After packing a few additional supplies for the journey, Brynja saddled her horse, Breaker, and rode to the center of the encampment to wait for her companions. She did not have to wait long and after exchanging pleasantries with the handful of men left behind to guard the camp against thieves, Brynja led her small band away from Erlinger’s encampment and into the cold depths of the Northlands.
Their first day of travel was uneventful and the gloomy but fair weather held steady throughout the day. They kept a steady pace that was relatively swift but they did not ride as hard as they could have for they had no desire to exhaust their mounts on only the first day of their journey. As the sun began to set, Brynja noted that the clouds to the northwest, which had been growing steadily darker since late afternoon, were so bloated with moisture their color was almost black. There would be snow tomorrow, she thought.
After the sun set, they rode on for another two hours until there was no longer enough light to determine their direction. They built a small fire and made a thick stew using meat from four large rabbits they had killed that afternoon. As they ate, they exchanged stories of battle and songs of glory with great enthusiasm. Severian lamented the fact that they had brought no ale along with them and the others found a great deal of amusement in his grousing.
As Brynja feared, snow had already begun to fall by the time woke the next morning. The temperature had dropped considerably and were it not for their heavy cloaks and blankets, they would have almost certainly been frostbitten during the night. As it was, they merely awoke with a damp chill in their bones. They each ate a few pieces of the bread they had brought with them and then mounted their horses to continue the journey northward.
There were no proper roads to be found in that region of Rostogov so it was fortunate that their path to Hillcrest did not take them through the rougher parts of the countryside where the rocky land rose and fell frequently. Here their greatest challenge was the rolling hills but they were easy enough to either traverse or avoid as they kept to their course westward. According to her father’s maps, they would not encounter difficult terrain until they reached the forest that surrounded Hillcrest. If they were not delayed by the snow, she hoped to reach the outskirts of the forest by nightfall.
But the snowfall grew heavier as the day went on. By early afternoon the wind, which had been mercifully calm until then, swept out of the northwest and pushed the falling snow back at them. The temperature continued to drop and they were driven to wrap themselves in their blankets to protect themselves from the cold, wet winds. While Brynja had merely hoped to reach the forest by nightfall before, she now realized they had no choice but to reach it now, for they would not likely survive the night without some cover from the howling winds and driving snow.
The sun had been set for several hours and the weary companions had long since lost their orientation when they at last reached the outskirts of the forest that was unnamed by Erlinger’s maps. The tall pine trees provided some degree of protection from the falling snow and the wind was slightly less savage within the wood. They stumbled about in the moonless dark for a time before Casten found refuge behind the roots of a massive, fallen pine tree. The tree had fallen in the direction of the wind and its upended roots shielded them from its freezing bite. They even managed to light a small fire to both provide warmth and cook the few small animals they had managed to catch earlier in the day.
Their mood was less jovial that night around the fire, though they were grateful to have the heat of the flames and some small protection from the elements. Kurgin muttered something about the wind and snow being connected with the evil spoken of by the herald from Hillcrest, but the others paid him little mind. They had no desire to speak of such fears openly for they did not know who or what might be listening to the sounds carried upon the winds.
As they had done the night before, they planned to sleep in shifts with someone keeping watch over the others at all times. Ilari volunteered to take the first watch and the others wrapped themselves tightly in their cloaks and blankets before quickly falling asleep.
Brynja awoke startled in the depths of the night and she instinctively reached for her broadsword. A hand reached over and touched her arm to stop her from drawing her blade.
“Don’t!” Casten said. “They’re watching us.”
Brynja did not fully take his meaning, but she could feel something watching her from the darkness of the forest. She sat up slowly and scanned the empty black void just beyond the light of their small campfire. Her eyes could see nothing there and the strong wind prevented her from catching any familiar scents and its howl drowned out any sound more than a few feet away. But although she couldn’t see, smell, or hear anything, Brynja’s instincts had little difficulty warning her of danger. Her throat and muscles tightened and at that moment she resembled a startled animal poised to either attack or flee for its life. It was a familiar feeling.
“Wolves,” she said.
And then Brynja sensed something that was not familiar to her. Color drained from her face and her skin prickled.
“And…something else.”
She said nothing more and Casten remained silent. They remained in that awkward standoff for the rest of the night. Casten eventually drifted off to sleep and Brynja did not bother to wake the others for their turn at the watch. She simply sat and stared into the darkness, occasionally stirring their small fire to ensure that the grim night, and the terrors within it, did not consume them utterly.
Just before dawn, Brynja felt the strange presence in the darkness begin to fade. By the time the sun came up, she knew they were alone once again. Before the others awoke, she ventured deeper into the forest in search of some sign of their stalkers’ passage, but she found nothing. It would have been easy for her to attribute the absence of tracks to the falling snow, but she knew that the snow had not fallen heavily enough since her observers departed to completely conceal their tracks. Brynja grumbled and wondered if perhaps Kurgin had been right to suspect the source of the inhospitable weather.
The others awoke soon after she returned and Casten explained what had taken place during the night. Such news did little to raise their spirits. Brynja refused to dwell on the matter and instead prepared for what she hoped would be the last day of their journey.
Though the forest was thick, much of its undergrowth was brown and brittle. They had little difficulty moving through it. The forest was only a few miles wide and they emerged on its northern side before noon. They were pleased to find that the snowfall had lessened and the fierce wind had all but died. It was still bitterly cold, but that was to be expected and it caused them little discomfort.
Brynja was relieved that they had not strayed far from their path the previous night. According to her father’s map, they were only about a mile south of where they were originally going and there was nothing but open fields between them and Hillcrest.
They had been riding across the fields for about an hour when Brynja spotted a small farmstead ahead of them. It was not on the map, but then the map did not show any details, even the town of Hillcrest. Since they had seen no game that morning, they decided to see if the farmers had any food they would be willing to spare.
But as they drew nearer to the house, it became obvious that it was empty. It was in a poor state of repair and looked as if it had been abandoned for many years. Brynja noted that there were numerous claw marks on the walls beneath the windows and on the doors. She thought back to the dying herald whose message had brought them to that place and feared that the small, ruined farmstead would be merely the first of many.
They trudged on through the newly fallen snow for several more hours and every few miles they would pass another farmstead in much the same condition as the first. Some of them had suffered a worse fate, however. Two homes had been burned and four of them looked as if they had been torn apart by something. By the time they passed the eighth ruined farmstead, Brynja was already convinced they were getting a f
irst look at the terror that had come to Hillcrest.
Brynja reigned Breaker to a near stop as she glanced over her shoulder at her companions. They had fallen several dozen feet behind her for some reason and when she looked back she saw that Ilari seemed to be having some difficulty with his horse, Shadow. She turned Breaker and trotted towards them.
“Hold him steady, lad,” Severian said as he tried to grasp the horse by its bridle. The animal grew increasingly agitated every time Ilari pulled at his reigns and appeared ready to throw the young warrior from the saddle.
“I’m trying!”
“Give the damned beast room!” Kurgin said. “It’s getting spooked!”
Suddenly Shadow reared up on his hind legs and threw Ilari from his back. Severian had to fling himself off his own horse to avoid being knocked senseless by the flailing hooves. But Severian’s foot was caught in his stirrups and as he fell his weight jerked his horse awkwardly towards Ilari’s and it was struck in the eye by the hooves its master sought to avoid. Severian’s horse collapsed and Shadow’s hooves came back down upon its head repeatedly as it bucked about madly.
Brynja leapt from Breaker and cut Severian free from his tangled stirrups. The warrior began to reach for his horse, whose skull was being crushed by Shadow’s hooves, but Brynja pulled him away before he could get close. Kurgin helped her hoist Severian onto his own horse and moved a safe distance away from the scuffle.
Casten, who was also still mounted, reached down to pull Ilari up onto his horse, but then Shadow planted his front legs and kicked out with his hind legs. Ilari jumped out of the way but Casten had foolishly taken his eyes off the maddened animal. He saw the danger too late and tried to throw himself from his saddle, but Shadow’s hooves caught him in the chest as he fell backwards and he was thrown the rest of the way off his horse. Casten’s horse had the sense to move out of the way, but it stomped on its master’s leg as it did and Casten cried out in pain.
Shadow wheeled about suddenly, his mouth frothing and his eyes burning with hatred, to look down on his master, who laid helpless flat on his back. The horse let out a foul, unnatural scream and tried to crush him with its hooves. Ilari rolled out of the way at first, but then Shadow reached down and began to snap at him with his teeth. He caught the warrior by the arm and then flung him aside with a shake. Then his mad eyes turned to the helpless Casten, who was splayed helpless before him gripping his broken leg. Shadow made a sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh and reared up on his hind legs.
After pulling Severian to safety, Brynja had turned in time to see Shadow toss Ilari into the air and look back down at Casten, who she could tell was already in a great deal of pain. She had seen enough. Without hesitation, she sprang forward and took Severian’s heavy warhammer up from his horse’s saddle. Then as Shadow brought his front hooves into the air to crush the life out of Casten, she brought the great hammer back and sent it crashing against the horse’s rear hips. Brynja felt bones splinter under the weight of her fearsome blow as the horse was half turned around by the force of it and fell to the ground wailing loudly, his flailing sharp hooves narrowly missing Casten. Shadow tried to get his legs under him again, though his hindquarters were now little more than a mass of splintered bone and bruised flesh. Brynja nimbly stepped around his legs and heaved the warhammer high above her head before bringing it down to smash the maddened animal’s skull. Shadow quivered for a moment and then grew still.
Brynja left the hammer where it had impacted and ran to Casten. The lower portion of his left leg was bent askew where his horse had stepped on it and he was coughing up small amounts of blood.
“H…hurts…t…to…bre…athe…”
“Don’t speak, Casten,” Brynja said. “Take slow, shallow breaths.”
Kurgin knelt beside them.
“How badly is the boy hurt?” he asked.
“His leg is broken, and at least few ribs as well,” Brynja said. “He may have punctured a lung. Fetch a stick and some cord, we need to set his leg as best we can before we move on.”
“What of his ribs?”
“They will have to wait until we reach Hillcrest.”
As they tended to Casten, Severian busied himself examining the two dead horses.
“Gods be cursed,” he said. “I’ve never seen such a thing in all my days.”
He helped Ilari to his feet and examined the warrior’s arm briefly. The flesh was beginning to swell and darken where the horse’s jaws had clamped onto the limb, but the skin had not been pierced.
“It looks worse than it is, lad,” Severian said. “But it will be sore for some time.”
“It’s not my sword arm in any case,” Ilari said, forcing a smile. He knelt down alongside the bloody remains of his horse and shook his head.
Brynja glanced back at the horse’s ruined skull as she tied a splint for Casten’s broken leg.
“Ilari, had he been acting strangely before this?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I…I don’t know what could have driven him wild like that.”
“The air of this land carries an ill favored will upon its winds,” Kurgin said, grumbling.
Brynja nodded and looked to the south in the direction of the forest they had left earlier that day. For a moment, she thought she caught sight of a single, black wolf staring at her on the horizon.
The sun had nearly slipped below the western horizon when the walled settlement of Hillcrest came into view. It was built atop the spine of a broad hill that rose above the otherwise low, rolling fields surrounding the town. The circular palisade was high but somewhat irregularly so, as it was fashioned from hundreds of thick logs that had been driven deep into the frozen earth and riveted together by rows of wooden planks wrapped around its entire length. Eight wooden watchtowers that overlooked the surrounding countryside were positioned roughly thirty yards away from one another along the interior of the wall. The ends of the timbers that formed the palisade had been sharpened and some of their tips even appeared to be sheathed in metal. A few columns of smoke rose from within the fortifications, but outside the towering walls, there was no sign of human activity.
Brynja noted with curiosity that the palisade appeared to be devoid of a large gate or entryway. As far as her eyes could discern, there was no break in the wall of timbers to indicate the location of any manner of gate or entryway. Archers manning the watchtowers spotted them immediately and trained their weapons upon them as they approached the town.
A grim voice boomed from atop the palisade.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“I am Brynja, daughter to Erlinger. My companions and I come in the name of my father to fulfill his oaths to your imperiled jarl, to bring aid in his time of greatest need.”
Though the sun’s light was quickly fading beneath the horizon, the numerous torches burning atop the watchtower were enough to illuminate the severe face of the armored man who hailed them. His pallid, scarred face possessed a frightful, ghostly quality that seemed somehow at home atop the ragged walls of the snow covered town and he glared at them sternly with but one eye, for its ruined twin was covered by a patch of coarse leather.
“Erlinger, eh?”
The man regarded them for a moment and then spat down at them.
“Nay, I think you lie! Erlinger has not the honor to uphold such an oath were he to have made one! Begone, brigands! Take your lying tongues back to your faithless master!”
Brynja’s cold eyes ignited at the insult and her lip curled into a feral sneer.
“Would that you had the courage to spew such venom within reach of my blade, dog! For three long days we have ridden at the request of your own lord and now we are to be insulted by a fool who has not the wits to recognize friend from foe? A small wonder then that so ruinous a winter has fallen upon your jarl’s lands if it is your craven heart that defends them!”
The cragged faced man snarled something unintelligibly and snatched a bow and an arrow from the hands of t
he guard nearest him. With one swift motion he drew the bowstring back, took aim at Brynja, and let fly the arrow. But fast as he was, all of his movements were slow to Brynja’s eyes and she reacted instinctively, flinging herself off her horse the moment she saw that the iron tipped missile had been released. It whistled through the air as she hit the ground and impaled itself into the snowy ground several yards behind her.
If Brynja had been carrying a bow with her, the man atop the wall would have been dead a second later. And were Casten, who was a superb bowman, not so badly injured, Brynja would have expected him to shoot the man dead before she even hit the ground. But as it was, she had simply drawn her sword and was scanning the base of the palisade to find any way that she might climb up its surface and bury her steel into her attacker’s heart when suddenly a new voice cut through the cold air.
“Razlada, stop!”
A young woman came into view atop the next watchtower over. She was fair of face and color and though she wore but a simple dress, her bearing suggested an air of nobility.
“But, my lady—”
“You would seek to harm those who have come to our aid? What madness has come over you?”
The two argued with one another for several minutes before the guard captain at last relented and stormed away in anger, vowing to speak with the jarl about the matter. The woman then called out for Brynja and her companions to approach the wall. When they reached it, she reached up and grasped a rope that was suspended by a pulley abover her. It had been tied with a loop at the end of its length. She slipped her foot into the loop and one of the guards in the watchtower lowered her down.
Distant Worlds Volume 2 Page 26