by T L Drew
Jorgen began to move himself into the heart of the city. Jorgen saw everything beyond the red tents. He saw the headless corpses of his father’s people filling the narrow, twisting streets. Raped women and slaughtered children lay by their sides. He saw the horror with foggy eyes with dry blood clinging to his fair skin from his stitched wounds like a parasite, a lump in his throat and his hair damp with his own sweat and blood.
Fire continued to rage wildly over Solvstone. Screams in the flames still resonated hauntingly as blood soaked the dank soil and snow, and dismembered limbs blanketed his home like a cloak. ‘Let us return you to your bed, my king – you do not need to see anymore, Jorgen.’ Jakub said as Jorgen could barely stand on his feet alone, his shaking legs barely able to hold his own weight as the world still spun around him, the ruins of Solvstone surrounding his being and the fires refusing to die, even as the snow fell lightly over the land, catching in Jorgen’s hair and beard, fluttering into his haunted black eyes.
‘I’m not going back to that fucking bed,’ he spat harshly, staring at the mutilated corpses of his people lying in the streets in mighty mounds of blood and gore, the crows descending among the dead to pick at what was left from the violent slaughter. Verath was among them.
The southern men with their Grey banners had left, leaving only fire and devastation behind in their wake, and Jorgen’s numbness twisted into anger, guilt and sorrow. He waded through the crumbling ruins and mounds of decimated corpses like a man possessed, praying Nora and Erik were not among the dead and desperate to see everything the Grey’s had done. He would not forget, nor would he forgive, he promised himself. Hakon will pay for what he has done, Jorgen thought.
‘You were right, you were both right,’ Jorgen uttered to the siblings as he stopped within the dank streets, the smell of decay plaguing him. ‘Justice cannot go undone. We will regain our strength, increase our numbers and then we shall ride south as quickly as our horses can take us. Hakon Grey’s head will be mounted on a spike for his crimes against our people and we will take the six kingdoms of Askavold for our own, if the king will not surrender the bastard to us. We will have justice for our dead. Send word to all the lords of the west and to the Lady of the Arus; they shall fight for us, send their armies, raise our banners and we will bring a mighty force to the south. Justice will be served.’
NORA
As Jorgen had regained consciousness, Nora was being hunted like a deer, tired and weakening as the chase drew on, arrows rarely speeding beyond her fatiguing frame and colliding with the rough bark of the wintry pine trees. The snow crunched under her boots as she ran with desperation for safety.
The Grey soldiers and the mercenaries in their blood-stained armour were close on her tail, following her hasty tracks in the crisp snow, as she followed the prints left by the soldier who carried Erik upon his shoulder. Closer and closer she could hear their taunting sounds as they chased her through the darkness, her heart pounding in her chest like a caged animal, Nora’s body was slowing in her exhaustion, her dress torn at her ankles as it caught upon branches and thistles. She did not know how long she had been running.
‘The bitch is over ‘er!’ A soldier shouted over the whistle of the winter’s wind, the sound of his gruff voice closer than ever as Nora tripped over a fallen branch, her body crashing forward into the snow, the ring letting slip from her shaky grasp. Her lip caught between her teeth as her face hit the snowy ground; blood drew from her lips, spilling down her chin as she rose, her eyes searching for the ring.
‘Where are you?’ Nora uttered past blooded lips, the pain pushed to the back of her mind as her heart continued to race, the sound of the soldiers growing closer and closer, until her eyes met with the ring’s glare. The ebony band stuck out from the snow before her, and Nora leapt to her frozen feet, reached for the warmth of the ring, and broke again into a run as fast as her weakening body would carry her. She followed the tracks before her, keeping them in her sights through the darkness, keeping the ring in her grasp. ‘Where are you, Erik?’ The young lady uttered through bloody lips as she urged her breaking body onwards, faster, until she could see movement before her eyes in the darkness, taller than a deer, smaller than a baby-eating troll of the Balfold forests, a mound upon the silhouette’s back…
Nora knew in that instance that it was the soldier, carrying Erik upon his back, struggling under the weight of the young boy upon his shoulders, even though Erik was small and thin, the soldier struggled to run with the extra weight and the ebony armour upon his frame. She could hear the soldier struggling. She breathed a sigh of relief, running faster, urging her onwards. She ran and she ran until she almost neared them, the soldier’s ears hearing her steps, hearing the sounds of the Grey army on her tail, vastly approaching from the rear.
‘Erik? Thank the gods!’ Nora yelled over the silence of the forest, continuing to run, urging the Night Cloak soldier not to halt as he carried Erik towards Knight’s Denn. ‘Don’t stop! Keep running! They’re coming!’ But the soldier that carried Erik didn’t listen to her words; the soldier came to a sudden halt in the snow at the sound of Nora’s desperate voice, removed Erik from his shoulder and placed the young, crippled prince in the snow, leaning him against a broken tree, and drew his long sword from his holster. It became apparent to Nora that the soldier knew the odds; carrying Erik, they could never outrun the Grey soldiers – his only chance to save the prince and his own life was to fight for it.
‘Please, run!’ Nora shouted over the silence of the forest, unknown to her how many soldiers were behind her, how many had survived the fight at the carriage on the outskirts of Solvstone, how many were fast enough to keep up with her or smart enough to follow her tracks. The soldier still didn’t listen. The Night Cloak held his blade high in the air, and waited.
‘We cannot outrun them, my lady,’ he told her, poising his sword. ‘It’s best we fight.’
Nora finally reached them. She darted to the soldier – aware he was intent on fighting instead of running – and reached for his hand, pulling one of his palms from the weapon he rose in the sky, the sounds of the Grey army growing closer.
‘Here,’ she said, thrusting the ebony ring into his wintry palm, knowing it was their only chance at survival. ‘Put it on your finger, please – there’s magic inside of it – it can save us.’
‘My lady–’
‘–Just put the fucking ring on!’ Nora screamed at him, hearing the bushes rustle hauntingly from behind them, footsteps in the snow growing louder and closer. The soldier of her betrothed’s Night Cloaks did as she commanded; the Night Cloak lowered his blade for long enough to let the ring slip over the index finger of his pale left hand and felt the hot burn of the ring against his skin before he once again reached for his blade and rose it in the air, in time for the bushes to part from each other, a small group of five Grey soldiers, swathed in blood and gore, bursting from the darkness in front of them, ready to fight. Nora felt herself run behind the night cloak soldier, defenceless, her eyes finding Erik leaning against a fallen tree. She felt herself falling forward into the snow next to him, the young boy sweating even in the coldness of the western winter, grasping onto him with fright. ‘Nora,’ he stammered in fear as the Grey soldiers advanced on the Night Cloak, blades cutting through the air, the hunters finding their prey.
‘We’re going to be okay,’ she said, unsure whether she believed her own words as the Night Cloak soldier fought back, his strength doubling with the ring upon his finger. He slashed his blade left and right, defending all blows against the five Grey soldiers that tried to cut him down, so that they could reach Nora and Erik. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend what they would do to her and Erik if the western soldier failed to protect them; they would surely kill them, but what would they do to them first? She wouldn’t let herself think of it as she watched the first Grey soldier fall to the snow, staining it red with his warm blood, a blade in his neck between the crevice in his armour, slipping into an
instant death. The first fell, then the second, then the third, the white snow stained crimson. The Night Cloak solider could feel the ring’s strength coursing through him; Nora could see it in his eyes, in the power of his strikes, the way his blade cut through their flesh and bone like it was butter.
The remaining two Grey soldiers were stronger and faster than their dead companions; they were taller, bulkier, their bodies covered in thicker armour. One man carried a giant war hammer. He swung it around his head, his eyes fixated upon the Night Cloak soldier, the blunt hammer cutting through the bitter winter air; the soldier who protected Nora and Erik ducked below the blow of the war hammer, sending the weapon crashing into the thick trunk of a tall tree, the rough bark splintering at the crash of the hammer, scattering over the western man’s body. As the Grey soldier pulled the hammer away from the shattered tree, the Night Cloak rose his blade in the air, and his steel met with the throat of the man who brandished the war hammer. He chocked, blood oozing past his lips as the other soldier’s blade cut through the air, heading towards the western soldier’s face. The Night Cloak quickly drew his weapon from the soldier’s neck and defended his face from the upcoming blade, their steel colliding as the soldier with the war hammer fell to the snowy floor, chocking as his own blood showered him like rainfall. The remaining Grey soldier and the young Night Cloak continued to fight perilously; their blades parted then met once more, the sound of clashing steel coursing through the air, ringing against the trees and echoing through the forest, until finally, with the strength of the ring, the western soldier overpowered him, the end of the blade sinking into the Grey soldier’s frozen southern skin. Five Grey soldier’s lay dead around them, the snow red with their blood, and the Night Cloak was swathed in a new skin of crimson.
Nora watched as her body trembled in the snow, holding onto Erik with desperation, frightened to let him go.
The western soldier tore the ring from his finger with urgency as he trudged in the thick, blood-stained snow, his breathing rapid and laboured, moving in front of Nora Ostergaard and Erik Black, blood dripping from his blade as he holstered it back upon his hip. He extended a blooded hand down to Nora. ‘My lady,’ he said between strained breaths and helped her to her feet swollen. ‘Here – I don’t know what that is, but I won’t wear it again.’ He said as he carefully took her palm and placed the black band back into her hand, the heat of the ring suddenly familiar and comforting. ‘There’s black magic in that ring – please, do not wear it.’
‘I also believe this ring is cursed, but it just saved our lives,’ the young girl said surely, wrapping her fingers around the black band, afraid to take her eyes off it. She had to return it to Jorgen – if he was still alive. She wouldn’t even allow herself to think otherwise. Her heart began to pound in her chest thinking about Jorgen, praying he was alive, praying he was searching for them. ‘We need to keep going, in case more of them come in search for us – I doubt they’ll stop.’
‘Why? What do we have that they want?’ Erik asked as he sat still in the snow, leaning against the fallen tree, his hands shaking from the cold and the fear that plagued him.
‘For one, this ring,’ Nora said, clutching onto it tighter, feeling the burn. ‘Secondly, you,’ her eyes found Erik, his face twisting with bewilderment. ‘Hakon came to take the western lands…if the Black family are alive, he can’t have them. If Reidar and Jorgen are…no longer with us…It means you are the King of Balfold.’ The words pained her to even think about.
‘And Hakon Grey wants you,’ Erik remembered, trying not to think about Hakon’s desire to kill him, and his family.
‘He wants to kill me,’ she said, her heart racing, thinking of the blade in her hand as it sunk into Hakon’s body. ‘I put a knife in him, in his left eye – he’ll want my head for it. He won’t stop until he has it.’
‘Then we must waste no time,’ the Night Cloak soldier was certain in his words, moving towards Erik and lifting him from the snow before the young prince had a chance to protest, and threw him over his broad, armoured shoulder. Erik grimaced as the blood on the night cloak touched his porcelain skin. ‘We have to find somewhere safe. We can’t go back to Solvstone.’
‘We have to find Jorgen.’ Nora corrected.
‘He’s dead, Nora.’ Erik interjected, his body shaking upon the soldier’s shoulder, his voice laced with sorrow. ‘He’s dead, as is my father, as is everyone else.’
‘If he’s alive, trust me, Jorgen will be at the town of Knight’s Denn.’ Nora said with certainty, thinking of the small settlement in the forest, only a few days ride from Solvstone, and a few weeks on foot.
‘Then Knight’s Denn is where we’ll go.’ The soldier agreed, taking his first steps, leading the way through the pine trees as fast as his tired legs would carry him.
For many days they walked despairingly for hours on end without rest, the bitter chill of winter biting at their bodies, unable to feel their fingers and toes as the Night Cloak – whose name was Archer Rose, as she had learned on their third day in the dark forest – carried Erik on his shoulder with strain. In the daylight they walked north – hoped they were heading north in the right direction – towards Knight’s Denn, a small settlement due north of Solvstone, a town hidden in the trees, where Nora hoped and prayed Jorgen would be. At night they lit a fire, cooked the rabbit they had hunted on their perilous journey, tried to eat as much as they could and rest their broken bodies. They slept under the stars, cold to the bone, laying in the leaves they brushed free of as much snow as they could manage, and huddled together in the darkness. When the sun rose again on the fourth day, they heard familiar noises in the distance, growing louder and busier, the sounds of civilisation coming welcomingly to their ears.
‘What is that?’ Nora asked the Night Cloak, Archer, as they sat up swiftly in the snow, listening to the sounds of horses, bells and people yelling, trying to sell their plentiful wares.
‘A settlement,’ Archer said with surety, leaping to his feet with desperation.
‘Knight’s Denn?’ Erik questioned as the soldier threw the young man over his shoulder abruptly.
‘No, we’re haven’t journeyed far enough north to reach it, not yet – if this is the village of Westkeep, then we can take the roads to Knight’s Denn, and save ourselves getting lost some more.’
It was Nora who led the way; she walked faster than she had in the four days they trekked towards the sounds of the busy village, her feet carrying her with desperation to reach safety. The Night Cloak soldier carried Erik as fast as he could behind the red-headed girl. They were rapid to break through the trees; before them they saw the village, few in numbers, with small huts built in the centre of the forest clearing, a river winding through the houses and a dirt track that led through the trees, a road which would eventually lead them to Knight’s Denn.
Nora had been here before. She had crossed through Westkeep on her travels from her home of Westfalls in the Arus, her home due north on the west of Askavold, to Solvstone, where she had spent many years since she had met Jorgen Black. She had travelled from Westfalls to Knight’s Denn, on the road from Knight’s Denn to this very village, before the road took her to the Crow’s Keep in Solvstone. Relief was quick to wash over her as her sight was set over the familiar town. Nora swiftly broke into an urgent run, her feet slipping down a snowy bank as she urged her aching body forward into the heart of the settlement, eyes finding her as she darted by traders, blacksmiths and butchers. The Night Cloak – Archer Rose – struggled to keep up with her under the weight of his armour and the prince upon his back.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ Nora asked, her breath leaving her chest, coming to a stand in front of an older man who led a horse through the streets, a brown, tattered hat upon his head which concealed oily grey hair. He had a haunted look in his eyes, like he had seen terrible things he wished to forget. She could only assume he had heard of what had happened at Solvstone, or he had been there, one of the people who had fled into t
he forest from the Grey soldiers. Perhaps someone he loved died there, she wondered.
‘Yes, ma’am?’ The old man asked, his eyes finding hers. His face twisted with recognition.
‘Do you come from Solvstone?’
‘Aye, that I do,’ he said, his eyes questioning.
‘Do you have news?’ Nora asked desperately. ‘The prince, Jorgen Black…is he alive?’ The young girl almost didn’t want to hear his response as Archer and Erik caught up with her, coming to a halt behind the Lady of the Arus. The old man’s lips turned into a smile. ‘He’s alive?’ Nora asked, hopeful, her heart pounding in her chest.
‘Very much so, my lady.’ The man said, nodding his head. Nora’s eyes began to water, her breath caught in her throat. She knew he was alive, in her heart, but to hear the man’s words brought her a comfort the ring couldn’t give, even when it told her the same. Her eyes found Erik; his face was plagued with disbelief, his eyes wide, his mouth hung ajar. Nora smiled at him as she started to cry.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Erik’s voice rose from Archer’s back, gazing upon the old man. ‘I thought he was dead.’