Cold From The North, page 33
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
‘Cedryk!’ he shouted. ‘Cedryk, you old bastard, come and face me.’
The man’s helmet was donned with the twisted horns of a ram. He did not slow as he walked through the chaotic melee. Arrows were landing not far from him, but his resolve never faltered. He let a long, wide blade hang in his left hand and a spiked club dangle from his right.
‘Cedryk! Before this is over, I will have my chance to end you. No one touches Feda’s pet before I have had my chance.’
Eventually, the man stopped just short of where the packed bodies were lying. Riddled with arrows from the battlements, the pile of corpses looked like a giant hedgehog. Ogulf saw General Cedryk approach, his long blade readied and already dripping with blood, the usual regal demeanour he possessed replaced with a scowl of bared teeth and malicious intent.
Ogulf noticed that Hayter’s Gate was still shut. He could only imagine the confusion on the other side of it. He expected Vellan and Melcun to appear at the gate of the Inner Circle any moment – he just prayed they weren’t cut off on the way back. Vellan said he could navigate the streets without being near the causeway and rendezvous with the main force to join the push back attack.
Watching the causeway, its wide road still full of enemies making their way towards the gate, Ogulf wavered slightly when he saw just how many men they were still up against. Cedryk, Vellan, Feda, and her advisors had not been wrong when they said Eryc would send his full might. By how little he could see of the wide causeway, Eryc had sent a minimum of three quarters of his entire army through the gates when he was presented with the opportunity to attack.
Because of that, the fight was much harder for the forces loyal to Feda. They would continue to tire as they chopped down enemies and made their stand, but fresh enemy warriors would be on top of them after every sword stroke.
Once again, he heard the man in black shouting for General Cedryk. He darted to the pathway of the battlement and down the stairs to the gateway. His foot plunged into a puddle of blood. He stumbled over the obliterated bodies and through the gateway towards the causeway. He had to scurry over a pile of men barely clinging to life. They groaned as he stepped on them.
As he got over the mound of fallen warriors, he saw that General Cedryk was already in combat with the man who called on him. The soldiers immediately around them were not fighting. They had encircled the two men and were cheering on their respective leader.
‘Who is that man?’ Ogulf asked, pulling on the shoulder of the nearest man loyal to Feda.
‘That’s the Grim Knight, Steryn Wyndmyre – Eryc’s brother.’
Ogulf watched as the two men swung their blades at one another. Cedryk’s broadsword moved through the air like it was a practice weapon. He moved with showings of grace and power that defied his age and had the Grim Knight on a back foot. The Grim Knight was a large man like Cedryk. His blade and spiked club were like extensions of his body as he spun, crouched, and parried away attacks from his older opponent.
Then, with a flurry of forward attacks, the younger man made a furious swing for General Cedryk. All of the shots were aimed at his face or neck. The general continued to sweep them out of the way with his sword until he missed one, but managed to parry it away with his fist, which was protected by a thick, metal gauntlet.
The Grim Knight backed away by a few paces and began to circle. His weapons now hung by his sides. Cedryk was breathing heavily as he reset his footing, holding his blade sideways in front of him with two hands, waiting on his opponent to move again.
‘I made Eryc promise me I could have you,’ the Grim Knight said, swirling the blade in his left hand as he moved. ‘Twenty years I’ve waited for this. Twenty years I have promised my blade it could taste you.’
‘You still hold me to blame for you not becoming a paladin?’ Cedryk said. His blade stayed true across his body. ‘You only have yourself to blame for that, Steryn.’
The Grim Knight aimed two savage swipes at the general. Both were parried with ease. The general pivoted and they separated again.
‘Wrong, old man,’ Steryn, the Grim Knight said. ‘You sent me to the dungeons. You cast me to the pits and left me to rot.’
‘Anyone would have after knowing what you did with your black magic. I knew it was a false promise you made when the king released you. I knew it all along. Your heart will always be black, Steryn – even after I rip it from you.’ This time, Cedryk pressed forward to make an attack, which Steryn caught with his weapons crossed and swung away from his body. The flurry of blows continued as Cedryk moved towards his opponent who manoeuvred away from the heavy shots. Neither man was able to gain the upper hand in the fight.
Ogulf realised that some men around them had resumed fighting. The forces loyal to Feda were making ground against their opponents again, but they were tiring quickly, just as he expected. He decided to turn away from the single combat and unsheathed his new axe. He wasn’t a fan of close quarters fighting but he moved through his opponents, trying to land a killing blow on at least every second one. Parrying with the axe he had been given by Feda had been much easier than it would have been with his old weapon. It wasn’t Solsana, but this weapon was incredible.
As he swung the axe in the melee, he barely noticed it catching on the limbs of his opponents as it glided through their flesh. Another body crashed into his, sending him tumbling to the floor. As he rolled over, a heavy boot met his ribs, causing him to tumble again. His eyes went up, looking for the source, and cutting through the sun’s outline, he saw a blade coming towards his face. It would surely split him in half. He tried to get his axe in front of him to parry, but the swing was coming down with such force, he wasn’t sure it would work. He tried as best as he could not to close his eyes.
Then he heard the metallic crash blades make when they collide. He looked up to see Vellan blocking the shot from his adversary. Then it was Melcun’s axe, swinging in from the right side, catching the attacker in the throat. Ogulf was helped to his feet, and when he regained them, he noticed that all of the men who had been firing arrows from the battlements had now moved down to join the fray in front of the entranceway. The numbers were still against them, but Ogulf was sure that seeing General Cedryk fighting one of the enemy commanders had rallied the men for now.
The next few minutes were a tiresome affair as Ogulf swung, stumbled, and sweated his way through the close combat. He had small cuts all over his body from where swords around him had caught him, nicking at his skin. He wasn’t even the intended target of the strikes, and he was sure some of them were from fighters on his side. The whole top of the causeway was a sea of flailing weapons.
An armoured hand stuck Ogulf’s nose. On impact, it cracked, and Ogulf felt it twist. Warm blood started to stream down his face as he spun, dazed from the blow.
Ogulf couldn’t be sure, but he occasionally heard shouts which sounded like the Grim Knight and Cedryk, which meant their fight was still ongoing. Then he heard a cry that was definitely Vellan – he couldn’t see the man, but the shout suggested he was close.
‘Feda… Feda!’ he heard Vellan shouting. At first, he assumed it was the dying cries of a man in love. Then he noticed Vellan standing on a cart next to the huge walls of the Inner Circle. His head was moving, his eyes following something. Ogulf turned to see what Vellan was focusing on and his heart sank when he realised.
Feda was sprinting along the battlements of the Outer Circle. She was far away, but between the flowing hair and the armour she wore, there could be no doubt as to who it was. She carried the sword in her hand as she ran and paid no mind to anything around her. She was covering the ground quickly, and the only place this led to was where the wall circled to meet Hayter’s Gate at the main entrance to Delfmarc.
Vellan jumped down from the cart and Ogulf lost him in the mass of bodies. He could tell that Vellan was heading away from him, though, as the shouts of Feda’s name got more and more distant.
Then he heard another barrage of noises. First a cheer, then an exhausted grunt. He didn’t say a single word, but the grunt alone was enough to confirm this was Cedryk. Ogulf spotted a few men in enemy armour with their arms raised, cheering on their commander as he fought. The Northmen around them were too focused on fighting to keep their eyes on the showing of prowess from the two behemoths. Ogulf waded through the bodies, dodging a jutting spear and slicing at the kidneys of an opponent along the way.
‘Are you tired now, Cedryk?’ The Grim Knight was circling the older general, occasionally swinging light stabs or hacks with his sword, taunting his rival. ‘I wish I got you in your prime. Doesn’t feel right taking the life of someone so close to the grave, but I’ll take the satisfaction it gives me. Come on, you old, fat shit.’
Cedryk was wheezing, outmanoeuvred by the Grim Knight, but still doing his best to fight on. Ogulf had so much admiration for the man. Even if, at first, he was less than pleasant, he was a man of valour. In one mind, Ogulf considered aiding the general and fighting the Grim Knight himself, but doing so would only taint Cedryk’s honour.
‘You son of a fool,’ Cedryk said, spitting on the floor as he parried the tormenting attacks. ‘I’d already be wiping your guts off my blade if I got you in my day. And even if it takes longer than I would like, I’ll still be doing it today.’
With a burst of energy that seemed to explode from the balls of his feet, the general pushed forward, deflecting two of the shots from the Grim Knight with his shield which he held high as he rammed the chest of his enemy, causing him to stumble backwards. With a furious flurry of swings, Cedryk hacked at the flailing body of the Grim Knight as he tried to regain his footing. Ogulf watched as a lick of the general’s blade left a huge gash that ran down his rivals forearm, and the Grim Knight cried out as the blade cut through his skin with ease.
Cedryk’s onslaught continued as he swung at the Grim Knight, who had just recovered his position and was handling the shots with ease as blood trickled down his wrist. As if the general had used everything he had, he started to fade again, and the swings he tried became laboured and slow, meaning they were easier for his opponent to deal with. Eventually, they petered out until they were nothing more than empty attacks that wouldn’t do more than graze the skin if they struck true.
‘Oh, enough of this shit,’ the Grim Knight said. With a downward swing, he sank his spiked club into the general’s thigh. With a groan, Cedryk fell to one knee, the disgusting weapon still lodged deep in his leg. Ogulf fought against his urge to aid his ally as he watched him breathing heavily with tired eyes. His shield slipped from his grasp, though the fingers of his sword hand remained tightly wrapped around its handle.
Slowly and methodically, the Grim Knight took one step forward and slid the tip of his blade into Cedryk’s throat. Almost instantly, the general began spouting blood like a tap from his mouth, a dribble first and then a flow of thick red liquid. His eyes still looked tired, even as the Grim Knight carefully slid the weapon deeper. Ogulf watched the Grim Knight staring down at Cedryk as if he wanted to see if he could see something change in the general when life finally left him. With a kick to Cedryk’s chest, he slid his victim from his blade, spitting on the general’s lifeless body as soon as it hit the ground.
Cedryk had fallen and the Grim Knight had won.
Spurred on by the victory, Eryc’s forces began to hack down at their opponents, and within seconds, they had the advantage. Feda’s forces were being driven back towards the pile of bodies in the gateway to the Inner Circle.
Ogulf looked up to the battlements at the side again and now he could see Vellan up there too. The man was quite a distance away from Feda, who had just reached the main fortified area of Hayter’s Gate where the gate levers were. Suddenly the huge gate, its bottom covered in the smashed parts of the men it crushed, began to rise up, opening the entrance to Delfmarc.
Had she turned on them? Was she going to surrender the city? Had that always been her plan, to set up a slaughter of those loyal to her to hand her uncle the power on a platter? Ogulf felt sick as his mind raced through the possibilities. Had his tactics helped orchestrate the death of all of these men? He would surely die if that gate opened and the rest of Eryc’s forces made their way through. So would Melcun. Would Wildar have been so foolish? It would have been worse if Wildar got here – more Keltbran would have followed him and been slaughtered for nothing. And he had given her the axe. She had Solsana.
Ogulf was parrying furious shots from opponents as he found Melcun, struggling to keep the brutal shots at bay and bleeding from a deep gash in his bicep. Ogulf gave a fleeting thought to the idea of asking Melcun to use his powers, but too many of their own forces would get caught in the fireball – most likely including Ogulf. It seemed far too reckless.
His eyes traced down the causeway as he tried to catch a glance of what was happening in front of them. The gate was pulled high, leaving the gaping entrance open for the rest of Eryc’s battle-fresh forces to make their way in. Within seconds, the mouth of the gate was filled with shapes moving at an incredible pace. Eryc had sent his mounted forces in to finish the job. The battle would be over in minutes; Ogulf and those around him would be trampled into the stones of the citadel and crushed under the hooves of the dark mounts.
Some of Eryc’s forces cheered as they noticed the reinforcements speeding towards them. Others didn’t stop with their onslaught, already swinging their weapons, drunk on blood and ready for the killing spree that awaited them as they hacked and stabbed their way to victory.
Ogulf found himself standing on the mound of bodies from the initial assault as they were being pushed back. He noticed some of Eryc’s forces falling to the ground as the mounted unit passed. Ogulf assumed they were accidents of war and a further confirmation that Eryc favoured brutal force over everything else as he let his forces trample their own men on the way to victory. But this kept happening, and as the horsemen got closer to them on the causeway, Ogulf noticed these forces were not accidentally striking at the men in front of them, they were doing it intentionally.
Confusion spread like wildfire in a dry brush. Those loyal to Eryc realised something was wrong as blood curdling screams came from behind them.
The men in front of Ogulf began to swing frantically, encouraged by the fear on the faces of their opponents. Ogulf joined them and began to hack at the enemy where he could.
One of the riders pushed through, close to the front of the gate to the Inner Circle. His horse was huge. He rained down shattering blows with a morning star. One swing caved in two enemy skulls, turning the first to pulp before it was embedded momentarily in another.
‘It’s the prince,’ one of the men said as he punched his sword forward at his enemy. ‘We are saved, the prince is here.’
‘Keep fighting, we have reinforcements!’ Ogulf said, his heart swelling with hope.
The men around Ogulf fought with a kind of might he had never seen before. It was as if they had rested and feasted for days in the seconds that had passed since they realised who had come to their aid. Ogulf himself felt rejuvenated, gaining more and more energy every time his axe sunk into the flesh of an adversary as if the weapon leeched the life of its victims.
He stepped back, letting the men of Esselonia finish the job as they gradually thinned the enemy line until it was nothing more than a twitching pile of flesh and bone.
His breath finally came back to him as he looked down the causeway and to the battlements at Hayter’s Gate. There he saw Feda and Vellan both thrust their weapons into the air in triumph. As Eryc’s forces scrambled and fell victim to the blades of her men the beautiful edge and glass of Solsana danced in the sunlight. Feda had not betrayed them. She had saved them. Her bravery to run round the battlements herself to ensure the battle was won reminded him of the type of courage Wildar showed. She had been cut from the same cloth as the old chieftain after all.
Chapter 37
Ogulf and Melcun sat on the battlements above the Inner Circle gateway, Ogulf’s nose was throbbing. They were both silently staring at the causeway as the citizens of Delfmarc began moving their dead. The streets were a horrible dark crimson, and the smell of death hung in air underneath the afternoon sun.
Ogulf ran his eyes along the Grendspires. The huge peaks were hidden slightly, the tips of the mountains wrapped snugly about with thick, grey clouds.
‘Looks like rain,’ Ogulf said, his eyes fixed and still on the swirling cloud.
‘Might be a good thing, the streets could do with a cleanse,’ Melcun said.
‘I didn’t think it would rain here,’ Ogulf said.
‘It rains everywhere. I know Wildar thought this was a paradise, but it’s just like everywhere else, isn’t it?’
A scream forced Ogulf’s eyes away from the clouds and down to the causeway. There was a woman kneeling on the cobblestones, cradling the head of a fallen soldier on her thighs. One hand covered her horrified mouth, and with the other, she stroked his hair and tried to wipe the dried blood off his face. Ogulf looked on, just glad the dead man’s eyes were shut.
‘You’re right. I don’t think there is such a thing as a peaceful life.’
‘Certainly not now, anyway. I just wish there was something I could do, this all feels …’ Melcun shook his head. Ogulf watched as his eyes were drawn to the weeping woman. ‘… Bigger than us.’
‘I’ve felt that since before we left Broadheim, as if something was laying the path for me. Did you ever stop believing in the gods?’
‘I don’t think I stopped believing, but for a while, I didn’t feel them close to me. I feel something now, though. It’s different to what I felt before. It might just be a change as I learn more about what I can do,’ Melcun said.
‘It might be. I thought the gods abandoned me when I chose to leave Keltbran, but it’s like they’ve found me again since.’
‘Your father would be glad to hear you say that,’ Melcun said.
