ Melcun said.
‘It might leave us in trouble once we lift the veil, though. I can’t see them being too warm to us when we tell them we were lying.’ Ogulf said. ‘Regardless of our intentions, I am beginning to think honesty is the smartest option – it makes for less complicated outcomes.’
‘You’re right. Perhaps the cart would be worth considering, then, since we do have the coin?’ Melcun said. ‘And at least we will be on the right path then. Not to mention it will be quicker.’ Ogulf shook his head, the less contact they had with people the better.
The two men pushed through the crowds near the port to quieter areas of Vargholme. They stopped to ask a trader in Vargholme how they could get to the Mule Road. The man was wearing lavish clothes of soft looking silk, everything from his small hat to his slippers were gorgeous, but his stall had only ragged items for sale, which Ogulf found odd. He told them Delfmarc was a full day’s walk from Vargholme, and if they started now and made the most of the daylight, they could be there by tomorrow evening, so they made for the Mule Road without delay.
The road was easy to follow even if it was not consistently paved. Some parts were inlaid with evenly spread stones, while other parts were missing stones, and some parts were not paved or marked at all. Sights like this made Ogulf glad they opted against a cart in the end. He didn’t doubt that it would have been the more comfortable option, but some of the holes in the road looked deep enough to render a cart useless if they hit them.
The two men walked for the rest of the daylight hours, in all that time, they saw no signs of the war battered country they had been expecting to find. They passed sun-kissed fields, thick forests, and the occasional farmhouse with livestock outside; this place seemed quaint and idyllic, just like how Wildar said it would be.
By the time they decided to make camp for the night, Ogulf was already pleased with their progress. They set up their bed rolls near the road, at the bottom of a short embankment with enough cover to give Ogulf peace of mind that they wouldn’t be too easy to spot from the main path.
The area they had chosen was flat and cordoned by high reeds that kept them out of view from the Mule Road. Reverting back to his old habits, Ogulf had scouted around the area before they settled in their position for no other reason than to listen to the sounds, take in the smells, and look at the new land he now found himself in. There was something familiar and calming about this place as he moved through the tall grass, even as the scorched edges of the brush rubbed harshly against the soft skin on the back of his hands. He felt like this was where he was supposed to be – he was finding his path just like he had hoped. When he returned from his brief recce, he found Melcun was already making a circle of stones to prepare a fire.
‘I know it’s not cold, I just thought it would be nice to have some light,’ Melcun said as he placed dry branches within the circle. ‘I reckon it makes us look less suspicious if we act like your ordinary travellers.’
Melcun had a point. The fire would also let the two relax a little, and the setting reminded Ogulf so much of treasured memories hunting in the forests in Broadheim, only this time, there were no others with them. No Wildar or Rowden or even Cohl. Now it was just the two of them, and this wasn’t Broadheim.
Melcun left to gather more firewood and Ogulf flattened his bedroll a few paces from the pit. For a while, he lay on his back atop his bedroll and stared at the dark sky. It was so vast and clear, it would take two lifetimes to count all of the stars that glistened in the perfect black canvas. Staring upwards, Ogulf felt more of his accumulated tensions slip away from his body. By now, his father must have told the captains where Ogulf and Melcun were, and in an effort to keep everyone happy, Rowden would have also told them why. He wondered if Prundan would have been supportive or if he might have been happy to see the back of the two younger captains.
Melcun disturbed his peaceful mood as he shuffled through the reeds and dropped a pile of dried sticks near the fire.
‘You took your time,’ Ogulf said. ‘I almost came to find you.’
‘Sorry, I got caught staring at things. Did you notice how much the lake looks like the Tuntrelin Deep? That sight, the open water like that, it’s different from the sea, isn’t it? It’s suppressed and free at the same time,’ Melcun said, placing more fuel on the fire before it began to peter out.
‘This whole place is like the plains. It’s no wonder Wildar wanted to come here,’ Ogulf said, shifting onto his side to look at Melcun as he spoke. After refuelling the fire, Melcun was now lying on his back in his bedroll, eyes scanning the sky above him. ‘I can’t stop thinking about him.’
‘Me neither. This journey feels off without him, given how much he wanted to come here.’
‘No, not that. Why wouldn’t he tell us he was related to a princess?’
‘Maybe he couldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t know how to. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing someone would just bring up in conversation. Most likely, he didn’t know how people would react,’ Melcun said, without looking down.
Ogulf waited a second before replying, remembering that his father had said something similar.
‘I just find it strange that he longed to come to this land for as long as I can remember while not telling any of us that he had ties here,’ Ogulf said. ‘It seems selfish and misleading. And neither of these are things that I associate with the Wildar we knew.’
‘What about the Wildar we didn’t?’ Melcun said, turning on to his side to face Ogulf.
Words failed Ogulf as Melcun’s valid point hit home. It was obvious to Ogulf that the wise and noble Wildar hid some things from the people closest to him. Wildar could have told him anything, anything at all, and he would have understood. The key question now was, why was he hiding things from those who would do anything for him? The only thing that made Ogulf feel better about the situation was there would be a reason why Wildar kept this from him – there had to be.
Silence between the two lingered, and eventually, the only sounds were those of the bugs in the reeds and the crackling of the fire as Ogulf drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 25
Danrin rose earlier than usual the next morning, to find sunlight flooding in through the open curtains in his bedchamber. The air in the room smelt like sour sweat. It felt like someone was trying to hammer their way out of his skull from the inside – probably thanks to the ale or the mead or the whisky, or a combination of all three, from last night. He gorged himself with water to wash away the horrible taste in his mouth and to relieve it from its desert-like state. Today he would begin a hard task and one that he would have preferred to approach without feeling the way he did.
He found further relief in the cold stone floor and the way it turned the soles of his feet to ice; he always loved the feeling of anything cold when he was suffering from the consequences of an overindulgent evening in a tavern. A groan startled him as he turned to see the girl he had spent the night with was still sleeping lightly, clutching at the now empty space where Danrin had been lying moments ago. He couldn’t even remember her name; her warmth was all he had needed.
He looked at the clothes in his dresser and decided against wearing armour. In his fragile state, surely he was better to favour comfort?
As he dressed, he looked in the mirror at his tired eyes. He looked like a man of thirty, not twenty. His long hair was dry, and he desperately needed a shave. He pulled his neck to either side until it clicked. He was becoming just as complacent and comfortable as the men at his disposal, something that would have to stop. Luxuries wouldn’t be accessible in the battles to come.
The palatial corridors were quiet, just like Danrin had expected, given that it was just past sunrise. The young knight made his way to the opulent gardens and sat by the fountain in the same spot he had sat in the previous day with Ogulf. Glancing up, he noticed the remnants of the window that Melcun had damaged and laughed. Doing so hurt his already thudding head. Only Crindasa could get out of such a calamity like she had. His eyes were drawn from the window as hurried footsteps approached the gardens from the outer walls – at least ten paces away, but in the quiet of the morning, clear for Danrin to hear. He was expecting someone, but not from that direction.
Instinctively, his hand went to his upper thigh, not far from the handle of his sword. That was a technique taught in the academy during his Fated Few training. Near the hilt is prepared, on the hilt meant you weren’t fit to have a Fated blade. Danrin thought it right to employ the same tactics with his own men after the comment Ogulf made about their readiness… or lack thereof, for war.
The haste in the footsteps eased as they got closer. Danrin then noticed a man in Shingally armour turn into the stone gateway to face him.
‘Captain Richel,’ Danrin said, smiling at the man. He was big and broad. A short, thick beard coated his jaw. His cropped hair was receding slightly, and the sunlight turned the beads of sweat on his forehead into glistening gems.
‘I have word from the port, sire,’ he said. ‘Our messengers have made it to Esselonia safely. Words from Aylan of The Gwentar himself. He told me to tell you at once.’
Danrin had requested that, as soon as Aylan returned to port in Shingal, he would send word via the highest-ranking officer available on watch. It wasn’t ideal that this was a man like Richel, who was not fond of Danrin or his father. Richel had expected to be in charge of the armies of Luefmort by now, but had instead been rendered a captain for longer than he had planned, due in part to his brash nature, but also due to a severe dislike for him in the capital. When he learned of Danrin’s ascension to becoming one of the Fated Few, it only furthered his animosity toward him.
