On the wall above the gate, the Jetty guardsmen stood at attention around Fletcher, many blue-skinned warriors amongst their ranks now. It hadn't been easy to convince a hundred sea elves to stay behind while their brothers marched off to war, but the warriors were nothing if not loyal to Elias. He had every faith that they would stay and fulfill their duty to the best of their abilities.
Elias addressed the warriors gathered in front of him. It was the first time he had done so since they had made landfall almost a fortnight before, and was well overdue.
“Elves of Greenreef, can you hear me?”
The gathered warriors stamped their spear handles against the ground, and let out a resounding 'hoo-ah!'. Elias smiled.
“Today we march to Rockhill. In one week, we will be farther from the sea than any of you have ever been. You will see mountains, you will see snow, and you will see the home of the Northmen. This is the start of our journey to vengeance! To lay low the army that destroyed your homes, that killed your brothers, your sisters, your mothers and fathers and lovers and children!”
The assembled warriors let out another shout, and Elias nodded. “Good! Let's waste no more time. The road ahead is long, but satisfaction awaits us at its end! Let's move out!”
At that, he turned his back on Jetty and started north, the road stretching out before him along the peninsula upon which Jetty was built. Stunted pines, juniper, and willow trees grew on the eastern side of the road, between them and the bay, while the west side was mostly open to the dunes that stood between them and the bay.
Where the peninsula met the northern shore of the bay, low marshy wetlands spread out to the east, with occasional stands of fir, pine, and cedar on the high ground. The road turned north of the marshes, towards the mountains where the source of his nickname, the great redwood trees grew. The low coastal mountains rose in front of them as they walked, ten warriors marching shoulder to shoulder, eighty ranks deep.
Elias marched at the head of the column, with Tataramoa at his side. The crushed stone of the path crunched under his feet, the overcast skies and stiff breeze keeping the weather crisp. There were few trees near the road, surrounded as it was with pasture to the north and wetlands to the south. Twenty horses, including Elias's charger, were led along with the small army, most of them wearing packs, some of them pulling carts loaded with supplies.
While each soldier carried a pack with some provisions and personal belongings, a force of this size required much more than each man could carry on their own. Bread and jerky, dried fruits and barrels of water were loaded on the carts; this time of year, many of the rivers and streams ran muddy from the storms that battered the northern coast and mountains of Lonwick, making clean water scarce.
Elias took a moment to thank the gods that there was no dried fish on any of the carts.
As tended to happen when he had a moment to himself, his thoughts turned back to Coral. Her emerald green eyes, her sky blue skin, her hair as black as obsidian. He had been entirely unable to tell her that he loved her, and it was only when she was gone that he was able to admit it to himself. He could still hear her laugh and picture her lounging on the warm sands of the lagoon at Seagate, on the island of Greenreef. The feel of her skin, the smell of her in the ocean breeze; his memory of her was as real and as vivid as if he had just left her side. Not a night went by that he didn't dream of her.
The last time he had spoken to her was in anger. He had told her he was leaving and stormed away. Before he had time to reconcile with her, she was dead, killed by Darius Tessermyre, his brother. Elias had pulled the sword from her stomach himself. He had lost her and their unborn child while he was away at war.
Elias felt his stomach sink, and his throat grew tight. He didn't want to break down in front of his men; they needed to see him as solid, unwavering. He turned his mind toward remembering her as she was before the attack, smiling and beautiful.
By the time they stopped for the night, shortly before sundown, they were well into the mountains. They had traveled through a wide pass, and along a river for some time before the road turned into the coastal range, climbing well above the valley below. The willows, juniper, and cedar gave way to towering redwoods and fir trees, interspersed with voluminous pine trees and the occasional black oak.
They stopped on a broad, flat, grassy meadow atop a ridge, off the side of the road. There was plentiful downed wood nearby, which the sea elves gathered for their campfires. The meadow quickly turned into a small tent city as the sun sank below the mountains, turning the overcast sky into an inky black blanket. A light drizzle fell as they were setting up camp, but thankfully it didn't turn into a downpour.
Elias sat inside his tent, facing the campfire. Several of his warriors sat around it, their tents arranged in a circle that did little to stop the breeze that came in from the coast. He listened to their conversations as they rested, eating his ration of bread, jerky, and fruit. He would join in on occasion, recounting this tale or that, mostly inconsequential things.
One of the warriors spoke up. “What is this place we are going to, the Northlands? This is where you were grown, yes?”
Elias nodded. “I lived there for about seventy years. The Northmen raised me from a boy at the foot of a great mountain called Mount Stromgard. The city there is called Valtheim. That is where we will go, once we meet up with Jonas at Rockhill.”
“And Rockhill. What is it like?”
Elias bit off a mouthful of bread and washed it down with a drink from his waterskin. "Truthfully, I did not spend much time there. I passed through it a year and a half ago. It is a mining town, dealing mostly in stone block for construction throughout the realm.”
“They mine... stone?”
“Yes. It's called a quarry.”
The warrior nodded. “Yes. We had one of those on Rapa Matomato. It is where the stone for Port Greenreef came from. Good, solid gray stone. Strong against wind and shaking ground.”
“We have earthquakes here too. Not so many, because the fire in our mountains has gone out, long ago, but we still have volcanic glass in some places, and there are tales of mountains far to the north that still burn inside.”
The warrior sat on the ground, cross-legged. "Will we see any of the burning mountains when we travel north, Kaiwhakaora?”
Elias shook his head. “No. That is much too far north for where we are going. The land is shrouded entirely in snow and ice so thick that the summers do not melt it away.”
“There was snow on the top of the God's mountain in the cold months. The hot lake there kept it from staying, so we only saw it occasionally. Some years not at all.”
They were silent for a moment, the crackling of the flames and the quiet conversations from the campfires around them the only sounds in the night.
“You miss your islands, don't you.” It was less of a question, and more of a statement.
The warrior nodded again. “I do.”
Elias sat forward, closer to the fire. “What is your name?”
“I am called Kahu Whero. It means 'Red Hawk' in the tongue of men.”
Elias picked up a piece of firewood, dropping it onto the fire. Sparks floated lazily into the night sky before winking out, one by one. “Then I will call you Kahu Whero.”
The warrior nodded. “If it pleases you. You can call me whatever you wish. I am just a spear in your army.”
Elias shook his head. "No. You are more than that. You are a proud warrior from a noble people.” He gestured to the camp around them. "I may not know all, or even most of your names, and if I were to be fully honest, I would say that I wouldn't be able to remember most of them if you told me.”
The warriors around the fire chuckled, and Elias continued. “But each and every one of you is important to me. I know that many of us may die, myself included, and were it not for the fact that most of you seek the same vengeance as I do, I would not ask this of you. You all honor me with your service.”
Kahu Whero held
a stick over the fire, charring it. “Kaiwhakaora, I fought with you on Greenreef. I was there when we sank the giant boat, and I was there when we raised her from the ocean. I battled with you when we freed our people from Kanga Motu, the Cursed Island. And when we came back to Greenreef, my mate and my daughter were both slain. Raped and murdered by these monsters you call Felle.”
He dropped the stick into the coals, letting the fire consume it. "I feel the same burning fire inside of me that you do. I would ask ten thousand warriors to follow me into the underworld to seek my vengeance. I would ask all of the sands of all of the shores to follow me, every star in every sky.” He looked up at Elias, his green eyes reflecting the firelight. "You ask no more of us than what any elf or man in your position would ask. And any man or elf that was worth his weight in pig dung would follow you.”
Elias sat in silence for a moment, gazing into the flames. He held out his hand to Kahu Whero. “I thank you for coming with me, warrior. I mourn the loss of your family.”
Kahu Whero gripped Elias's hand, but he did not shake it. Mainland customs were slow coming to the people of the Greenreef islands. "We all mourn, Kaiwhakaora. Coral was your mate, but she was our future seer, one of our people. Let us bury our sadness with our enemies.”
~ ~ ~
It was two hours before sunset when they reached the village of Pine River. When Elias had last passed through, the pass that served as the entrance to the town had been open and inviting; now, a tall stone wall closed off the road, bridging between the stone mountain faces on either side, perhaps two hundred yards across. In the center, where the path passed through an archway, two enormous wooden gates, banded with iron, were closed. At least a score of guards armed with longbows stood on top of the wall, arrows nocked on strings, but not drawn. Elias held up a hand, and the elves behind him stopped in the road, just outside of range of arrows.
Tataramoa stood next to Elias. “What is wrong?”
Elias frowned, considering. “This wall was not here before. It has been built, and hastily, since last I came through here, shortly after the summer solstice of last year.”
Tataramoa looked up at Elias. “Is this a problem?”
Elias shrugged, looking down at the blue-skinned warrior. "Only if they don't want us to go through their gates. I think it is best if I approach and speak to them before we march up to their wall.”
Tataramoa nodded. “Yes. It is best if you and I walk up and speak to them first.”
Elias chuckled, shaking his head. “Very well.” He turned to the elves gathered behind him. “Wait here until I return. I will speak to them, to have them open their gates for us.”
Elias and Tataramoa walked down the road, their hands visible, towards the gate. The archers watched them approach, but did not point their arrows at them. When they were maybe ten yards from the wall, a guardsman called out.
“Who are you, and why do you come to Pine River?”
Elias held his hands high, showing that he was not carrying a weapon. “My name is Elias of Stromgard. My warriors and I seek to camp on the other side of your town on our way to Rockhill. We will stay only this night.”
The guardsman frowned. “How many are you?”
“Eight hundred warriors from the Greenreef islands, and forty horses, with five carts.”
“Where do you come from, and what is your business in Rockhill?”
It was Elias's turn to frown. “We come from Jetty, and our business is our business, and it doesn't lie with you or your town.”
The guardsman scoffed. “Last I heard, Jetty had been attacked by the Felle. Your business might be your business, but these are our gates, and our road. We decide who passes through, and I will not open them until I decide to.” The guardsman set a foot up on the battlement, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his raised knee. “How do I know that you're not here to sack our city for the Felle? These walls have repelled them before, and I daresay they would repel you.”
Elias dropped his hands, exasperated. “What can we do to prove that we mean you no harm and simply seek passage?”
The guardsman considered for a moment. “If you are from the Stromgard Mountain, then who is the reigning king at Valtheim?”
Elias crossed his arms in front of himself. “When I left, King Brynjar had just died, and his son Brandt was taking his place. This was the summer before last, which was when I passed through this town on my way to the coast.”
One of the guards turned to the one that had been speaking to Elias. “It's true, sir. I remember him. Biggest elf I ever saw.”
The first guardsman chuckled and shook his head. “You have been gone a while then. Very well. You may pass through our gates, but you may not stop. There's also a toll. One silver lion per warrior that passes through our gate.”
Elias scowled. “Since when was there a toll on this road?”
“Since we had to start defending it from orcs, ogres, and men of the Felle. The price is the price. Pay it or turn back.”
Elias shook his head. “Fine. It's more expensive to travel in this country than it is to sail across the sea.” He returned to the assembled men behind him. Finding a small chest on one of the carts, he opened it and counted ninety gold coins into a pouch. He didn't have the silvers, but one gold lion was valued at ten silver ones, so the exchange rate was fair. Returning to the wall, the threw it up to the waiting guardsman. The guardsman dumped it out onto the battlement, and counted them.
“You said you have eight hundred warriors. You gave me ten gold lions too many.”
Elias stood beneath the wall, looking up at the man. “I have another hundred warriors who will be joining us in a fortnight. That is to make sure they pass through unmolested.”
The guardsman raised an eyebrow. “Another hundred in a fortnight, eh? Anything else I might need to know about before I let you through?”
Elias shrugged. "It may interest you to know that the Felle razed Silva Aestas... we saw it ourselves when we rode past it. So whatever defenses you have here, they're going to be what you have for the foreseeable future. Hopefully, they're enough.”
A wave of murmurs could be heard from the top of the wall. The guardsman frowned. "If what you say is true, then it is a more dire situation than we thought. I will send messengers to the capital at once to inform them.” He turned to the side, and shouted to someone on the inside of the wall. "Open the gate! There's an army that has paid for passage through our town.”
The guardsman turned back to Elias. “One more thing. You may find that Brandt isn't as in control of the north as you remember. I'd watch my head if I were you, and if I were going back that way.”
As the gates creaked open, Elias called back up to the man on the wall. “What do you mean?”
The man called back down over the groaning of the iron hinges. “There was a rebellion last autumn. The North has split again. Three kings rule from three strongholds, and Brandt is not one of them.”
~ ~ ~
They did no business in Pine River on their way through. The fact that they had enough supplies to last the trip, as well as the standoffish attitude they were met with, made Elias disinclined to spend any more gold in the town than they had already parted with. The people of Pine River had been cold to him on his first passage through the village, and the year since had not warmed their attitude at all.
They made camp a mile past the eastern gate of the town, which had a similar wall built across the road as they had to the west. This wall ran from the steep face of the mountain to the south to the edge of the canyon that had been dug out by the river that formed the northern border of the community. The road dipped down until it was level with the river, and crossed a broad, rocky floodplain. Luckily, the recent rains hadn't washed out the road or flooded the campsite, though that was inevitable once the rainy autumn progressed into winter.
The revelation that Elias's longtime friend Brandt was no longer in control of the Northlands was troubling, to say the least
. Not only did this complicate his plans to ask for aid from the Northmen, but Brandt himself was in danger.
A thousand foot soldiers with spears wouldn't be enough to overthrow three separate warlords, if their forces were comparable to his number in any way; he had spent nearly seventy years among the Northmen, and he knew how effective their warriors were, especially their heavy cavalry. That was precisely why he was going to the Northlands, to request aid from Brandt. He couldn't readily do that if the North was under siege, but neither could he leave his friend to battle alone. The only thing separating him and Brandt from being kin was race; they were as brothers when last they parted.
Elias rolled to one side, using his shoulder to shift a small stone under his bedroll. Camping was miserable. Even on a ship, he'd had a more comfortable bed, especially in the captain's quarters of the Leviathan. The road ahead was long, and he needed his sleep, which was slow in coming. At least the nights were growing longer. While that was less than ideal for travel during the day, it made for more time to rest.
Hah. Rest. As if his dreams would let that happen. He shifted again to his back, closing his eyes, the sounds of the camp around him barely muffled by the thin walls of his tent. The rushing water of the nearby river did more to drown out the sounds of eight hundred warriors and their campfires than the cloth did.
~ ~ ~
The sun was warm on Elias's skin as he sat in the sand, his back resting against his simple shelter. A familiar figure swam in the gentle waves of the cove in front of him, as a soft breeze brought the smells of the ocean to him. The figure was returning to shore, her blue skin deeper in color than most of the rest of the sea elves, her raven black hair streaming water down her back and shoulders. A plain white leather loincloth was tied around her hips and under her slight tummy with a braided red cord, while her chest remained bare, full breasts glistening in the sun.
His entire soul warmed when she approached him, taking a seat by his side. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. She turned to face him, and took his other hand, placing it low on her stomach.
Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2) Page 5