Cold From The North, page 30
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
‘This is the nonsense they fill your head with at the Academy of Swords?’ Hanrik asked. ‘You can’t be taught such things. Fated or not, Danrin, combat should be fought properly.
‘I don’t think our enemies will be worrying about what is and isn’t proper, so we shouldn’t either. War is war, and this one will not be one of honour on any side.’
***
A short meeting was called to allow Danrin to tell his commanders about what had happened on the Sea of Blades. He told them that, over the next few days, preparations would be made to ensure that Luefmort was ready for any potential conflicts should the forces of the Order of Maledict make it to Shingal.
Danrin suggested that the fighting men from Keltbran be accepted into the towns forces as their own unit, a militia of sorts who would help in the effort of preparing for the siege. This notion was well received by most of the Shingally commanders.
Danrin had not been surprised, though, when he saw Captain Richel stand to argue a point. ‘We should wait for the prince and then meet these heathens in the field. They will be backed against the Blades and we can slaughter them and end this,’ he said. ‘Not only that, I would like to take my chance with the floor to say I oppose the inclusion of foreign fighters being in our ranks. We don’t know anything about them – they could be spies for all we do know.’
Danrin looked over at the table where Rowden and his captains sat. He watched on as none of them reacted to Richel’s jibe, thankful for their lack of animation or emotion.
‘Captain Richel, I won’t justify the second part of your statement with an answer. As for the first, we do not have time to wait. Even if we did, this army that comes to our shores will not back away, not even if they are stared down by the might of every sword in our army. They have evil in their ranks, they have something driving them forwards, and retreat is not a word they are familiar with.’
‘We weren’t familiar with it either until you yelped it on the Blades, Danrin,’ Richel said, his every word dripping with malice. ‘News like that travels fast. What about the Shingal, eh?’ Richel moved to the centre of the room and looked at the other commanders. ‘What has happened to us? Cravens, all of us. You betray our lands and I am ashamed to call myself Shingally.’
His comments were met with jeers from his comrades, and eventually, unable to bear the brunt of the onslaught, he stormed out of the meeting. No one protested as he uttered a curse for every step until he vanished into the dark corridors of the palace.
After the meeting had finished, Danrin was walking through the palace when he heard someone call his name.
‘Danrin,’ Crindasa said, jogging lightly to catch him. ‘I am sorry I missed the meeting.’
‘No need to apologise. You didn’t miss much, just war talk.’
‘I was hoping to be there to let you know I want to contribute – if you need me to, that is. The academy has granted me a further three months leave, and they’re keen to have at least one mage in every town, so I offered to stay here. The Assembly is concerned about everything that’s happened in Broadheim and want to do all they can to stop it happening here.’
‘It’s not like the Tawrawth to get anxious about war,’ Danrin said. ‘What’s changed?’
‘I don’t know. Principal Wallis has sent archmages to all of the citadels and authorised them to use force if they need to, as long as it is in the interest of defending the kingdom.’
In all of his years, Danrin had never heard of this happening. It was a troubling development.
‘Could you try to find out why?’ Danrin asked. ‘I mean, I would rather not be blindsided by something if you already have connections who can give us the insight.’
‘Of course,’ Crindasa said. ‘I have a feeling it’s because of the ties to the prophecy. People have attached their name to it for years, but no one has ever made headway like this before. The fact Broadheim has fallen will have unnerved a lot of people across the kingdom.’
She was right. He thought back to the conversations he had with Ogulf and Melcun about Feda. This was all intertwined with the Onyxborn prophecy, and only now had Danrin truly linked it all up. Things seemed far graver now than they had done even moments before.
‘Do you think there is truth in this prophecy?’ he asked his cousin.
‘As someone who practices magic, I can say that I never discredit anything I can’t prove to be untrue. In this case, I can’t say it is a falsehood. Not yet, at any rate.’
‘And do you know much about it?’
‘About the one who is promised?’ she said. ‘About the Onyxborn who is to take hold of all the power of the world and use it to give a ruler their platform for domination with dark magic? I know a little bit about it, yes,’ Crindasa said with a wicked smile.
‘I thought you might,’ Danrin said, rolling his eyes. ‘With all of these things there is a countermeasure, though. How do you stop it from coming to be?’
‘What you are talking about now is another prophecy entirely. To beat back the darkness, you have to summon the Light of the World; only then can the battlefield be even. But both foretellings end in a gruesome battle to the death where the winner is also all but decimated, paying the price for their use of power with an outcome that is barely a victory.’
Danrin nodded, pondering what she said. ‘A stalemate.’
‘You could say that, but there will be a winner of sorts.’
‘I have to check in with some of my men, but perhaps we could discuss this in more detail tomorrow?’
‘Of course.’ Crindasa smiled at Danrin. ‘Oh, and my offer to help with the preparations… Consider it?’
‘I will,’ Danrin said as he turned to leave.
He walked through the palace doors and out towards the main square. He had not taken two steps outside when he noticed Captain Richel mounting a heavy bag onto a horse.
‘I didn’t think this would lead to you leaving,’ Danrin said. ‘What about defending your home?’
‘Your father is sending me on urgent business to take a message to Drach,’ Richel said. ‘I just spoke with him in his chamber now and he agreed it would be best for me to take a few days to think about everything. The ride will do me good,’ Richel said.
‘You know we’re on the same side, Richel?’ Danrin said. ‘All of the past grievances we’ve had are miniscule compared to this. You’re a fierce warrior and good Shingally. I would prefer to have you here to contribute to the fight. So, hurry back.’
Danrin was being sincere. Every man counted now and Richel had his skills, that was undeniable. The defence of the city would benefit from having him present. His father asking Richel to leave made sense in a way – it removed him from the initial preparations and would let those who supported the plan focus on the details of the defence of Luefmort. Hopefully, it would also give Richel a chance to reassess his priorities.
‘Perhaps when I am back, we can share an ale and bury the issues we have had. Better them in a grave than us, right?’ Richel said, patting Danrin on the shoulder. ‘I best be going; your father said this message was urgent.’
‘Very well. Safe travels,’ Danrin said.
Danrin began to walk through the square as he heard the clipping of Richel’s horse going in the other direction. He liked the square after darkness had fallen. The only sounds crept from the inns and the taverns – inviting sounds of laughter, singing, and the familiar drone of collective conversation. It was quieter now, given the circumstances, but there were still the faint tones of happiness lingering in the narrow streets of Luefmort. The openness of the square along with the pleasant sounds made Danrin feel at peace. A complete contrast to the chaos he’d felt over the course of the last day. He had not had a moment like this since he returned from the capital, so he slowed his steps and savoured the walk.
His eyes found their way to his favourite inn, The Shattered Blade. He could see it not more than twenty paces away. The small window in the side of the building was open wide. As expected, the place was full of patrons. Its wooden door was light and welcoming, just like the colours that covered the building.
This was the place fighting men in Luefmort went to drink. It was also the friendliest tavern in all of the citadel. Danrin liked it for those reasons. There was no doubt that, by now, many of the patrons in The Shattered Blade would be aware of the plans and would be looking at tonight as the last opportunity for them to relax for the foreseeable future. Danrin was one of those men. With each step he took towards the tavern, he felt he could taste the mead more readily on his tongue.
Then he heard the bell, so faint at first he thought he was imagining it. Then there was another bell, its chime coming an instant after the first. This one was accompanied by shouts as the choir of bells swelled until every bell in the citadels began to sound.
Danrin spun around, listening and willing them to stop. The bells could mean only one thing at a time like this: an attack.
Danrin moved quickly through the square and the scabbard of his heavy Fated sword bounced off his right thigh as he ran. Just as he passed the palace, he heard a shout louder than all of the ringing.
‘Danrin. In here!’ It was Crindasa. She stood in the doorway, waving him forward.
‘No, I need to go to the battlements,’ he replied, slowing slightly, then stopping altogether as he realised she was crying.
‘Danrin, you have to come with me,’ she said, Danrin obliged, and before he knew it, he was darting through the palatial corridors, less than a pace behind her. Men running in the other direction became blurred figures, but he caught the eyes of one of them, and there was no doubt in his mind that the soldier was offering Danrin a sympathetic glance.
Crindasa led him to his father’s study. Perhaps he wanted to give orders before Danrin did anything about the attack, given that they were not prepared for something like this. In reality, though, Danrin was not prepared for what had actually been the cause of the bell.
The first thing he noticed when he entered the room was the blood. The sight of the dark red puddle caused the life to go from his legs. He crumpled to his knees and looked at where it came from. His father was lying in the middle of the floor, a foot from Danrin, his pale hand clutched to his chest. Underneath his hand, his shirt was soaked crimson and his eyes were fixed on the ceiling. A trickle of blood was running from the corner of his mouth and down his cheek. Danrin’s knees were wet. He was kneeling in a puddle of his father’s blood.
Coherent thought evaded him as he tried to think of what to do next. He would take his horse and he would scour the forests for this coward who did this. Every time he tried to stand, though, his body refused to let him. He knelt there in the warm puddle of his father’s blood and began to weep. Jarring sobs pushed their way out of his lungs, the kind that hurt your chest and steal your breath. His body wouldn’t move. He felt utterly broken, and the battle hadn’t even begun.
Chapter 34
Ogulf found himself suspended in the air once more, but this time, it was different. The last time this had happened, he had not been frightened straightaway. But now, as soon as he realised what was going on, every muscle in his body pulsed with terror.
The scenery had changed too. Before, he had been hovering high above the ground, looking at a mountainside citadel in all of its complex glory when flames had suddenly burst from every crevice and an army of dark red had amassed before the structure, watching on as it turned to ash. Now, he found himself hovering in a room. The stone reminded him of the basement in Luefmort, but the markings on them would not be markings found on the walls of a palace. They were primitive scrapes and scratches of symbols Ogulf didn’t recognise. The room was lit only by the faint dash of moonlight which pushed its way through a small opening lined with iron bars. It was a cell of sorts.
Every time he turned to get a better look at the room, he found himself in pain. It shot through him like a thousand hot needles sinking into his flesh in a slow, sadistic manner. He was being tortured here.
‘Worry not. No torture will take place, but please stay still. It makes my job easier and will keep you comfortable,’ a voice said. It was female and coming from behind Ogulf. He recognised it instantly as the same one from the vision he’d had at his mother’s tree. In spite of her warning, he tried to turn to see her and incurred the stinging wrath of the invisible needle. This time tens of thousands of them pierced every inch of his body.
‘You have to listen, Ogulf. We do not have much time. Now that they have her, they will move faster. Support builds for them. They will move from the inside soon. The foundations of the prophecy are in place, and if you don’t act quickly, there will be no saving him.’
‘What in the name of the gods are you talking about? You speak in riddles,’ Ogulf said. Even speaking caused him pain. ‘Who are you?’
‘It is not time for that. For now, I can only give you warnings, nothing more. Do with them what you will, but please, heed my words. Hurry.’ The voice was getting quieter with every word.
‘Wait, wait. Don’t leave. I don’t understand.’
‘You’re not supposed to. Just follow your path, Ogulf Harlsbane. Some of what you have seen has already come to be. Let this warning hasten your steps,’ the voice said in a whisper. The sound came from next to his left ear rather than behind him. Pushing through the pain he knew he would feel, he forced his neck left, but there was nothing there except the messy carving of a symbol on the wall. This one he recognised. He had seen it every day for the majority of his life and stared at it for hours on end trying to understand what the lines and corners of it meant. It was etched on his mother’s gemstone.
As if a trapped door had opened up below him, the stone floor disappeared, and suddenly, Ogulf found himself plummeting through the darkness. At first, the rushing of the air past him was a welcome feeling, one far more pleasant than the searing needles he had felt before. This time, though, there was no ground coming towards him as he fell, only infinite darkness.
That was when he heard the shriek. It was so loud and sharp that it caused his head to throb. He was free to move and rolled in the air as he fell, looking for the source of the noise. He was expecting to see the same spectre in its crown of spikes, but he saw nothing as the shriek continued. It swept across his senses from left to right a few times before he finally felt it.
The flesh in his ribs was torn open. Something was grating across them slowly – it felt like the claws of an animal. The wound was deep, Ogulf knew that much as his body spun out of control in his freefall. Then there was another shriek and something blunt hit Ogulf in the head, stupefying him and making him feel instantly groggy. He felt his eyes flicker as he continued his descent, wondering for a moment if this was how Wildar felt when he plummeted into the Banespit.
With a swinging of his arms, Ogulf forced himself awake. He greedily sucked in air like he had been submerged in water. His entire body was soaking, his undergarments were drenched, and when he looked at the sheet on the mattress, he saw that it was now stained wet with sweat.
Still gasping, he looked over to Melcun’s bed, and was met only with the concerned grey eyes of his friend. Once he’d got his breathing under control, something else began to take a hold of his senses. A scorching pain across the right side of his ribcage. Looking down, he saw a line of four scars that hadn’t been there when he got into bed.
‘Are you all right?’ Melcun asked, rubbing sleep from his tired eyes.
‘I’m not sure.’
***
Ogulf had requested early that morning that he be shown the rest of the citadel. He wanted to do so for two reasons: first, he was keen to learn more about the layout of Delfmarc, he had to learn as much as he could to be able to lend a hand and contribute to its defence; and second, he wanted to keep his mind off of his vision. It was important, he knew that much, but right now, it wasn’t his priority. Still, the feelings and sounds crept up on him when he tried to block them out, a nagging reminder that they were with him and wouldn’t be disregarded so easily.
General Cedryk had been less than supportive of Ogulf’s requested tour of the grounds, so he ordered one of his guard groups to accompany them to ensure they weren’t doing anything untoward. Vellan had offered to guide them instead. Ogulf had been on that tour of the citadel with Vellan when they got news of the riders’ return.
The war council that Feda had called for later that day was not going to plan. The first order of business was an update from the riders who had been sent to scout the passageway through Grendspires, the mountain range which connected the North and South of Esselonia. They were awaiting any sign of the advancing army from the South. The news they brought back to Delfmarc dampened the spirits of even the toughest men in Feda’s ranks.
A sombre mood filled the room. The news was far worse than expected. A force of over seven thousand men marched through the flat relief in the mountain range and were heading straight for Delfmarc. Most were heavily armoured infantry, but there was also a host of mounted units, and Eryc himself had travelled for the battle.
And there was another piece of news, one that seemed to catch Feda by surprise. A wealthy family who were yet to declare their support for either side in the war had chosen not to involve themselves at all. The Urthdarks commanded a huge private army, one that had the potential to swing the war in favour of whomever they supported. Feda had seen hope in the fact they had not declared for the South, given the fact that the Urthdarks were Southerners, after all, and they had always aligned with Feda’s father’s ideals, so the princess had fully expected that they would eventually fight by her side. However, these new reports suggested that they had no intentions of declaring for either side. In fact, if the whispers were to be believed, they had called the war ludicrous and intimated that they would retreat to their private islands off the West Coast until Esselonia was at peace.
