Devon didn’t take long to think about it. “Consider it done.” He stuck out his hand and Coran clasped it warmly.
Chapter 33
Finding the Way
The wind picked up a bit as they rode side by side towards the border. Devon glanced at the blonde girl riding the deceased Irne’s brown horse next to him. She wore one of the heavy coats that hung down well past her knees, borrowed from one of her abductors. He found out her name was Kurina. She had high cheekbones and a narrow nose on a prominent face. After her initial jubilance at being rescued she withdrew into herself. Perhaps fearing he was not who he said he was. Or perhaps it was her way of excising the nightmare of her captivity. She remained reticent after they left Coran and only became more open after a couple of days together. She was still quiet most of the time but it was a good sign that she might be recovering emotionally.
“Almost there now,” he said conversationally. “Another day at the most.”
She nodded absently.
He was about to say more in an attempt to get her talking when dark shapes appeared against the white of the landscape. At first he thought they might be trees in the distance, but then noticed that they were moving. On closer inspection he saw a lot of them moving in their direction. At the front was visible a banner fluttering in the wind. It bore the crossed swords on a field of white. Lord Nevil Digala had crossed the border. All they needed now was for a war party of savage Northmen to appear, yelling and waving axes in the air. He scanned the horizon behind them and was relieved to see nothing.
Almost upon them the column stopped and the man in the lead stared at Kurina with his mouth open in shock. Lord Nevil was a rather plain faced man, almost ugly in his armor and helmet. He had on a long gray cloak for the weather. “Kurina!?” he finally spoke and rode to her. “How can this be? What happened?”
Kurina hugged him from the saddle and explained everything. She used more words than she had since being rescued. She told him how she was taken, and assured him that she was treated well- omitting the hate filled words of Gorod. Then she explained how Devon and Coran had shown up one morning and told her they were taking her home. That led to Devon having to explain how they found out where she was and about the rescue.
When he was finished Lord Nevil frowned at the ground. “I have heard of Gorod. That it was all a plan to keep me here in the north is vexing. It is too bad that I could not deal with the murderer myself.”
“I thought you might feel that way, so I brought you something.” Devon untied a sack that was hanging low from the rear of his horse and handed it over to the Lord of Northwatch.
Nevil reached in suspiciously and removed the contents. He pulled out the head of Gorod by thick locks of blonde hair. Kurina looked away from the sight. “I thank you, Devon. But to have proof of his death is enough.” He tossed the head into the snow with disgust. “Let the scavengers have it.” Turning his horse he led them back to the column. “I owe you a great debt, Devon Anders, and your friend too when I meet him. Kurina is the only family I have left. If there is anything you require?”
What happened to the rest of his family was a question for another time. “Actually, there is something. Summerhall needs your help. If you would accompany me south with your soldiers, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“There is no need for me to stay here anymore, thanks to you. I can lead them south as well as north,” Nevil decided. He turned to Kurina riding by his left stirrup. “I am not going to let you out of my sight again. We will stop and get you cleaned up before continuing southward.”
“Yes, Uncle.” The girl smiled up at the man warmly. Devon turned his head to look back north. He didn’t like leaving his friend, it felt as if he was abandoning him. It was probably for the best though. “She is going to tie me up and hang me from the walls by my ankles,” he said to himself and shook his head.
“What was that?” Nevil asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” Devon resumed following the Lord and his niece as the column began to turn around. At least there would be no war between Midia and the North. Not today, and hopefully never.
The wind picked up as Coran found the ford and his mount splashed across the chill waters of the East Wolf. The cold air brought with it the first flurries of snow that intensified as the day wore on until it became an all out blizzard. He wrapped the cloak around him as a shield against the pelting snow. The wind swirled around his cowl, stinging his eyes and hunching him over in the saddle. His body stiffened from the bone chilling blasts of air. His feet and hands were slowly losing their sense feeling. Desperate to get his circulation going he dismounted and led his loyal black mount.
It seemed that the northern winds were trying to make up for the overlong warmth all at once. In the span of a day the temperature dropped from what he would call mildly cold to down right frigid- the worst of the winters in Tyelin.
After what seemed like hours, exhaustion from trudging through the deepening drifts wore him down. At that moment he missed the sun baked desert of the East. Grunting with the effort he placed one frozen foot in front of the other, then repeated the process with his other foot. Finally he had to remount and let the horse carry him a ways. The driving snow obscured everything more than a few paces in front of him. Despite the walking his feet and hands were still numb. He knew that he had to find shelter soon or he was going to die. He was no stranger to tales of frozen bodies being found in the mountains, both man and beast.
“I did not travel all this way to have it end here,” he said stubbornly to the air or his horse if the animal cared to listen. “I made it to the East and back, made it through more than one attack on my life. I am not going to die now.”
He kept himself going by thinking of other things, such as seeing the white walls of Summerhall with the sun high in the sky. He remembered Shirri and her wild eyes and her temper. He thought of Katelyn in that blue dress she wore at her birthday celebration. That was the first time he really saw her as something other than a friend or a little girl. After a while his thoughts even drifted to his mother, her smiling face full of love for him and his father.
He shook himself awake. It wouldn’t be a good idea to fall asleep now. He thought of building some sort of shelter, but knew it was too late for that. He could barely move. His eyes threatened to close again and he forced them open as the wind screamed around him.
At first he thought it was a mirage, a vision brought on by his condition, but it grew larger as he got closer. There were vertical planks of wood in front of him. They continued to the right and the left. His horse turned to walk along side the obstruction. The planks ended and he turned around a corner. The building sheltered him from the worst of the wind. There was a door. Stretching out his stiff hands he pulled on the handle and the door squeaked open on rusty hinges. His mount needed no encouragement to ride into the welcoming shelter. He had to lean over in the saddle to fit under the frame. There were two separated stalls along one side and a couple bales of hay on the other. It was a stable. A small one, but it would do nicely.
Coran slipped slowly out of the saddle and held to the pommel until he was sure he could stand. Forcing himself to move he paced the dozen feet that was the length of the stable until he could feel his feet again. Pain blossomed in his fingers and toes as they warmed. From what he could remember that was a good sign. It was still cold in the building, but nothing like being exposed to the wind outside. When he could move his fingers enough he unsaddled the black and rubbed him down with a hand full of straw. Then he led the animal into one of the stalls and provided it with hay. He also found some oatcakes in a corner to feed him. The horse whinnied gratefully after finishing off the unexpected meal.
His faithful mount settled for the moment, he returned to caring for himself. He shook out his cloak and looked around for a place to start a fire, but there were strands of straw everywhere. The place would go up like a torch. He did find a pail half filled with a mixture of wat
er and ice. Using his knife he broke up the ice chunks and stirred them into the water. He found a cup, dipped into the pail, and took a drink. The cold liquid numbed his throat as it slid down.
He took his blankets and unrolled them out onto the dirt and straw covered floor. Before laying down he went through his saddle bags to inventory what he had left. There was still plenty of the dried meat. It was tough to chew, but it filled you up. One small package of dried fruit was left as well. That would do for variety. If he had the chance to purchase some supplies he had the money for it. Katelyn had persuaded him to take a pouch full of coins for his journey. He checked the other bag and beneath the spare shirt that was stuffed towards the bottom he felt a smooth cloth. Pulling it out he saw what it was. A blue, silk scarf. He smiled at the memories that accompanied the piece of cloth. She must have put it there before he left. It gave him pleasant thoughts to go to sleep with.
The storm continued for the rest of the day and part of the night. By the next morning the sky was clear again. He emerged from the stable to the sight of a half a foot of new snow. It was going to be a hard day’s travel if he had to break a trail through that.
It was slow going for the next two days until he came across a road where the snow had been packed down by previous travelers. It might be risky coming across Northerners, but his horse was tired and it was taking much too long traveling over the rougher ground. It must be almost the middle of winter by now. That he guessed according to the length of the nights.
He was thinking of looking for a sheltered spot for the night when horsemen appeared coming around the next bend in the road. He glanced to the sides of the road, but it was already too late. They had spotted him, and if he ran off they would surely follow. There was no choice but to keep going as if he had the right to be there.
They closed the distance and instead of moving to one side so he could pass they halted, blocking the way. Luckily there were only two of them. The one to his right had shoulder length blonde hair, braided at the sides and a full, somewhat well kept beard. The other was big even for Northman standards. His full head of blond hair and thick beard accentuated his size. They both had axes at their hips. The second man’s was a cruel looking, double headed one with a long handle. He could imagine what a weapon like that could do to armor. Coran reined in a few feet away. Both of them had to be in their late twenties to early thirties. They wore clothing that involved a lot of fur. He was envious since it was probably warmer than what he wore.
“What do we have here?” the blonde braided one said amusingly, but his eyes held suspicion. “A Midian all alone. Where are you going, Midian?”
Coran tried to assess the two men. The braided one obviously preferred a fight to talking. The second man was watching him with interest. If either of them was in charge it was him. “Herrinhall.” He didn’t think lying would do him any good.
“You’re going the wrong way then,” the first told him. “Unless you are lying.”
The wrong way? Maybe he should have taken that turn off this morning. “Then I would appreciate any directions you might give me. As you might have guessed I am not familiar with the land.” He tried to sound polite, but it might have come off as flippant.
The blonde’s face frowned in anger. “I do not care for your tone.” He gripped the handle of his ax.
“Raise it and I will kill you,” Coran told him. His voice conveyed the threat. He thought he could carry through with it too. Certainly with the shorter of the two. It was the larger man who stayed his hand. Coran recognized someone who was dangerous.
The blonde started to anyway, but a word from his companion stopped him. “I wouldn’t do that Kjell. I believe him.”
“Are you crazy, Storvik?” Kjell said in disbelief. “He is just a boy.”
“His face is young, but not his eyes,” Storvik explained slowly. “Why do you risk your life to go to Herrinhall?” He addressed the question to Coran.
“I was sent by my Queen.”
“What Queen would that be?” Storvik asked. He did not speak mockingly. The question sounded rhetorical, like he already knew the answer.
“The Queen of Summerhall.” Coran ignored the Kjell’s frowning face and instead kept his eyes on the larger man, Storvik.
Storvik nodded. “I have heard of what happened. Why did she send you?”
“To speak with the Kings of the North.”
The big haired Northman studied him for a moment. “What is your name?”
“Coran Tyelin.”
“You may come with us,” Storvik decided. “We are going to Herrinhall as well.”
“I thank you and gladly accept your offer.” Maybe not gladly but he would be happy if it kept him from getting lost.
Kjell wasn’t so happy about the prospect, but he didn’t contradict his companion. Coran had to wonder if maybe these men were outlaws too. Something told him to trust them, or at least the big one.
The turn off was indeed the one he should have taken. He was confused because it went west while the other had been going north. Apparently they curved, and by the time they stopped for the night they were heading north again.
The Northmen had tents and agreed to share one with him. They built a fire and ate dinner sitting on logs near the source of heat. Coran shared his meat while receiving bread baked only a day before. Kjell spoke little and eyed him with open suspicion. Storvik still had that weighing look.
“You may go to Herrinhall, but you will not be allowed in the great hall itself. That is where the Kings meet with the leaders of the North,” Storvik told him while chewing.
“They will let me in.” The simple statement seemed to catch the big man off guard.
“You are so sure of that?”
“I am.”
Storvik smiled for the first time. “Would you care to wager on that?”
Coran smiled slyly in return. “How much?”
“A gold?”
“Five,” Coran countered. “To make it interesting.”
Storvik rubbed his beard as he thought over the amount. “Done.”
“I want some of that,” Kjell added. “Five for me as well.”
“Do you have five?” He didn’t need to ask Storvick. That man wouldn’t bet it if he did not have it. Kjell, he decided was a different matter.
“Of course,” Kjell replied offended.
“You have four,” Storvick noted. “But I will cover the one for you.”
“Thanks.”
“I am from Dorne by the way,” Storvik announced. “Kjell here is from Nyeland.”
Coran was not surprised. The Dornish were known as the most savage of Northmen, with the people of Leanesse being the most civilized. At least by Midian standards. “I am from Tyelin, but was raised mostly in Summerhall.”
They talked only a little about their respective homes. They were all still suspicious of each other.
The next night they were able to reach a town in which to stay. Coran was glad to be able to have a roof over his head once again.
The inn was made of tightly fitted stones to help keep the heat from escaping and the walls were lined with hanging rugs and furs. The common room was like many others with several tables along the walls and longer ones with benches instead of chairs at the middle of the room. The place was over half full with boisterous Northmen. Thankfully, they were involved in eating and had not yet gotten to the drinking part. Coran had experience with drunk Northmen before. A few dark looks passed his way until they saw his companion. “Storvik!” a couple of them called familiarly.
One of them stood up. He had long hair and a beard like Storvick’s except it was brown. “Have you taken up with Midians now?”
“We are traveling together for now,” Storvik explained.
The Northman looked him over, then reached into his pocket and put a silver coin on the table nearby. Several nearby patrons mumbled to each other and smiled knowingly.
Coran looked a question at Storvik who leaned close t
o answer. “It is a game we play sometimes. You stand still while he hits you. Then you do the same to him. The first one on the floor loses.” He saw the hesitation and continued. “If you do not accept they will think you are a coward. Cowards are killed in the lands of Nortia the White.”
So it was a test in a way. A test he had to take if he expected to survive long enough to see home again. Coran put a silver next to the other one. “Who goes first?”
“You do,” the challenger told him with a sneer.
Coran bunched his fist, leaned back and delivered a powerful blow to the waiting man’s face. The man staggered back several steps, but kept to his feet. The crowd roared with approval, several men laughing at the Midian behind their hands for what was to come next. Coran swallowed as he waited for the blow. He thought his jaw night have been broken by the force of it, but stayed upright. They were no longer laughing. His next shot was not enough to win, but the man’s return blow was. Coran fell against a table, spilling the drinks that were on it as he went to the floor as the crowd roared again. Storvik and the man who hit him both helped him up.
“I am Tarak,” his opponent introduced himself. He was smiling now.
“Coran,” he replied and they shook hands.
After that he was not bothered again for the rest of the night. Some of the men offered to buy him drinks and complimented him for surviving more than one blow from Tarak, who almost never lost.
One of the women in the room sat down on the bench beside Storvik. She draped an arm across his massive shoulders. Her long blonde hair hung in tangles but she didn't seem to notice. What Coran found interesting was her tight leather pants. What a scandal that would cause in Summerhall. A woman wearing pants was bad enough, but if anyone was caught wearing anything as tight as that the outrage would be heard from one end of the isle to the other. At least if she was a Midian they would. Coran didn’t think anyone would be too forward with their thoughts around this woman. Beneath her black leather shirt Coran counted the hilts of four knives tucked into her belt. And another two at the tops of her boots. By her confident grin and graceful movements he was sure she knew how to use them.
Fire And Ice (Book 1) Page 52