Cold From The North, page 5
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
The two friends made their way across and down the hills, carefully placing each step on the ground before bearing weight down on it, and in this fashion, they edged towards the foot of the trail. As they did, the group in front began to congregate atop a long, flat ledge ahead.
The wind began to howl. It was much colder on the hilltops than it had been on the low ground. And this is probably warm compared to what it’s like up there, he thought as he looked up at the mountain pass again, shivering as he bundled his cloak tighter around his neck, pressing on towards the group.
The people of Keltbran set up a makeshift camp in a lightly forested area. The dead trees offered no shelter, but Prundan said that was better than sleeping in the open and Ogulf agreed, as much as it pained him. It was late afternoon by the time the camp was set up. By now the sun was setting, and the light of the day was fading. The biting wind swept through fiercely, an enemy to those trying to light fires, snuffing out every spark that almost caught in the flint and dried bark with ridiculing gusts. Some people resorted to huddling together for warmth, entire families were clustered under blankets and all linked at the arm, staring on as the unlucky member of their brood tried in vain to start a fire.
At least one, maybe even two, hundred had turned back towards Keltbran. Ogulf was glad in a way; the ones less willing would be the ones who could make the Trail harder. When they got onto the Trail, there was no going back.
Eventually the wind calmed slightly, and fires were lit, just in time to counter the darkness that was beginning to take over. The hopes of a warmer air to the south had not yet come to fruition. Ogulf found this disheartening but tried his best not to show it. Spirits were lifted slightly when the scouts came back to the forest camp with three deer and a brace of rabbits. There wasn’t much, but the meat was shared as much as it could be among those without sufficient rations. Ogulf refused his share and stuck to the berries he had. They were frozen solid, bitter, and had a chance of giving him stomach cramps, but it wouldn’t feel right taking rations from people who had nothing.
Once people had had the chance to rest, to let the warmth from the fire take the ache from their bones and have something to eat, Rowden called a meeting of his captains.
‘We go in groups tomorrow. The scouts have said the Trail won’t take all of us going at once and we can’t take that risk. I’ll be leading the first group, Prundan you lead the second, I’ll ask Melcun to take the third, and Ogulf and Wildar take the fourth group.’
‘You are going to let the orphan boy lead a group?’ Prundan asked.
‘Yes. Without Runa, Zemin, and Pelta, I need to try and find some new leaders among us. Think of this as a test for him.’
‘Brave time for you to try such a thing, Rowden,’ Prundan said.
‘Well, if this doesn’t show us what he’s capable of then I don’t know what will. What else could challenge him like this?’ Rowden said. ‘Ogulf and Wildar, you go together as the path will likely be degraded by the time you set off. I need my two best, my very best, to get that group around the Trail to safety.’ There was annoyance in Prundan’s eyes as Rowden spoke. ‘Getting groups of ten around this trail would have been hard enough, but we’re taking at least a hundred each. It sounds impossible, I know, but it’s better than dying by cold, blade, or bellyache.’
Ogulf hadn’t heard his father speak like this in a long time. It was almost as if being away from the decay of Keltbran, now in search of hope or prosperity, he was becoming the Rowden that his people needed him to be, the Rowden that Ogulf remembered. There was a collective nod from the group of captains. Wildar gave Ogulf a reassuring smile, the first notable expression change since his mood had dropped the day before.
Having Wildar with him would instil a level of confidence in his group; they were two of the most experienced scouts and fighters in Keltbran and they both knew how to lead.
Rowden continued. ‘Is it as bad as they say, Wildar?’
‘It could be worse. There are two ways you can go up the mountain, one is the Hard Way and the other is the Long Way. The Long Way around is the only way we can consider. The Trail we take will run up the hard side of the mountain at first, then it wraps around the face and then spirals down from the peak. It’s deceptive; some parts look like a leisurely walk, others you’ve got about an inch of rock between life and death, so… be warned and tread with as much caution as you can,’ Wildar said. ‘The peak was as far as I made it last time. You could see the South Hold from there it was so clear.’
‘Why didn’t you keep going?’ Ogulf asked. He tried to make the question sound as innocent as he could.
‘Fear. The slope to the peak was hard, but I was younger, fitter, then, and I knew I had more in me. But when we passed the peak and saw what was below, the sight rattled me in a way I have never quite got over.’ Wildar’s voice sounded uncharacteristically unsteady as he ran a hand through his beard. The group around him leant in closer, listening intently, even Prundan.
‘The whole path down was littered with bones and ragged garments. The bones stood out the worst; the rock on the mountain is so dark, except for the peak with the snow covering, so the frozen white bone was unmistakable. I didn’t try to count, but the whole face leading down that slope was peppered with jutting joints. So, we turned back.’
Prundan laughed. ‘And you lot expect us to make it through this Trail with all these people.’ He threw a wood chip into the fire aggressively. ‘Should have stayed in Keltbran with The Guided and avoided this Brait’s quest.’
Wildar attempted to respond but was cut off by Ogulf. ‘It would be a Brait’s quest to stay in Keltbran and be slaughtered, Prundan. We have to take the risk.’
‘Well, I should expect that kind of talk from a man of your stature, but make no mistake, young Harlsbane, this isn’t a battle, not in the sense of the ones you’ve fought and won before. Even the ones when you were outnumbered five to one had better odds than this,’ Prundan said.
Melcun arrived just as Ogulf was about to reply. ‘You sent for me, Earl Harlsbane?’
‘Yes, I need you to lead a group around the Trail tomorrow, can you do that?’ Rowden said.
Ogulf watched Melcun’s eyes widen and his shoulders pull back.
‘I’d be honoured, I’ll do my best,’ Melcun said, letting a proud smile pull over his face.
‘Heh, your best probably won’t be good enough, orphan boy,’ Prundan said. He walked over to Melcun and gave him a soft, open-handed slap to the face. The sound of skin hitting skin was quiet, but the mocking intent of it was clear for all to see.
Melcun’s eyes went wild with fury but his body remained placid. Ogulf swore he saw a spark jolt from Melcun’s hand, but as he did, the group were distracted by the whinnying of a horse drawing closer to them. People began to shout, and all of the captains reached for the weapons at their hips as they spun to face the noise. The horse drew closer. It was a Keltbran scout, returning to camp. When they saw this the captains began to sheath their weapons, but they continued to scan the tree lines for some minutes afterwards. Ogulf let out a sigh of relief as his breathing began to settle again.
‘Earl Harlsbane–’ The rider dismounted and approached the captains. He was out of breath, despite having been on horseback. ‘–I got here as quickly as I could.’
Prundan went to the man and motioned for him to sit down. He handed him his skin of water. ‘I’ve rode a full day from Port Saker.’ The rider gulped water.
‘Saker? I thought it was abandoned,’ Prundan said.
‘So did I,’ the rider said. ‘You said to go to Skargholm.’ He looked at Prundan. ‘The road was unpassable, the ice was too much, so I made to go around Yales Lake and turn back toward Skargholm at The Split, but when I got to Port Saker…’ The rider’s demeanour changed and fear crept into his eyes. He gulped more water and stared at the fire. Prundan was looking on at him, concerned.
‘What did you see, lad?’ Rowden asked.
‘An army.’ The rider was staring into the dancing flames as if reliving the memory in the shapes that they made. ‘Countless soldiers. Droves. Thousands. They were all dressed in plated armour, dark red and evil looking. They had horrible weapons – not normal blades or axes – brutal ones like I’ve never seen.’ His gaze broke and he looked at Rowden. ‘They must be the horde.’
Wildar was stroking his beard as he glanced sideways at Ogulf. The once deflating feeling of alarm coursed through Ogulf again. He’d never felt fear like this. He searched his mind for more worrisome situations, and in truth, there were none. If the invaders were at Saker, they had come across the border at multiple points. The old East Hold had to have fallen. ‘If they’re in Saker, they must have come around the Long Peaks,’ Ogulf said, loud enough for all to hear but directing the words at his father. ‘That can’t be possible.’
‘Unless they split their force before attacking the citadels?’ Wildar said.
‘Perhaps,’ Rowden said. ‘I wouldn’t say much sounds impossible anymore given what’s happened over the last week.’
Ogulf knew his father was right; it was absolutely possible for all of these things to happen, it was just that no one imagined they would come to pass or that an army or anyone would actually manage feats like this. It was cold, Broadheim was fortified, and the world was at peace.
‘If the East Hold has fallen there is no doubt that this is an invasion,’ Prundan said. ‘But from where? Surely it cannot be from beyond the Chasm?’
Frigid weather and winters in the continent of Gelenea tended to spread from the worst hit parts in the north before tapering off in severity in the warmer climates of the South. For the past two years, almost everyone in Broadheim had assumed anyone situated to the north of their border must have had the cold a lot worse than they did.
‘Were there ships in the port?’ Ogulf asked. ‘Could they have come from Shingal?’
If this was the case then the most peaceful nation in all of the known world had decided to change their focus, so Ogulf thought it unlikely. The Kingdom of Shingal had always prided itself on being an ally to all, and it prospered like no other country could, but a change of tactics may have meant that the Shingally’s had noticed the weakness in Broadheim – the cold would have presented a ripe opportunity for a force to invade. They would have to cross the Sea of Blades to reach the East Hold – a treacherous task, even for the most advanced fleet. Not only that, but the invasion came from the north and the Shingally Empire only bordered Broadheim from the South. Furthermore, for a wealthy and powerful kingdom like the Shingal, an invasion of Broadheim would be a fruitless endeavour, unless they had an interest in taking the barren, dying land or their goal was simply to enslave the population. As the stories went, the horde were slaughtering all who stood in their way, so this couldn’t be the case either. Ogulf didn’t give the idea more than a glancing thought.
‘No boats. Only men on foot and some on horseback.’
‘We haven’t heard from Prath or Ridmir in over five years, and even then, that was an unofficial word – they must have got the cold worse than us. And when we did hear from them, we were on peaceful terms,’ Wildar said.
Prath and Ridmir were the twin capitals of Visser, a country that was sometimes called The Old North. It was a vast and formerly populous land which used to rival the Shingally Empire for power, but was now effectively cut off from the rest of the world. Visser lay beyond The Chasm and The Throws to the north of Broadheim. They had been placed in the annals of history as a country constantly struggling to regain their past successes. It was widely accepted the country collapsed before the cold came. No proof of the breakdown ever came, and when the cold didn’t go away, the news became unimportant anyway. Ogulf longed to go there if he ever got the chance, to see the fallen empire with his own eyes.
‘Terms change,’ Wildar said. ‘Speculation takes time. We don’t have that luxury. We now know this is an invasion; it cannot be anything else. If the citadels and the Holds have fallen, then six hundred Keltbran people aren’t going to stop an invading army. The sooner we can get around that pass to the South, the better.’
‘Agreed,’ Rowden said, supporting his chieftain’s theory. ‘We go on as planned. The further South we get, the better, and we will know soon enough if this is the Shingal, though I can’t see that being the case.’
‘The lack of ships makes me agree with you. It won’t have been the Shingal. They would gain nothing taking Broadheim. We don’t even have grain anymore,’ Wildar said to the group, trying to quash the theory once and for all.
‘Did you notice anything else, lad?’ Prundan asked.
‘Their standards. I’ve never seen them before, not in any texts or in all the time I’ve travelled. Dark red like fresh blood with black gemstones in the middle, no words, no house names, all the flags were the same.’
Rowden helped the rider to his feet and called on one of his men to make sure he was fed and given somewhere to rest. Prundan followed Rowden and his scout. Ogulf, Wildar, and Melcun remained at the fire.
‘Better hope the south is safe. What if this army follows us there?’ Melcun said.
‘Don’t worry. If we make it where I want to go, we will be safe,’ Wildar said, his eyes steely and full of resolve as he stared into the fire.
‘Esselonia?’ Ogulf said.
‘Yes, we need to get there. We need to put as much land and sea between us and this army as we can.’
‘I’ve never seen you this worried, Wildar.’
‘If I could put into words how my gut feels right now, it would give you nightmares. This prophecy that Yadlin mentioned, if it’s what I think it is, worry is only the beginning; soon it will be dread, then it will be terror, and then death. We need to be fast.’
‘I didn’t take you for one to believe in tales, Wildar.‘
‘Just because you were told fables as children to tire your eyes and your minds, it doesn’t mean there isn’t some truth in them. And I know this one has more weight than others. One can only hope that the worst parts are myth and the best parts never come to fulfilment. No use dwelling on it, both of you try to get some sleep before tomorrow,’ Wildar said before rising up and walking into the dark of the forests, away from the fire.
Ogulf untucked the leather necklace and began looking at his mother’s black gemstone, rolling it from side to side in his hand as light from the fire danced in the dark body of the gem, filling the carvings with brilliance.
By now he was used to the sting of the wind. He resigned himself to the fact he wouldn’t get much sleep, so he would try to get as much rest as he could, even if it was just to take the throbbing from his feet for as long as possible. Ogulf bid Melcun goodnight and reluctantly walked away from the dwindling fire towards his pack. By the time he was five paces from its warmth, he was shivering.
Just as he set his thoughts on the south and getting away from the cold, his mind rushed back to what happened at his mother’s tree as he willed the stone to give him the answers he sought now. But it wasn’t the same and it never would be.
Eventually his mind became overwhelmed and sleep began to creep over him like a calm embrace. He tried to repeat the words he heard in the dream. It must have meant something. He began to say them, but the words tapered off, his aches dulled, and he rested.
Chapter 6
Ogulf woke, shivering from his restless sleep. It was plagued by the jarring sounds of howling animals, constant snoring, and dull aches that made his body tingle whenever he tried to find comfort.
When he did find brief bouts of sleep, his mind rushed between the different parts of the vision he’d had at his mother’s tree. The apparition, the huge, cavernous structure in the mountains, and the words spoken by the disembodied voice. His mind was like a chest full of questions, each one trying desperately to escape and find the answers it craved. He still struggled to make sense of it all and spent most of his night staring at the dead, black branches above him, willing them with all of his being to give him some insights or answers even as he cursed himself, for those were not wise trees and their roots could not give him answers.
It was just a vision, a dream, nothing more; it was purely coincidental that it had happened at his mother’s tree. Nevertheless, he couldn’t keep it from claiming his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to stave them off. If it had happened anywhere else other than that tree, then he may have been able to discard it. It hadn’t, though, it had happened in a place which historically gave him guidance when he sought it most, so he could not dismiss this vision yet. His mind raced as he scoured for answers; this didn’t seem like the guidance the tree had offered before, it felt more like a warning. One he couldn’t yet understand.
‘Today’s the day, then,’ Melcun said. He was lighting a fire between their two bedrolls. Ogulf had been focused so much on the workings of his mind that he had shut off the sounds of what was going on around him. Scattered around the pair in the forest, people were preparing their packs and eating breakfast.
‘I suppose it is. How are you feeling?’ Ogulf asked, rolling onto his elbow and propping himself up with an uncomfortable groan. He had gotten so used to sleeping in a bed that the last two nights with just the cold ground to lie on had been some of the most uncomfortable nights of his life.
‘Does it matter?’ Melcun said, focusing on the fire.
‘Of course it matters.’ Ogulf pushed himself up more, rolling his neck, trying to loosen the stiffness that clung to it from the failed attempts at sleep. ‘I, for one, am shitting myself. And you’re leading a group today.’
