Cold From The North, page 31
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
‘Your uncle will try a full assault. He is too cavalier for anything other than a show of power,’ General Cedryk said.
‘The general is right, Your Grace,’ Vellan said. ‘My best advice would be to hunker down and rely on the walls, inflict casualties where we can, and delay the full assault for as long as we can. With the supplies and provisions, we can hold out for at least a year. How long until they arrive?’
‘Two days at best, sir,’ the rider said.
‘How many men answered the banner call?’ Feda asked.
‘Not enough. We have two thousand fighting men at the most here,’ Vellan said. Feda slammed her fist on the table and shook her head.
‘We should call all of the people within the walls, arm every able-bodied person and make a stand,’ Cedryk said.
‘And delay an inevitable slaughter?’ the princess asked. ‘I am sick of being on the back foot. Everyone who is meant to come to my aid has abandoned me or died,’ Feda said, presumably referring to her brother, Wildar, and now the Urthdarks. ‘Is there no way we can win this battle? Is this it?’ Ogulf watched as the princess seemed to process the statement, as if all she had been fighting for was for nothing. ‘Maybe this cause was doomed from the start. But there must be something.
‘General?’ She looked at Cedryk, then turned to her betrothed. ‘Vellan?’
‘Short of a change in tone from the Urthdarks or aid from the Shingal, I cannot see how we can win this battle. But we can buy ourselves time in the hope that aid arrives,’ Vellan said.
‘Hope does not win battles,’ Feda said, and with an exasperated sigh, she pounded her fist on the table again.
‘Why don’t we use his strength against him?’ Ogulf said. He was seated at the bottom of the table in Feda’s war room. He stood and moved closer to her at the other end. Near Feda and her main generals was a miniature carving of Delfmarc and its surrounding areas. Ogulf peered over people’s shoulders as he tried to get a better look at it. ‘What’s this?’ he said, pointing at part of the map.
‘Hayter’s gate,’ Vellan said.
‘And this?’ Ogulf pointed at another.
‘The Old Gate,’ Vellan replied.
‘These are the only two ways in and out of the citadel?’ Ogulf asked. Vellan and General Cedryk both nodded. The latter looked displeased at Ogulf’s interjection, though he had not stopped him because the princess was listening intently. ‘Which is weakest?’
‘This is a fortress; our walls can withstand months of siege and barrage,’ Cedryk said.
‘Yes, but which is weakest?’
‘The Old Gate,’ Vellan said. ‘It’s our secondary entrance, the same one I brought you in through.’
Ogulf remembered. The long narrow bridge over the moat and then the entrance. Four people wide at best. Not the kind of entrance an army would waste time getting through with the type of numbers expected from the South.
‘Do they expect you to yield?’ Ogulf asked, still scanning the map.
‘Yes, either that or hold the siege for as long as we can,’ Vellan said.
‘They know you won’t meet them in the field?’ Ogulf said.
‘Haven’t we covered this already, Your Grace?’ Cedryk said to the princess. She turned to look at Ogulf, impatience in her eyes.
‘Get to the point, Ogulf,’ the princess said, and in that moment, he was fond of her. She was sure of herself and to the point.
‘We should let them into the citadel,’ Ogulf said. The room erupted into noise as the Esselonian commanders voiced their vehement protests. Ogulf looked at Melcun for reassurance but his friend just stared back at him, confusion warping his furrowed brow.
‘You believe we should give them the city? Surrender?’ Feda said. ‘I will tell you that, from all the bravado in my uncle’s letters, I am disappointed to hear you tuck tail like that. Didn’t you say you wanted to help? What exactly will giving them our walls do?’
Ogulf wanted this to happen. He wanted to lure these people into believing him foolish before he explained the rest of his plan. They thought him a babbling idiot. Even Feda did. But staring at this small carving of a city he had only spent a day in had already shown Ogulf exactly how they would win this battle.
‘No. We let the enemy see an opportunity. But this is not one of chance. This is one we give them,’ Ogulf said. A few people still uttered their disagreements. ‘This gate, Hayter’s Gate, is it hand powered or mechanical?’ Ogulf asked.
‘Mechanical,’ Vellan said.
‘Drop door or swing hinge?’
‘Drop.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the princess shifting uncomfortably in her seat, clearly questioning her decision to allow Ogulf to speak.
Ogulf smiled at her. ‘Eryc is rash, yes?’
General Cedryk chuckled. ‘Like even you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Well, in that case, consider this battle won.’
For the next hour, Ogulf spent his time talking with the various captains and commanders in Feda’s guard about his proposed idea. Some points were met with backlash, but over the course of the conversation, the mood changed as Ogulf started to win them over with thorough explanations and solutions to their arguments.
At first, only Vellan saw potential in the idea. Then Feda had started to grasp the proposition and its benefits. After she fell in line, a string of others did too. As the meeting drew to a close, only General Cedryk was still opposed to the idea. That was when Ogulf revealed his final puzzle piece. General Cedryk stood and looked at the map, head tilting and mouth pursing from side to side. He traced his finger over a route through the tiny streets before nodding to himself.
‘This just might work.’
Following the meeting, Princess Feda had requested a meeting with Ogulf alone. This time General Cedryk had not protested, though Ogulf was sure Vellan had looked bothered at the prospect.
The room felt different now that the tension had eased. Ogulf felt like he was about to experience the real Feda, not the princess, but the person – the one he’d seen a glimpse of when she first saw Vellan after he returned.
The four fire pits, one in each corner, lit the room and made it warm. The sun had shone brightly in Delfmarc today, but the evening was noticeably cooler, especially at the lofty heights of the princess’s throne room at the top of the citadel. Ogulf was perched on the end of a bench in front of Feda’s throne. She didn’t sit there, though. Instead, she had placed herself on the bench across the table from Ogulf.
‘Would Wildar think we could win this battle?’ she asked, sipping on a cup of wine.
‘Without a doubt. He taught me that you don’t fight battles or wars you cannot win. If I didn’t think we could win this then I wouldn’t have offered my help.’
Feda laughed. ‘You offered your help before you knew the odds of the fight.’
‘I can win any fight,’ Ogulf said. He did his best not to sound cocky because he meant what he was saying.
‘Can you tell me about him? Not as a warrior, but as a person.’
The answer came easily. Of course he could talk about Wildar. He had endless stories of their time together – some good, some bad, and some not for the ears of a lady. But what didn’t come easily was the horrible feeling he got in his stomach when he realised he would have to talk about him in front of Feda. He was still struggling with Wildar’s death, unable to process it properly when everything else around him moved so fast. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.
‘What would you like to know?’
‘Was he a good man?’ she asked.
‘The best,’ Ogulf responded, finding the lump lodged in his throat once more and feeling the sting of tears tease the corners of his eyes. They both looked at the table and then Ogulf began to laugh. ‘There was one time we were hunting out on the plains. He was teaching Melcun and I how to use a short bow to kill a deer without ruining the meat. A thing you must understand about Wildar before I go further is that, when he hunted, he always made sure his waterskin was filled with wine, especially in the autumn and winter. He said it kept him warm. So, one time, he drinks far too much of his wine, finishing it just as we finally manage to track down a deer. He doesn’t think that Melcun or I can hit this deer from the distance we were at, so he says he will show us how it’s done.’ Ogulf mimicked the motion of pulling back an arrow in a bow.
‘He lined his shot at the deer. It hadn’t noticed us as it was grazing, so we had it exactly where we wanted it. We all held our breaths as the string creaked tight, knowing this deer was going to be dinner for us and the captains. And then, just before he let that arrow go, he had the loudest hiccup I have ever heard; the arrow came off the bow at a weird angle and thudded into a tree. The deer startled and Melcun almost pissed himself with laughter. Wildar cursed and swayed the whole way home,’ Ogulf said, beginning to laugh heartily. Feda offered him a sympathetic smile. ‘Perhaps you had to be there,’ Ogulf said, calming his laughter.
‘Why are you helping me?’ Feda asked.
‘Because it is what Wildar wanted. That man would have done anything for me and my family, so I will do whatever I can for his.’ Feda smiled. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a question?’
‘No, please go ahead.’
‘This war. What is it all about?’
‘The same thing any war is about. Power,’ Feda said. ‘The only difference is my Uncle Eryc seeks power to use against the people of this country, whereas what my father did and what I will do is make the people the power of our country. This isn’t just my land. My title grants me leadership, but this land belongs to all of my people. Eryc wants gold, servants, castles, and enough influence to keep his rich friends happy. For him, it’s about stifling the people just trying to get on with their lives.’ Her eyes changed to anger. ‘He wants to turn our land into a haven for him and the wealthy while the normal people suffer. He and his band of arseholes have always been like that.’
‘He was Wildar’s brother?’ Ogulf couldn’t imagine Wildar being cut from the same cloth as someone who would do this to their family.
‘Oh, gods no, he wasn’t an Essel. He was married to my Aunt Grayce, Wildar and my father’s eldest sister. When he was wed into our family, everyone was overjoyed. Wildar would have still been here at the time. If I remember rightly, my father had a story about Wildar interrupting the ceremony in the Halls of the Gods in the capital. He started singing a particularly crude rhyme as the vows were being exchanged.’ Feda laughed. ‘Eryc comes from a line of Southerners who never quite accepted my family being in power. They masked it well, though, marrying off their eldest son to the daughter of the king. For a while, Eryc seemed like a true loyalist, the king’s champion, but things changed after Grayce died. My father always said she kept Eryc where he needed to be and made him a better person.’
‘Does Eryc blame your father for her death?’
‘Not at all,’ Feda said. ‘A sweating sickness took her one winter, and ever since then, he has grown more and more hateful. It would be easy to say I have never liked him, but it would be a lie. There were times when I was fond of him and so was my father. However, like I said, things change.’
The two of them sat together for some time, regaling one another with stories. Feda told Ogulf about her losses in the South and why they happened. It was a land full of wealth and people looking to establish themselves in more lucrative positions. These people commanded private armies or had enough money to bribe formerly loyal soldiers to fight for their cause. Feda began to look tired as she began her story about the Urthdarks, promising to share it with Ogulf another time.
‘I have something for you,’ she said, rising from the bench and moving towards her throne. She opened a chest and pulled something out of it. ‘It’s not Solsana but it is the finest axe we have. It was my father’s.’
Ogulf pulled the axe from the long velvet sack it was in. It wasn’t as ornate as Solsana, but it looked just as deadly, and it was certainly far superior to his own axe. It was a relief to be given it to say the least. Ogulf had been worried about using his old axe in the battle. This would serve him better.
‘I’m not deserving of this,’ Ogulf said.
‘You are. Besides, it’s wasted here. Destined to be hung on a wall somewhere and stared at. I think it’s got some use left in it and I have no use for it when I have a blade like that and Solsana at my disposal.’ She motioned to the sword that sat by her throne.
‘You will use it in the battle?’ Ogulf said. ‘Solsana, I mean?’
‘No. It’s not time for that yet. But I have a feeling it will be soon,’ Feda said. ‘Take care of your new axe.’
‘I’ll use it well. Thank you, Feda.’
‘I bid you a good evening, Ogulf Harlsbane,’ Feda said.
‘Same to you, Your Grace,’ Ogulf said, standing to leave. As he approached the door, he turned back to Feda, who was staring out of the window next to her throne. ‘Feda.’ She turned to look at him, an innocence and vulnerability in her eyes he had not seen before. ‘Wildar would have loved you. In fact. I can say with the certainty of the sun rising tomorrow that he did love you. Goodnight.’
Ogulf left the room at the top of the long climb down to the main citadel. He didn’t want to sleep, not yet, he wanted to smell the air before it changed tomorrow.
Chapter 35
Melcun was violently awoken by Ogulf shaking him by his shoulders.
‘Get up. They’ve sounded the horn. Eryc is approaching.’ Ogulf was already halfway dressed in his light Esselonian battle garb, his father’s shoulder guard fastened securely and his two axes, the old and the new, hanging from the hooks on his back. Melcun rolled his neck and flexed his fingers while yawning. He pushed himself up on his elbows and his book slid down his chest. He had fallen asleep reading again. When Melcun began to realise this wasn’t a dream, he sprung from the bed, causing Crindasa’s book to slam on the floor.
‘You need to get to Hayter’s Gate. Vellan will meet you there,’ Ogulf said before grabbing his axe and leaving the room.
Melcun was ready shortly after. He grabbed his own axe and placed the book on his dresser table before beginning a near sprint through the corridors and down the stairs into the square in the main holdfast of Delfmarc. Getting to Hayter’s Gate would take some time, so he steadied his pace.
He had been told the horn meant only one thing – Eryc’s army was near. With knowledge of the impending battle, he had not gotten much sleep, and his body still carried aches from yesterday’s tireless tasks and his journey to get here.
He and Vellan had headed up a group of men in charge of destroying the bridge that lead up to the Old Gate, the secondary entrance into Delfmarc. Ogulf and General Cedryk eventually agreed that it would work in their favour not having the two gates vulnerable to storming, so they completely destroyed the bridge leading to the Old Gate, meaning that anyone who tried that way would need a boat and a very tall ladder to get close to scaling the walls. It also meant all defensive measures could be focused on the main entranceway at Hayter’s Gate.
Ogulf made a joke about Melcun using fire again to see if his power only worked well on bridges. For a moment, he’d thought Ogulf was being serious until Cedryk had a man fetch combustibles. The bridge shattered into pieces, and the whole endeavour of destroying it took no longer than an hour.
Ogulf made a point of ensuring no one asked the citizens outside Hayter’s Gate to flee into the citadel until they were instructed to do so. They were told the order would come from Vellan himself, and until he called them in, they were safe. To further quell these people, they were told there would be an attempt at a negotiation. Ogulf told Melcun he didn’t want those outside the walls to know they were effectively bait. The decision wasn’t weighing well on either of the men from Broadheim’s consciences, but battles needed risks to reap reward.
The key to Ogulf’s plan was to ensure that Eryc and his forces saw Hayter’s Gate open when they approached. Ogulf wanted them to think that Delfmarc was not prepared and Cedryk advised the princess this was wise. The old general agreed the idea was dangerous beyond comprehension, but given the circumstances, and in line with the rest of the plan, it could work as a lure.
Melcun was pleased that the Esselonians had listened to Ogulf. If they had not, they would just have shut their doors and be waiting for starvation or a storming of the city walls by Eryc’s forces, scenarios that would render Feda’s cause as good as dead and buried.
Melcun was now approaching the gate of the Inner Circle. People were flooding through the entryway as he tried to push his way out. Already there were soldiers assembling around the gate. Ogulf would be here somewhere but Melcun didn’t have time to find him.
Melcun reached the long causeway which ran from the gate of the Inner Circle all the way to Hayter’s Gate in a near perfect straight line. It was wide, its sole purpose being to give the citizens enough room to hold their annual celebration to the gods. The festival was the only day such a wide space served a purpose, so when it wasn’t being used, it was just an extended road with buildings on either side that led from the gatehouse entry to the inner walls of the citadel. Melcun jogged the half-mile to the gate with others streaming past him in the opposite direction.
As he passed through the throngs of people, still searching for a glimpse of Ogulf, he noticed that people were flooding through Hayter’s Gate. Vellan must have given the signal already. Melcun quickened his pace to a sprint. He was late. People took up most of the causeway as they headed towards the Inner Circle. Not only the ones coming through the gate, but also the residents coming from the houses and buildings in the Outer Circle. They had all been instructed to abandon their homes and move to the protection of the interior fortifications.
